by S. Massery
Marco ignores him. “He told you your mother ran away, did he? While getting groceries?” He scoffs. “That’s a fucking lie. Tell her, Sal.”
Dad hits his own face, a muffled scream coming out of his mouth.
He’s unhinged.
I take a step backward.
When Dad doesn’t say anything else, just silently detonates, Marco finishes, “He killed your mom, Grace. And he would’ve sold you to be a sex slave—”
A loud bang cuts him off. I jump, covering my ears as two more gunshots follow it. Dad keeps pulling the trigger. Bang, bang, bang.
Marco’s body moves with each shot, each impact of a bullet.
Finally, Dad’s magazine is empty. He drops the gun and sags to his knees.
“Is it true?” I ask in a low voice.
“You know my secrets,” Dad says. There’s agony in his eyes. Agony and immeasurable sadness. “I’m so sorry, Grace. He’s right. I’m sorry. I can’t have that.”
He comes at me, bending only to pick up the knife that Marco had dropped.
“This will be painless,” he promises. “I’m good at it.”
I back away from him. “You killed Mom?”
He looks down at the knife, then back up at me. “With a knife? No.” He grimaces. “No, I strangled her. She deserved better than me, but at least she finally stopped yelling.”
“You’re going to kill me,” I confirm.
“You leave me no choice. If you had married Marco, we would’ve stayed a family. But now… You’re just going to leave.” Tears fill his eyes. “You’re going to run off with him. No. You can’t do that.”
He raises the knife, and another gunshot cracks the air. I automatically close my eyes and wait for more.
There’s nothing. No breathing, no echo, no footsteps.
No pain.
I start patting myself down, eyes sealed shut, determined to find the wound. I must’ve been struck. Dad must’ve been holding a gun—
“Grace,” Dalton says, right in front of me. His breath hits my face. “God, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry—”
I open my eyes and meet his clear blue ones.
“Just focus on me,” he says. “I had to—”
“You shot him,” I mouth. I can’t form actual words. I can’t believe any of that just happened. “He killed my mom?”
Dalton hugs me to his chest. I tuck my face in, blocking out everything.
The next few minutes are a blur. He picks me up, even as he groans in pain, and carries me out of the warehouse. With my ear against his chest, I can hear his steady heartbeat. There’s a strap across his chest, a gun slung over his shoulder. I almost ask where he got one, until we walk past fallen guards. All of them have the same strap across their chest.
“Is she okay?” Colin asks. “Let me take her.”
I grab on to Dalton, clawing my way higher. I wrap myself around him.
“It’s okay, Grace, Dalton isn’t letting you go.”
I’m a wild animal. I can’t control anything, just the press of skin under my fingertips. My face is hot, tears in my eyes, but the rest of me is numb.
“They’re planning a war,” Dalton says to Colin. He maneuvers us into a vehicle, his palm briefly touching the back of my head. “An ambush.”
“Luca and I transmitted that to the others,” Colin says.
There’s a jolt as the car starts moving. Lights flash across my eyelids.
When did I close my eyes?
Can’t be bothered to open them.
“We called and warned them,” Colin continues. “They asked for help.”
“They split up?”
“Jackson took Mason and Griffin. Zach took Reece and Luca.”
“The girls?”
“Back at your place.”
“Drop me off there. I need to get my Tikka, unless you happened to pack it.”
“Alas, I did not,” Colin answers. “It was chaotic. I didn’t go to your apartment.”
Dalton grunts. “Grace? You still with me?”
I blink up at him. “Do I have to be?”
Processing skills: zero.
“Just for a little while,” he murmurs. He wets his thumb in his mouth and brushes it under my eyes.
“Are you going to save them?” I ask.
“Yes.” He frowns at me.
“I’m not leaving you again. Every time we separate, something bad—” A lump forms in my throat, blocking my words.
He kisses my forehead. “I know. I’m sorry.”
