by Kate Kessler
Killian thought about the guy she’d killed at the trap house. It had been so easy, so surreal. So…weird. “I don’t want you to do that.” If anyone was going to have both the guilt and the satisfaction of that hanging over their head for the rest of their life, it was going to be her.
“The offer’s there if you change your mind.”
She came up on her forearms. “This new life of yours, do you like it?”
He nodded. “I do. I was never much of a gangbanger, you know that.”
“Jason always said you were better than the rest of us.”
Dash winced. “Yeah, I guess.”
“He didn’t say you thought you were better; he meant it. He thought you could do anything you wanted.”
“Couldn’t keep him alive.”
“That wasn’t your fault. Jason was in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
He dropped his gaze. “Kill—”
“It doesn’t matter anymore,” she interrupted, guessing what weighed on his mind. “It doesn’t matter why he was killed, only that he’s gone. He’s gone and we’re not. Keep your good memories of him and toss the rest out, D. The rest isn’t worth hanging on to.”
“You’ve been hanging on.”
She gave him a gentle smile. “If I was still hung up on Jay, I wouldn’t have slept with you.” She stopped herself from adding or anyone else. He didn’t need to know about her past any more than she wanted to know about his.
“So you’re not feeling weird about this?”
She shook her head. “You?”
“No.” He smiled. “Hungry?”
“Always.”
They got out of bed and dressed. “I’m going to need to go by my place and get some fresh clothes,” she said.
“Go after we eat,” Dash said. “I’ll check in with Danny. See if he’s heard anything.”
They hadn’t gotten a phone call so she was going to guess the SOBs hadn’t gone after the Crows. That was good, but it also meant that Wex probably had something bigger planned.
In the kitchen, Dash made them a meal of steak, eggs, and potato hash, of which Killian wolfed down two platefuls. The food—and the rest she’d gotten the night before—replenished a lot of her strength. She’d lost enough blood that she’d gotten pretty loopy, but other than pain from her injuries, she felt good.
“I’m going to get so fat if I keep hanging out with you,” she said with a grin, leaning back in her chair.
Dash’s expression was unreadable. “If?”
Christ, she’d never thought of him as the needy type. Never thought she’d like it. “I didn’t want to make assumptions.”
“Assume I want to see as much of you as I can. Assume you’re always welcome here and assume I will tell you if that ever changes.”
She could get used to that, she realized. These last few days with him had been good, despite the circumstances. She felt safe with him—he had her back and she had his. They were comfortable with one another, but not so comfortable that she didn’t itch to touch him again. That would have to wait. Shannon was the only thing that mattered and had to be her top priority, no matter how selfish she was.
After eating, Killian headed back to her place to get clothes. It was starting to get dark. They’d slept in super late, and while she needed the rest, now it just felt like lost time. She hated the shortening days. In a few weeks the clocks would get turned back an hour and make it even worse.
She rubbed her thigh with one hand while she drove. Maybe she’d get Dash to load her up with some of that lidocaine before she went out again. Wouldn’t matter if she ripped her stitches again if she had that.
Even though she’d only been gone a couple of days, it felt odd to pull up outside her apartment building—like it was someone else’s home. She parked in her usual spot and got out. Her phone rang as she shut the door. Megan.
“Hey,” she said. “I haven’t found her yet, but I’m close.” No need to say more than that.
A shuddering breath was her reply.
“Meg? Are you okay?”
Her sister finally spoke. “I talked to Madallya’s parents.”
Oh shit. “I should have called you. I’m sorry.”
“Is that what’s happening to my little girl, Killy?”
Killian heard the tears in her sister’s voice, and it broke her goddamn heart. She wanted to lie. Wanted to make Megan feel better and give her some kind of hope. “I don’t think so, but I don’t know. I found where they were holding her, but they’d moved her before I got there.”
“Why are they doing this? Why would anyone want to hurt Shannon?”
“Because they want to hurt me.”
“But you haven’t even seen her for nine years. How’s that supposed to hurt you?”
Wow, that stung. “They know she’s family.”
“Is Willow in danger?”
“I don’t think so. The people who have her pretty much just want to kill me.”
Megan burst into full-blown sobbing after that. Killian put her key in the lock of the building and opened the door. “I’m sorry, Meg. This is all because of me.”
“I can’t lose you again,” her sister said with a sniff. “I can’t lose my kid. I won’t survive that, Killy. I’m so afraid that one of you isn’t going to make it home.”
“We’re both coming out of this,” Killian informed her as she slowly climbed the stairs to her apartment. “Don’t you doubt it.” Damn it, she ought to have thought of those stairs before deciding she needed clothes. She did all the lifting with her uninjured leg, but still the wound throbbed by the time she made it up the first stairwell. There was another to go.
“You just said they want you dead.”
“Yeah, well, they’ll have to live with the disappointment.” She paused at the foot of the second stairwell to give her leg a break. “How’s Madallya doing?”
“She’s in the hospital. They did all kinds of tests. Poor thing had to be given Plan B and she’s going to be on a drug to help prevent HIV from taking hold just in case. They did a rape kit. Oh, Killy. Her mother was so upset. They marked her little girl.”
