by Laura Kaye
Nick’s head dropped heavily on his shoulders. For a long moment, labored breaths aside, he was still. Then his gaze cut up, and Nick nodded. “I know. I . . . know.”
Shane waited, expecting more. Expecting . . . something. Anything. That Nick had needed him, too. That Nick was sorry. That he understood just how deep his silence had cut. “That’s it? That’s all you have to say?”
“What else is there to say?” Nick pulled off his gloves.
And there it was. Same story, different day. Guy still didn’t get it, did he? Shane tugged off his gloves, returned them to a shelf against the wall, and shook his head. “Not a damn thing, I guess.”
Shane reached for the door handle.
“Jesus. What do you want me to say?” The agonized whisper had Shane turning back to his friend. “Do you want me to say I was so fucked in the head I became depressed? Do you want me to say I should’ve figured out what Merritt was doing? Because I know that shit is true. And that, since I didn’t see the forest for the trees, I was so guilt-ridden I couldn’t face you guys? That I thought you’d all blame me for ruining your lives and killing our friends?” Nick’s eyes were bleak with anguish.
Shane’s gut went tight as a hollowness settled into his chest. “Nick—”
“Or maybe you want me to say it was easier to ignore you than face the possibility that I’d lost you, too? Because you had to hate me as much as I hated myself, right? Or, how ’bout that the pain of the surgeries and the PT was so intense I got hooked on painkillers for about three months until Jeremy realized what’d happened, flushed them down the toilet, and called my doctor behind my back?” Nick scrubbed his hands over his face, smearing the blood on his cheek, and clawed his fingers through his dark, sweaty hair.
Christ. How the hell had the guy carried all this around for the past year without caving under the weight of it? Just went to show that you never really knew the size of the load another person carried. Except—Shane should’ve known. He was supposed to be Nick’s best friend in the world. His brother.
Damnit. Shane should’ve forced the question.
As Nick stood there pouring his soul in a bloody mess onto the floor between them, it occurred to Shane for maybe the first time ever that he’d failed Nick as much as he’d always thought Nick failed him. If he’d only pushed through his own hurt and anger, maybe he would’ve realized that under normal circumstances, the Nick Rixey he knew would never shut him out. But things hadn’t been normal, had they? Not by a long shot.
Sonofabitch.
Shane released a long breath, then crossed the space that separated them and lowered himself heavily onto the bench. “Sitcha ass down before you fall down.”
Nick sat and dropped his gloves.
Bracing his elbows on his knees, Shane watched a bead of sweat drop to the concrete. “I wish I’d known.” From his peripheral vision, he saw Nick nod.
“I know. I wish I’d been strong enough to tell you.”
Shane’s thoughts were in a whirl. Which made sense since the earth was shifting a bit underneath his feet, at least where his beliefs about Nick were concerned.
Knock, knock, sounded against the door that led to the hall. A moment later, it eased open, and Becca stuck her head through the breach. Did she hear . . .
Yup.
Her expression was a study in worry and concern. How much she’d overheard, he didn’t know. But it was something, for sure.
“Um. Everything okay?” she asked, clearly knowing the answer to the question. She stepped the rest of the way in and let the door fall closed behind her.
Nick’s glance slid from her to Shane. The man’s eyes repeated the question. Are we okay?
Shane didn’t want an audience to say the things he needed to say, and the words weren’t there just yet anyway. So he said, simply, “Yeah, man. We are.” It wasn’t enough, but it was a start.
Nick rose. Shane wondered if Becca would catch that he’d braced himself on the weight bar to make it to his feet. Her expression darkened the closer Nick got. So, yeah, she’d noticed.
“Sorry, Becca,” Shane said, rising to his feet. “Won’t happen again.”
Nick shook his head and caught her hands in his. “Be mad at me, not him. I started it. A guy thing.”
She rolled her eyes but cupped his face in her hand as she looked him over. “Well, let’s be done with the guy things, okay? We have enough enemies out there without fighting each other.”
“Roger that,” Shane said, regret making him weary.