“It isn’t your fault.”
“There’s no one left to hunt us,” he says. “And when you’re ready, we’ll talk about it.”
“He killed my mom,” I whisper. I think I already told him that, but I feel like saying it again. “He told me she left us. I’ve been holding it against her for years.”
There aren’t words to explain the emptiness inside me. There aren’t words for him to say to make it better either. He hugs me tighter.
“We’re here,” Colin mutters.
“Can you go grab my rifle?”
“Are you sure that’s a good—”
“Get my rifle, please, Bloss. Not another word.”
He grunts and climbs out of the car, and then it’s just us. I sit up slightly, meeting his eyes.
“You’re brave,” he tells me. It’s like a balm, but it does nothing to soothe the burning ache I feel in my chest. “No matter what, know this: you can survive anything.”
I nod, and he wipes my cheeks again. Both thumbs this time, swiping away tears. His hands cup my face like I’m glass on the verge of shattering.
“How are we going to help?” I ask, my breath coming in short bursts.
Colin returns, putting Dalton’s rifle and a box of ammunition in the trunk.
“I’m a sniper,” he says, leaning down and touching his forehead to mine. “We’re going to do what I do best.”
32
DALTON
The image of Grace’s father coming at her with a knife replays in my mind. It’s a skipping track, over and over. I’ll be more than surprised if this doesn’t take the place of my other nightmares.
She’s real and solid in my arms. That’s the only thing keeping me together.
There’s blood on her face. Her father’s blood. It’s splattered across her chest and neck, her face. I do my best to wipe it away as discreetly as possible, using her tears to smear the red.
Her mother is dead. She didn’t really talk about her much, beyond that she left her dad and her. Up until now, we were free to assume the worst about her.
Selfish.
Uncaring.
Cold.
But that’s not true at all. She was murdered by her husband, and he fucking covered it up. Not to mention the other shit: he was the one who arranged for Marco and Frank to grab her. He agreed with Marco’s demands for marriage because it would benefit him…
The sound of gunfire comes from two blocks away. I wonder at the lack of police, but between the three families, they probably have most of the local force covered. If they wanted a radius free of protection, they’d pull any—and every—string.
It could’ve easily been a slaughter.
“You good?” Colin asks. He stops next to a tall building that looks like it might have a good vantage point.
We’re in the outskirts of Miami, and all the homes around here are squat and low to the ground… except this apartment building.
“Should be,” I say. To Grace, I ask, “Can you walk?”
She nods and slides off my lap.
“Hey,” Colin says, his window rolling down. He passes me something. “Put a damn shirt on, would you?”
I take the t-shirt, grinning. “Thanks, man. It’s a little chilly.”
He rolls his eyes, and I grab my case from the trunk. Every muscle hurts—and that’s before we have to climb six stories.
“Ready?” I ask Grace.
Colin speeds toward the St. Ives church.
&nbs
p; “Anything for a good distraction,” Grace mutters. She holds open the door for me, following me up the stairs.
We get to the rooftop, and I’m out of breath. I set up my little nest. It’s quick and dirty, but it’ll do the trick. I hand Grace a pair of binoculars.
“Scout for me,” I tell her.
She looks through them, chewing on her bottom lip.
Maybe it’s a dumb idea to make her watch me shoot people after I just shot her dad. I glance at her as I load the magazine into my rifle. “Are you okay? You can just sit here and face away, if you want.”
“I’m better off being useful.”
I hand her some earplugs and put them in. I slide the earpiece into one ear, and suddenly Mason, Jackson, and Griffin’s conversation bursts to life in my ears.
Aware that the first shot is always cold, I slide the bolt back to load the first cartridge in. I get a line of sight and take care to focus everything. It sounds like Griffin is inside, dragging injured St. Ives men behind cover and making sure they don’t die.
Admirable.
Mason is upstairs, firing down at the Argentos who are trying to rush into the McCoy pub. The muzzle flash catches my attention more than once.
