Slow Burn: A Bad Boy Romance (Assassins Book 1)

by V. J. Chambers

  But now, I wasn’t crushed and sad anymore. Instead, I was angry. Angry at the universe for letting something this awful happen to me. When I was with Griffin, it felt epic. I thought we were forever. I thought we were larger-than-life. I thought nothing on earth could stop us.

  It was a cruel twist of fate that he could just skip out on me, that something as mundane as breaking up could happen to us. We weren’t supposed to do that.

  But we had. It was over. Griffin was gone. I was alone. And that was the way life was. My life wasn’t some pitch-perfect, happily-ever-after story like I’d idiotically thought it was going to be. Instead, I was one of those cliché girls who was so upset that her boyfriend was gone she was completely ruined afterwards. I used to have plans. When I looked into the future, I saw Griffin and me together, making a life. Buying furniture together, planting a garden outside our house, falling asleep every night in each other’s arms. Now... everything was blank and dark.

  I guessed that made me pathetic and hopeless.

  Strong women didn’t pin their hopes on a guy. Strong women recognized that men were milestones, not destinations. Strong women didn’t care when people dumped them.

  I was, apparently, the absolute opposite of a strong woman.

  It was my fault, anyway. Naomi could say that it wasn’t all she wanted, but I knew the truth. I’d done something he thought was unforgivable, and that was why he was never coming back. I’d screwed it all up.

  Sure, I’d never have done that unforgivable thing if he hadn’t abandoned me after New Year’s Eve, but I’d still done it. It was ultimately my fault. Even if he’d driven me to it.

  So I went to The Purple Fiddle that night. Because I should leave my house. And because it was my fault, so I’d better get over it. Because I didn’t have anyone to blame except myself.

  I sat at a table, toying with a salt shaker than looked like a mushroom, sipping a beer. There was a band playing tonight. No one that I’d heard of. I used to keep track of things like the bands that came to The Purple Fiddle but not anymore. I hadn’t been interested in much since Griffin left.

  Naomi was into the band, however. She was dancing way up front. She’d tried to get me to come up with her, but I wasn’t in the mood to dance. I told her she was lucky she’d gotten me to come out at all.

  I sat and nursed my beer and tried to think about something besides Griffin.

  It felt like he was all I thought about. Thoughts of his absence intruded, no matter what I did. I could be doing my homework, and suddenly, I would remember that Griffin was gone, and that he wasn’t coming back, and that it was all my fault.

  “This seat taken?”

  I looked up. There was a guy standing over me, gesturing to an empty chair at my table. He was attractive. He had light brown curls and a winning smile. Face like apple pie, Naomi would say. “Um, well, no one’s sitting there, but—”

  “Good.” He sat down. “I’m Lance.”

  I didn’t know what to do. “Listen, Lance, I’m sure you’re very—”

  “In polite society, it’s customary to give your name after someone gives theirs.” He was smiling. He had dimples. Seriously?

  I couldn’t help but smile too. “Leigh. I’m Leigh.”

  He offered me his hand. “Very nice to meet you.”

  I shook with him. “I’m not... You shouldn’t waste time with me.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “Waste time?”

  “You seem like a very nice guy, and I’d hate for you to expend a lot of energy flirting with me when I’m not going to be interested.”

  “Ouch,” he said.

  “No, not because there’s anything wrong with you. It’s because of me. I’m... incredibly broken.”

  He took a drink of his beer. “We’re having the it’s-not-you-it’s-me speech already? You like to skip to the end, don’t you?”

  I set down the mushroom salt shaker, still smiling. I liked him. He was nice. He was good looking. I wished that could be enough. But I wasn’t ready for him, and I wasn’t sure I ever would be. “I’m sorry.”

  “Bad breakup?”

  “That would be an inadequate way to describe it,” I said. “The world exploded, and everything was destroyed, but no one else noticed. I was picking up the pieces, and everyone else was going about their business, acting like I should too.”

  He nodded. “Yeah. I know what that’s like.”

  I doubted it. I must have made a face indicating that.