“Okay, sunshine,” Nick said, his voice sounding as exhausted as Shane felt. Nick followed her out the door but threw a look over his shoulder before he stepped into the hall. “You coming?”
“Uh.” Shane tugged his fingers through his hair. “In a few. I think I’ll just”—he shrugged—“listen in on the feeds from Crystal’s and Confessions for a little while. Or something.”
Nick gave a tight nod, and the door closed behind them, leaving Shane alone in the cavernous quiet of the unfinished warehouse. He licked at the crust of blood on his lip as aches screamed from every joint in his body.
But, goddamn, the silence around him only amplified the roar in his head. Because the space between his ears was loud with the sound of all the words he couldn’t take back, of all the things he should’ve said but hadn’t, of all the things he wished he could say, but couldn’t.
Like apologizing to Nick.
Like . . .
Like telling Molly, yes, she could play with him and his friends.
Like telling her he was sorry he’d sent her away.
Like having the chance to say good-bye.
Jamming his hands in his pockets, his fingers found the chain of Molly’s butterfly necklace. God, what he wouldn’t give for five more minutes with his kid sister. Just five. Did she know how sorry he was? How much he loved her? That he’d devoted his life to making things right for others as a penance for getting so much wrong with her?
He stood there. Absolutely lost and completely alone. It was the stinging in his eyes that finally caught his attention, made him realize he’d been staring off into space. He wiped the burn away. Just a little sweat in his eyes. Damnit.
He hadn’t kept Molly safe, but maybe he could do that for Crystal and Jenna. And maybe Crystal could lead him to information that would help him clear his name, his teammates’ names, and the names of his six brothers who’d died. Because they were his family, too. That was a shit-ton of maybes, but Shane didn’t have a choice. A lifetime of guilt and a soul-deep sense of duty meant, at the very least, he had to try.
Chapter 7
Crystal lurched into a sitting position, not sure what had woken her. From her makeshift bed on the floor of Jenna’s bedroom, her gaze cut to her sister, all balled up against the far wall and sleeping soundly. Then what—
“Crystal! Open the damn door!” Bang, bang.
Bruno?
Adrenaline racing through her system from being startled awake, Crystal scrabbled off the floor and dashed through the apartment. What the hell was he doing here? And what time was it, anyway? Pitch black still cloaked the outside world, so it had to be the middle of the night.
A light that shouldn’t have been there slanted in a narrow beam across the living-room carpet. Crystal flicked the switch to the front hallway’s ceiling fixture and realized it had been the light from the landing streaming through the exterior door, already ajar about two inches. Only the security chain kept it from being opened all the way.
“Open it before I break it down,” Bruno growled, peering through the gap.
“What’s the matter?” she said, completely bewildered by his presence and his urgent anger. “Step back so I can undo the chain.”
As soon as she did, he pushed his way in, shoved past her, and looked around, like he was searching for something.
Tucking her hair behind her ears, Crystal watched him for a long moment, not wanting to risk having him direct his ire at her. Though, given
his foul mood, that was likely going to happen whether she did something to attract it or not. “Bruno, what’s happened? What’s the matter?” she finally asked.
He pivoted toward her. “Who’s here?”
“What do you mean? Me and Jenna.” But, true as it was, her stomach was already sinking. Given the night’s earlier activities, his question couldn’t be a coincidence.
His gaze narrowed, and his expression darkened. “We’ll see about that, won’t we?” Grasping her by the biceps, he yanked her down the dark hallway toward the bedrooms.
“Ow, you’re hurting me,” she said, as his fingers dug into her bare skin. “There’s no one here. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Dragging her to the threshold of her bedroom, he reached in and flicked on her overhead light. Her bed was still made, the lavender comforter all straight and flat, her pretty throw pillows in a neat row against the headboard. Her normal pillows were all on Jenna’s floor . . .
Bruno stalked into the room and whipped open the closet so hard a big stack of fabric scraps from her sewing projects tumbled out. He braced like he thought someone might actually be hidden within.