And Jackson… He’s at the front door. The first line of defense.
“Howdy, boys,” I say.
I put an Argento in my crosshairs and pull the trigger. It’s a bit wide, but I clip his shoulder blade. He falls face-first onto the street. I readjust my dials and reload.
“Glad you finally showed up,” Jackson says. “Even though we warned them, they blew through their ammo too fast.”
“It’s just you guys?” I snort.
Grace sucks in a breath. “By the tree on the left.”
I sweep over there. “Shit. They’re going to blast you out.”
I fire, and the man holding a rocket launcher falls. As I’m reloading, another picks it up and swings it around. In my direction.
Normally, I wouldn’t care. But now I have Grace sitting beside me.
“Dalton,” she mutters.
“I see it.” I squeeze the trigger, hitting his shoulder.
He manages to get a shot off before I shoot again, my bullet tearing through his forehead.
The rocket hits the side of our building, exploding in a massive cloud of fire and smoke. I grab Grace, pushing her flat against the roof, and we wait for the rumbling to subside. The whole building trembles.
“You okay?” Jackson yells.
“Good for now,” I murmur.
“Jesus fuck, that was close,” Jackson answers.
“We’re a little obvious up here,” I say.
“We?” Mason asks.
Ugh. They’re gonna be pissed at me. “Grace and me.”
“Dalton—”
“You have people headed your way,” Mason snaps.
I jump up, grabbing my rifle and rushing to the other side of the building. I pick them off one by one, and then… “They’re running away,” I say, disbelief in my voice.
“Good,” Jackson says. “Mason, call Zach. See if they need help. Griffin, where’s Jim?”
Jim McCoy is the leader of their family. I’m sure he survived the assault, if no one else did. A second later, his voice comes through second-hand from Jackson’s earpiece. “Thanks, boys. Really appreciate it.”
“We’re glad we could help,” Jackson answers.
“Anything you need, don’t hesitate to call.”
I imagine they’re shaking hands. I go back to my view of the pub, and Mason, Griffin, and Jackson exit together. Grace takes my outstretched hand, letting me help her to her feet.
“That was exciting,” she says. She rubs her arms. “But… maybe we should get you to a hospital.”
I grunt. “How’re we going to explain that? No, Griff can patch me up.”
“Sure thing, bud,” Griffin says in my ear.
We descend the stairs slowly after I’ve repacked my things. Grace holds on to my hand, and I wonder if she thinks I’m going to disappear in a puff of smoke if she releases me. Out on the street, Jackson slaps my shoulder.
“You okay?”
“Took one hell of a beating,” I say, “but yeah, things ended…” I shrug off the end of that sentence. Things ended.
Jackson looks at Grace, frowning a bit. “You okay, Grace?”
“I… don’t know.”
We climb into the SUV, Grace smooshed between Griffin and me, and he does a quick check of her in the car.
“They drugged you?” he asks.
“It was in my drink.” She looks at me out of the corner of her eye. “Did it get you, too?”
I give a short nod.
“Is your head killing you?”
I nod again. “The rest of it kind of outweighs the headache.”
Once we’re back at my place, Griffin gives Grace an IV drip to help flush out the rest of the drugs. And then… it feels like only yesterday we were on the table, stitching my side closed. He lifts up my shirt and hisses at the new damage—yeah, that’s what two sadistic bastards will do to you—and then gets to work. He gives me morphine, too, which makes me feel like I’m floating.
He helps me to my room, and Grace slips in soon after. She curls up next to me, close but not touching.
“Thank you,” she whispers.
I turn to her. “I think we both know you shouldn’t be thanking me, Grace. I would understand if you wanted to run in the opposite direction.”
“I’d never want to run from you,” she says. “But… I don’t think I can stay in Miami.”
Those words make me realize how tense I’ve been. I exhale. “Good. You know, there’s this place in New York that’s supposed to be quiet. Nice.”