Killian didn’t tell her she’d seen it. Megan would only drive herself insane thinking about it. “She’s tough. She’ll be okay so long as her parents get her the help she needs.” No, it wasn’t that easy, but you either decided to take control of your life or you let life control you. She knew which one she preferred.
“How do you even begin to know what that is?”
Sighing, Killian hoisted herself up one stair. “She needs to know that no one blames her. She needs to know that she did nothing wrong and nothing to invite being hurt. She needs to know she is loved and worthy, and she’s going to need help believing all of it.”
“Did Mom do that for you?”
“Some of it,” she answered honestly. “Some came from Jason.” And Dash. Maybe it was just afterglow, but Dash had been the one she first talked to about how her stepfather abused her, not Jason. Dash listened and then he talked. And for a kid he’d been pretty fucking good at telling her all the right things. He’d been there for her after what Brand did, too. The only one who stood up to Danny for not ripping the SOB apart.
“Are you okay? You sound like you’re in pain.”
Another stair. “My leg got cut up, but other than that I’m okay.” Her sister probably wouldn’t agree with that assessment if she could see her.
“Are you sure you can find her?”
“I can. And once I do no one will ever try to hurt her or you again.” Because she was going to end any and all who were involved. Another stair. “Have you told Cam yet?”
“No. I’m not going to until she’s home. He’s supposed to video call tomorrow. I have no idea what I’m going to tell him if he wants to talk to her. He’s going to know something’s wrong when he sees me.”
“You could always not answer,” Killian suggested. “Or talk on the phone instead of the computer.”
“
Then he’d really know something’s up. I always answer, and it’s always FaceTime.”
“Then tell him she’s not home.” It was all she had. “And pray that you don’t have to lie at all, because she’ll actually be there.”
Megan hiccuped—or sobbed. “I’ve been praying so hard I’m starting to think I’m a hypocrite.”
“There’s nothing like terror to make a body believe in the Almighty.” Two more stairs. “I’m going to find her, Meg.” She was beginning to feel like a fucking parrot, she’d repeated that phrase so much.
“I know you will. I know.”
Killian wasn’t sure which one of them she was trying to convince.
“Please stay safe.”
“You know it. You need to talk some more?”
“No. I need to help Willow with her homework. I almost forgot: Madallya wanted me to tell you she said thank you for what you did for her.”
She could play it humble and say she hadn’t done a damn thing, or she could just take the thanks and be done. “Tell her she’s welcome. I’m here if she needs anything else.”
“You’re a good person, Killy.”
She wanted to argue that as well, but it took too much energy. “Thanks, babe. I’ll call you tomorrow, okay?”
“Okay. Love you.”
Killian said she loved her, too, and hung up. Then she pulled herself up the remaining stairs and down the corridor to her apartment. She needed some Tylenol or something. Maybe Dash had some magic pills that would make the pain disappear. He seemed to have everything else.
Was she going to spend the next few days rhapsodizing about him? Because that was just pathetic.
She reached her door and stuck the key in the dead bolt. Then she turned the knob. The door swung open, revealing the darkened interior of her sad little apartment. She was thirty-one, for Christ’s sake. She should have more than what she did. The nine years she’d lost had set her back—left her living like a frigging frat boy.
Maybe Dash could help her get a better job. Maybe she could do something for that group of his, provided it didn’t land her back in the pen. There had to be something she was good at, something other than pouring drinks and dealing with drunk women. She was good at hitting things, but that wasn’t working out so well for her at the moment. Sometimes things hit back.
Killian swept her hand over the light switch, but nothing happened. She frowned and tried it again. Still nothing. The bulb must have blown, because she’d just paid the electric bill. She crossed the threshold and closed the door, her eyes taking a second to adjust to the light.
What was that smell? Something must have started to go bad in the fridge, or the place had been closed up too long. Or…shit. Quickly, she moved a little deeper into the apartment and switched on the lamp at the far end of the living room.
When she turned she saw what was on her sofa.
Well, fuck. It was Wex, and the hole in the middle of his forehead would have declared him dead if the sightlessness of his open eyes hadn’t done it first. Someone had killed him and brought him to her apartment. Brought him into her apartment.
There was only one person she could think of who wouldn’t flinch at the consequences of killing Wex—who would leave him at her feet like a cat might leave a dead mouse, letting her clean up its mess and take the blame.
No one would believe her that she hadn’t killed him. Never mind that they wouldn’t find a gun. If she called the cops they’d take one look at her record and arrest her. They’d wonder if she was back with the Crows. They’d go after Danny and the others. She’d be sent back to jail, or held for a while, and Shannon would be God knows where.
Or she could try disposing of the body herself, but then her DNA would be all over it. It probably already was.
Yeah, calling the cops wasn’t an option. She called Dash instead. He picked up on the second ring. “What’s wrong?” he asked.
Killian turned away from the dead man on her couch. “Do you have an associate who’s a cleaner?”
Eleven
Did he think they were Beauty and the Beast? Like, she was going to think of him as a hero because he “saved” her?