What made him think someone was here? There had been a few times over the years when she’d had a niggling thought that he seemed to know something he shouldn’t, but never anything that so blatantly made her wonder if maybe some of his guys spied on her. God, she wouldn’t put it past him. The thought brought a sting to the back of her eyes. Did she truly have nowhere she was safe, nowhere she could have a slice of privacy? Although no doubt Bruno would feel entitled to snoop as much as he liked since he’d taken over the rent when Crystal had once fallen so far behind they received an eviction notice. Even with Jenna contributing some of her work-study money, Church took so much of what Crystal made at Confessions that she often couldn’t make ends meet without Bruno’s “help.” Which wasn’t exactly free, was it?
Still, the thought of him watching or, worse, listening stirred up a storm cloud of anger and resentment in the space between her ears until she struggled to keep her expression and voice neutral.
“Where is he?” Bruno said, crouching to look beneath her bed, then storming into the bathroom and ripping the shower curtain back.
“Where is who? There’s no one here. I was asleep.”
“Oh, yeah?” Eyebrows arched, he pointed to her too-tidy bed, like he was so freaking clever.
She laid a gentle hand on his chest. “Just listen for one second. Please?” His expression was a volcano about to erupt. She rushed on. “Jenna had one of the worst seizures I’ve ever seen a few hours ago. I was sleeping on her floor in case she needed me.” She eased her sister’s bedroom door open and stepped back so he could look in. “See? I’m worried about her, Bruno. She was completely delirious afterward and still hasn’t really woken up.”
A frown carved deep into his face, he leaned into the room, his gaze going from Jenna’s still form to the mess of blankets and pillows on the carpet . . . to the closed closet door. Holy crap, he still didn’t believe her.
Before he charged into the room and scared Jenna awake, Crystal padded across the carpet, slowly twisted the handle, and opened the closet door to show him that the only things within belonged there. She kept her expression carefully blank, but her thoughts were filled with, Asshole. Control freak. Jerk.
But since he was the assholish, control-freak jerk who paid for their housing and Jenna’s various medications and numerous checkups, she put up with him. At over five thousand dollars every three months, Jenna’s treatments didn’t give her much choice.
Not for much longer, though . . .
Because once Jenna graduated from college, she could get a job that would provide her health benefits and, for the first time in four years, Crystal wouldn’t feel compelled to do something, be someone, or be with someone she didn’t want to ensure her sister had the care she required.
She didn’t resent Jenna. Not one bit. Everyone made sacrifices for the people they loved. Crystal wasn’t special in that. It just worked out that between their father’s imprisonment, the debts he’d owed Church that, after her dad died, Church decided Crystal should repay, and Jenna’s epilepsy, Crystal’s options were bad, bad, and bad.
The only silver lining in all of it was that their father had apparently extracted a promise from Bruno to take care of his girls while he was in prison, which Bruno had honored because her father had once saved his life. And that, combined with Jenna’s ill health, had shielded her from sharing Crystal’s fate. But Crystal lived in fear that Church could at any moment override Bruno and force Jenna to work, too. Or worse.
Now Crystal was in way too deep—in debt to Church, in debt to Bruno, and in possession of just enough knowledge of the Church gang’s inner workings—to ever be able to walk away. Which was why she planned to run.
She closed the closet door and returned to Bruno’s side.
With a jerk of his head, he urged her into the hallway. “She had the seizure in here?” he asked, his tone less aggressive.
“No, downstairs, at the bottom of the steps. Happened right when I got home from work.” All at once, she realized she had to give him at least a little of what he’d been fishing for. It was a risk—because Bruno forbade any other men except his guys from coming inside the apartment—but he clearly knew something. In a flash of desperate brilliance, a cover story came to mind. “Wayne from downstairs came home during the middle of it and helped me get her inside. He stayed for a while to make sure we were okay, then he left.” She let realization wash over her expression. “Is that . . . is that why you thought someone was here? But how . . .”
Bruno crossed his arms, rocked on his bootheels, and pressed his lips into a tight line. “No one’s allowed here, Crystal.”
Crystal could count the number of times Bruno had ever seemed uncomfortable on one hand, but now was one of those times. The fidgetiness was so not him. Ha. She’d turned the tables around a bit.