She smiles. “Yeah?”
“It has some cool people there.”
“There’s something I want to do before we leave.” She bites her lip.
“Your aunt?” I guess.
When she stares at me, I lean toward her and kiss her.
“I’m a mind reader,” I whisper. “And I’m glad you’re with me. That you’re able to smile after everything you went through.”
“If you weren’t so injured, I’d kiss you senseless,” she mumbles against my lips.
I pretend that she’s not already technically kissing me and steal another taste of her lips. After a few minutes, she pulls away slightly. “Sleep. You need it.”
I close my eyes, and she covers us with the blanket.
Find her aunt. One person in a state of twenty million.
Hey, I never said I didn’t like a challenge.
33
GRACE
One week later
Luca stands in front of us, fidgeting. Dalton seems ready to punch him, but then he hugs Luca. I stop breathing for a second, because Luca’s face only shows shock. But then he relaxes against Dalton, and they pat each other’s backs.
“You got this,” Dalton says, stepping back. He hands Luca a set of keys. “You never didn’t have it.”
Luca rolls his eyes. “You liked bossing my employees around.”
“I liked…” He shrugs. “Yeah, maybe a little. But I was always meant to be a silent partner. That’s how Caden and I wanted it. After he died, it was just easier to micromanage.”
Pain flashes across Luca’s face. He looks down at his shoes. “Yeah. I miss him, you know?”
“Me, too,” Dalton says. “I don’t ever want to not miss him.”
“All right, well, get out of here.” Luca puts the keys in his pocket and comes over to me, like he wants to give me a hug.
I put my hand up, stopping him in his tracks. “We’re not there yet,” I mutter.
I haven’t been able to tell anyone that Dalton is the only person who touches me nowadays. His hands don’t make my skin crawl. His weight on top of me doesn’t make me want to scream. Handshakes are hard. Hugs are worse.
It’s an aftershock of my father’s betrayal, Delia explained to me. She went through the same th
ing for two weeks after her trauma before she was able to move on—right in time for Jackson to find her.
Hadley patted the top of my hand and said it was the same when she learned she had cancer. Big anger and the inability to process.
It fades, they both agreed.
Marco never touched me sexually, except for a hand on my thigh or his fingers biting into my arm, my chin. My father never physically hurt me, although he almost did at the end.
Almosts and exceptions.
I take Dalton’s hand. Everyone left the day before, and they took most of our stuff with them. Now that Dalton has healed a bit, he’s asked me to take one last ride with him. After that, I’m afraid his bike is going to sit in storage until he has it shipped to New York. He didn’t say so directly, but we sure as hell aren’t riding from Florida to New York on a motorcycle.
In the span of a week, Dalton has secured us a house—leased, I hope—and bought us train tickets.
Before his friends left, I was introduced to Reece. He helped Zach and Luca secure the St. Ives property, and he was also involved in Hadley’s rescue a month ago. They had more success than we did. Hey, at least they didn’t have a rocket launcher at their party.
“Ready?” Dalton asks me. “One last adventure before the next?”
I smile. We step onto the elevator, leaving Luca in Dalton’s mostly bare apartment. Sitting on his bike in the garage is his black helmet, but there’s also a steel-gray one behind it. Someone put a bow on it.
“Like it?” he asks.
I grin. “It’s for me?”
“Yeah, you can’t keep wearing mine,” he says. “Bugs fly in my eyes.”
I laugh. “Sorry.”
He leads me to it and puts it on me, sliding the tinted visor up so I can hear him. “Looks good, hot stuff.”
I pluck off the bow and stuff it into my pocket. I roll my eyes and slam the visor down.
He just keeps chuckling, taking a second to secure the saddlebags before he puts on his own helmet and climbs on. I get on behind him, wrapping my arms around him. I’m careful not to squeeze too hard, because his stomach is still healing, but he grabs my hands and makes me grip him harder.