  “What? You don’t believe me?” he said. “I was left at the altar.”

  “Ooh,” I said. “Really?”

  “Really,” he said. “I thought stuff like that only happened in movies.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said.

  “Don’t be. It was a year ago,” he said. “We were too young to get married anyway.” He took another drink. “But I understand. Too soon. Can I buy you a friendly beer, though?”

  “Um...”

  He held up a hand. “With the understanding that I don’t have a snowball’s chance in hell of you actually wanting anything other than friendship.”

  I smiled wider, unable to stop myself. He was funny. He was maybe even sweet. But he wasn’t Griffin.

  * * *

  “You’ve got mail,” chirped my phone.

  I groaned, rolling over in bed. Why had I ever set my stupid phone to say that every time I got a text message? It had once seemed cute, but now it was annoying. And it had woken me up. I picked up the phone on the nightstand and checked the message.

  It was a picture.

  It loaded, and I sat up straight, turning on the light. What the hell?

  The picture was Naomi. She was tied to a chair, duct tape over her mouth, a cut on her forehead dripping blood over her face. She looked afraid. She looked hurt.

  What the hell?

  “You’ve got mail,” said my phone.

  I jumped. Jesus.

  I opened the new text.

  “Tell Griffin to call this number or your friend dies.”

  I dropped the phone.

  No.

  No, this was not happening. It had been over a year since men from Op Wraith were chasing me and trying to kill me. It had been over a year since I’d gotten the phone call from my friend Stacey. I could still hear her terrified voice on the phone, telling me that men with guns wanted me there.

  I hadn’t been in time to save Stacey.

  I’d never forgive myself for that. Not really.

  Why was it happening again? There was no one left at Operation Wraith. Two of the heads of the operation were dead, and my father and Jolene French both had complete amnesia. There wasn’t anyone left to try to hurt me.

  Except this message was for Griffin, wasn’t it?

  Whoever had done this wanted Griffin, not me. Not Naomi. We were both caught in the crossfire here. And the problem was that I had no idea where Griffin was. I hadn’t seen him since February, and he’d been so angry when he left that he hadn’t bothered to give me a way to reach him.

  I picked the phone back up. I looked at the picture of Naomi. I bit my lip.

  Hell.

  What was I going to do?

  I could try calling this number and explaining that Griffin and I broke up, and that I didn’t know where he was. But I was pretty sure that wouldn’t get me anywhere. They wouldn’t believe me. They’d probably just kill Naomi.

  So.

  What should I do? Should I call the police?

  Yes. That was the smart thing to do, right? I’d call the police. I dialed 911 on my phone.

  * * *

  “So, this Griffin guy is your ex-boyfriend?” said the police officer in my living room. He was holding my phone. There was a fire truck, an ambulance, and two cop cars parked outside my apartment. Apparently, a 911 call like this was out of the ordinary for Thomas, WV.

  I nodded.

  “And he was messed up with bad people?”

  “Yeah,” I said. “I don’t really know much abou
t it.”

  “You don’t know where he is.”

  I shook my head.

  The police were not being a lot of help. First of all, they’d called the number the texts had come from, even though I didn’t want them to. I was afraid it would mean that Naomi got hurt.

  But it hadn’t caused any negative consequences. They got a voice mail that said that Griffin needed to meet Marcel in Atlantic City in two weeks.

  “And you don’t have any idea who this Marcel is?” said the police officer.

  I shook my head again. “I never heard of anyone like that.” It was true. He could have been someone else from Op Wraith, I supposed, but I really didn’t know. Griffin hadn’t talked about that stuff very much. It was painful for him, and I hadn’t pushed.

  “All right,” he said. “Well, we’re looking for your friend, Naomi. And if you can think of any way to get in touch with your ex-boyfriend, maybe you should.”

  And that was it. They said they’d have a cop car making the rounds near my house in case anything happened.

  Then they left.

  I felt like calling the police hadn’t been particularly productive. They were looking for Naomi, so that was good. But right now she was still tied up somewhere. Hurt. Scared. And because of me. Because of Griffin. Because I dated Griffin. Trouble seemed to follow me, it seemed. And the people I became friends with.