Not that she could enjoy the little victory for long. Last thing she wanted was for his discomfort to morph into a new reason to get angry. “I know. I’m sorry. And, anyway, I’m just glad you’re here. I didn’t think I’d get to see you tonight.” She smiled and pretended doing so didn’t kill a small part of her.
His shoulders untensed, just the littlest bit. “You know I had work to do.”
“I know. Any progress?” she asked.
“We’ll get the fuckers, don’t worry.” He heaved a breath and leaned heavily against the doorframe behind him.
The fuckers. As in Shane, who’d stood in nearly the same exact place maybe three hours ago. Crystal’s stomach flipped. “You seem tense. I know you’ve got a lot on your shoulders.”
“You relax me, baby. You always know just what to do.” He grasped her cheek in his hand and rubbed his thumb over her lips. As his stare zeroed in on her mouth, Crystal knew exactly what he wanted, and it made her stomach roll. Fuck my life, she thought, just as a moan sounded from behind Jenna’s door.
Frowning, Crystal froze. There it was, again. “Hold that thought,” she whispered, then peeked inside the room.
Jenna crawled unsteadily toward the edge of the bed. “Gon’ be sick, gon’ be sick,” she whimpered.
Crystal darted inside and lifted the plastic bathroom trash can she’d left on the floor by the bed. “Here you go, sweetie.” She managed to pull her sister’s hair back from her face just as Jenna vomited into the can.
When Jenna stopped heaving, she sat there, holding the can in front of her. “Do you think you’re going to get sick again? Are you nauseous?” But Jenna just stared into the bucket, still not coherent enough to respond to Crystal’s questions.
Before she threw up again, Crystal made a trip to the bathroom for a wet washcloth and a towel. “Sorry,” she said to Bruno, now standing in Jenna’s doorway. He shook his head, obviously not pleased by this turn of events but not angry, either. Crystal had to give him credit—he’d alw
ays seemed to have a soft spot for Jenna, maybe because he had a younger sister of his own, and he’d seen how the epilepsy ravaged Jenna with his own eyes. She supposed it was one of the reasons she’d once felt so safe with him.
Good thing Bruno didn’t know what Jenna thought of him now. And he could never know.
Kneeling on the floor by the bed, Crystal wiped Jenna’s brow with the cool cloth, smiling when the other woman lifted her eyes and made contact. There was a flash of clarity in Jenna’s blue-eyed gaze before it disappeared as another wave of nausea washed over her. She vomited into the bucket again.
“Little better now,” Jenna mumbled, falling into a ball on her side.
Crystal carried the bucket to the bathroom and flushed its contents, then she washed it out in the bathtub.
She hated seeing her sister like this, hated not being able to do more to make her better, but a part of her wanted to throw her sister a party and bake her a cake. If Jenna hadn’t gotten sick when she did, Crystal would probably be getting a rug imprint on her knees right now.
Not that she wanted Jenna to get sick, of course. But if it had to have happened, it couldn’t have done so at a better time.
“I’m sorry,” she said, hugging Bruno from behind.
“Don’t be. I’ll take a rain check. You gotta deal with this.”
Thank God he’d been the one to say it. Now he couldn’t come back at her later and try to say she hadn’t wanted to be with him. She came around him and pushed up on her tiptoes to kiss his lips. “Thank you.”
“Hmm,” he said, clearly unhappy that neither his surprise raid nor his booty call had worked out the way he’d expected.
“Hey, I have an idea,” Crystal said, smiling and hooking her arms around his neck. “I’m scheduled to work the late shift tomorrow night, but I have off on Wednesday. Let’s go on a date. Whatever you want to do.”
His expression softened. “Sounds nice, but I can’t. Got a meeting Wednesday night.”
The meeting. Shane.
She hadn’t set out to ask about the meeting, but Bruno’s mention of it immediately resurrected the sound of Shane’s voice in her head. I might’ve gotten my friend back, but he’s still in danger, Crystal. This meeting might be the key to something for him. “That’s okay. We can go out after,” she said, hoping her voice didn’t sound any different because she could feel the quickened beat of her own pulse everywhere their bodies touched.