After having Dakwon and Jimmy get rid of the guy he’d…killed, Rank made a call. That one produced a woman, who strutted into the place like she owned it, completely unaware that she was standing in the same spot a man’s brains had dribbled out the back of his skull.
“Shannon,” Rank said in his soft, accented voice. “This is Miss Davnielle. She’s going to help you get cleaned up, find you some clothes, and take care of anything else you need.”
Shannon had been mostly silent since the shooting and she intended to stay that way. No talking unless asked a direct question. She merely nodded to acknowledge what Rank had said. Aunt Killy was right—TV and books were not like real life. The urban books she loved weren’t like this. They weren’t supposed to be; she understood that now. This kind of life wasn’t something you played at.
The woman, who had a face like Lupita and a body like Cardi, smiled at her. Those teeth must have been expensive. “Let’s go upstairs and get you cleaned up, little sister.”
She wasn’t her sister. Her sister was at home, probably wondering where she was, but Shannon didn’t say it. She followed the woman up another set of stairs that led to a locked door. Davnielle pressed a button and a second later there was a buzzing noise. She opened the door and held it open for Shannon to follow.
It was the most amazing, most gangster loft she’d ever seen. If she hadn’t been through the shit she’d been through the last few days, she would have loved it. Plush rugs, polished floors, leather furniture, and all kinds of chrome and glass. The TV was so big it was more like a movie screen, and the sound system next to it was sick. The art on the walls probably cost more than her parents’ house. She knew she ought to be in awe, and she was—a little. All she could think of as Davnielle led her through the living area, though, was that her aunt had almost killed Rank. Killy had fucked him up big-time, made him into the mess he was, and now she was in his power.
She wasn’t safe with him. Maybe he had no intention of hurting her like the bikers had, but he was more dangerous than they’d ever thought of being. He wanted to use her to get to her aunt. Shannon wasn’t going to be the reason Killy got killed. So she had to be calm and think before she spoke or acted.
The bathroom was just as amazing as the rest of the place. Beyond a sliding door she could see what she assumed was the master bedroom, but it was dark in there. Was he going to make her sleep with him? Or would she have a room of her own? The idea of him touching her turned her stomach, but she’d survive it. She had to.
Davnielle ran water in the huge sunken tub and dumped in some bubble bath that smelled like jasmine. Then she told Shannon to sit on the side of the tub and brushed all the tangles out of her hair. The woman was good, because it hardly hurt at all when she pulled at the crazy curls. She rubbed some kind of cream into her hair and covered it with a plastic cap.
“Now take off those awful clothes,” Davnielle instructed.
Shannon hesitated.
“My sweet sister, you smell like your own filth. Nobody deserves to smell like that. Take ’em off. I’m not going to ravish you.”
Against her better judgment, Shannon smiled. She turned slightly and began removing her clothes. She did stink, and she did really want to get into that bath. Once she was naked, Davnielle helped her into the tub, clucking over her like a mother hen.
“Look at those bruises on your sweet skin. I’m so sorry someone hurt you. Do you want to talk about it?”
As she eased into the hot water, Shannon glanced at her. “You a shrink or something, too?”
“Actually, I have a degree in psychology, but pampering bitches pays better.”
Shannon laughed and leaned back against the warm stone. Nice offer, but she wasn’t stupid enough to trust a woman on Rank’s payroll. “No, I don’t want to talk about it, but thanks.” The on
ly person she’d ever talk to about what had happened to her was Aunt Killy. No one else—especially not her mother. She didn’t want to see her mother cry.
The bath eased the aches in her body and relaxed her muscles. “Give me your hand,” Davnielle instructed. While Shannon soaked, the other woman rubbed a scrub into her hands and arms, then repeated the treatment with her feet and legs. It was like that time her mother took her to the spa.
Just when she thought it couldn’t get any better, Davnielle took the cap from her head and poured warm water over it. Then she shampooed and conditioned her hair, pinning it up when she was through.
“Are you warm enough?” Davnielle asked, adjusting a control on the tub. A bathtub with temperature control. Damn, she could get used to this. That was what he wanted, right? Another thing her books had taught her was just how manipulative guys could be when they wanted something. Wasn’t that what men who beat their women did? Treat them like crap, then shower them with gifts and shit to show they were sorry? That was how she needed to think of Rank, as someone who wanted her weak and trusting.
Eventually, she had to get out—she was getting pruny. Davnielle rubbed lotion into her skin and pressed soft towels against her before holding out a soft, plush robe for her to put on.
“The clothes were delivered a few moments ago. Let’s pick out some things for you.”
They walked out into the living area once again, but this time the room was filled with racks of clothes, boxes of shoes, and selections of underwear that looked even fancier than the stuff from Victoria’s Secret. There was even a vanity with a makeup station.
“Why’s he doing this?” she asked, forgetting her vow to speak only when spoken to.
Beside her, Davnielle sighed. “I’ve only known Rank a couple of years, but my guess is he wants you to know he ain’t gonna hurt you, and he doesn’t want you to be afraid of him.” When Shannon met her gaze, the woman added, “In case you haven’t noticed, he’s a little scary to look at.”