  I couldn’t let anything happen to Naomi. I stared at her picture on my phone, at the fear in her eyes. I needed to do something.

  That was when I saw it.

  In the background of the picture, right behind Naomi’s head, I saw the edge of a windowsill. I recognized it.

  Before I met Griffin, I used to sometimes party out in this abandoned house a few miles out of town. There had been a fire there, and it was only partially standing. It was completely ruined, a falling-down, gutted place. I hadn’t been there in a while. But there was something distinctive about that windowsill. I would know it anywhere.

  I knew where Naomi was.

  I started to dial the police again.

  Then I stopped. They hadn’t been all that helpful just now, had they?

  Instead, I went to my kitchen, opened a drawer and pulled everything out of it. I threw it on the counter—rubber bands, beer caps, knick knacks, and other junk. The drawer had a false bottom.

  I moved it out of the way, and there was a gun hidden down there. Griffin had insisted we have them just to be cautious. He’d taken some of the hidden guns with him when he left. But he hadn’t taken this one.

  I took it out of the drawer, along with a box of ammunition. I began to load it.

  * * *

  I parked pretty far away from the abandoned house. I didn’t want to spook whoever had Naomi. Assuming he was still there. He’d taken the picture here, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t loaded her into a trunk or something and driven off.

  It was May, and it had been pretty warm the past few days. Even though it was the wee hours of the morning, it wasn’t too cold. The jacket I’d put on to conceal the fact I’d tucked the gun into the waist of my pants was a little too warm. I was sweating.

  Maybe I was only sweating because I was terrified, though. I’d never done anything like this on my own before.

  After I got out of my car, I walked into the woods and traveled near the tree line until I got close to the abandoned house. It was what Griffin would have done.

  But Griffin would have been quieter than I was. He could creep through the woods. I never seemed to be able to do it without making the dead leaves crunch under my feet. Too loud.

  I walked as carefully and quietly as I could, keeping my eyes out for anyone who might be watching for me.

  I didn’t see anything but trees and undergrowth and the starry night sky.

  The abandoned house came into view within a few minutes. It had been white once. Now, most of the siding had been singed off, and it was dulled by the smoke from the fire that destroyed it. Mud and time hadn’t done it any favors either. I couldn’t describe the color as anything other than a dingy gray now.

  One side of the house had collapsed, but the other side still had a roof and even some windows with cracked glass in them. The tall grass was littered with beer bottles and cigarette butts. Like I said, this place was used as a party hangout in the summer.

  I crouched in the woods behind a tree, looking and listening. Was there anyone inside the house?

  I couldn’t see anything. The house was dead and dark. Nothing stirred behind its windows. All I could hear was the distant sound of an occasional car traveling down an adjacent road and my own heartbeat crashing against my skull.

  She was probably gone.

  Or maybe she wasn’t here at all. Maybe she was some other place with distinctive windowsills, and I was completely off base.

  A low whistle cut through the silence.

  I froze, gripping the tree trunk. My heart thudded even faster.

  There was someone inside that house, and he was whistling “Oh My Darling, Clementine.”

  Oh God. I swallowed hard, unsure of what to do.

  Was it the person who’d captured Naomi?

  I had to get closer. I had to see.

  I stayed low as I left the cover of the woods, darting through the overgrown lawn until I was right at the house. I flattened myself against the dingy siding, struggling to keep my breath soft and steady.

  I could swear I was gasping far too loudly.

  The whistling continued uninterrupted.

  He hadn’t heard me.

  Slowly, I crept along the side of the house until I came to a window. I peered inside.

  It was the old kitchen. The appliances had long been ripped out, and there was only a sink along the wall, its faucet glinting dully in the moonlight. The paint on the cabinets was warped and peeling from the heat of the fire.

  I moved past the window to the next one.

  That window had been busted open, and there were shards of glass outside. They crunched under my feet as I got close.

  I stopped moving at the noise, trying to melt into the house.

  The whistling stopped.

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