Hart of Darkness

by S. B. Alexander

  But Cory and the Black Knights weren’t the subject of the words that were flying from my fingers. I was a crime reporter. I reported on the ugliness of the streets and people and all the twisted things that happened outside the newsroom, outside of my little bubble.

  However, I couldn’t get over the exchange between Duke and Dillon. Two brothers who loved each other yet hated one another was the great dichotomy between blood and family.

  My heart had broken as they’d punched and yelled and spit venom at each other. Under all that, I’d seen the love in Dillon’s eyes for Duke. I’d seen the regret in Duke’s eyes for keeping such a huge secret from Dillon. More than that, as crazy as it might sound, their exchange had made me want to talk to my mom. I hadn’t opened the envelope. But I would when I put the ending on my story. I’d been glued to my desk for the last week, furiously trying to get the bundle of sentences, thoughts, and words down.

  I definitely wouldn’t print the story without consulting Dillon, nor would I add Duke or Dillon’s name to the story. I wasn’t sure if Bruce would print any of what I was writing anyway since it had nothing to do with crime, although in a roundabout way, it did. Crime had taken hold of Duke. The streets had sucked up Grace. Nadine’s life had been taken. And I believed that my parents had committed the biggest crime of all by leaving me at a firehouse.

  Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.

  My cell rang, halting my fingers over the keyboard.

  My body did a little dance. “Hey, Dillon.”

  “Are you at work?” he asked, his voice raspy and dampening all the right spots.

  We hadn’t seen each other since Duke’s, but we had traded a few texts of the normal “how are you doing” or “what are you up to” variety. I’d thought about stopping by his house or the shelter, but after the encounter at Duke’s, I believed he needed space. I was tied to my desk anyway.

  “I am. I’m typing away. How about you? Have you talked to Duke since that night at his penthouse?” My fingers were crossed that they had worked out their differences and more importantly, that Grace had shown up.

  “No. And he hasn’t called. His deadline is in two days.”

  I prayed that Duke would come through for Dillon’s sake. “Are you really going to rat him out if he doesn’t call you if Grace shows up?” I couldn’t see Dillon sending his brother to jail. That type of behavior wasn’t in him as far as I could see.

  “I don’t know what I’m going to do,” he said with no animosity in his voice.

  I was so absorbed in talking to Dillon that I didn’t hear Bruce until he waved a hand in front of me. Then he perched himself on the edge of my cubicle, waiting.

  “I have to go.” Normally, Bruce wouldn’t interrupt me unless it was important. “Can I call you later?” Please say yes.

  “Of course. Talk soon.”

  As soon as I hung up, Bruce asked, “Did you finally prove that Calderon is a soldier for the Black Knights?”

  I swiveled my chair. “Not yet. I will, though.” My gut gave me a little punch, and my pulse amped up at the thought that Calderon would suffer for his sins. In between writing, I’d been researching who owned that house on Bleven and Third.

  Bruce glanced at my screen.

  I franticly closed the Word document. I wasn’t ready for him to read anything.

  He folded his arms over his royal-blue polo shirt. The color brought out his gray eyes more. “Care to tell me what you’re working on, then?”

  “What if I told you that I have something that would sell more papers on Sunday than we’ve sold in the last four months?”

  He deadpanned, not giving me a read on his thoughts like he usually did when I bragged about a topic. “I’m listening.”

  I interlocked my fingers to keep any nerves from showing. “Crime is a knife, sharp, jagged, and bloody, immoral in its actions, tearing families apart.” I had the first line memorized and had rewritten it several times.

  “Go on,” Bruce said.

  I swallowed the rock in my throat. I shouldn’t be timid about sharing. I’d done it so many times in a roundtable discussion when Bruce and all the reporters brainstormed on story ideas. But I was about to get personal, not only about myself, but about two brothers who had shown me that the atrocity in the world was the hatred that took root inside a family. That hatred festered and bled and leaked with poison. And despite the animosity and mountain of problems that had driven a wedge between them, love for each other and their sister still existed. Sure, I’d seen fights and hate in the foster families I’d stayed with, but I’d never seen love in the mix like I had with Dillon and Duke.

  “As evil as crime might be, there’s nothing more sinful than the bond of a family being ripped apart, whether the bond is severed from a death or from a loved one who left their child on the doorstep of a firehouse.”

  His eyebrow lifted. “You want to tell your story.”

  Nodding, I plucked the envelope that was now crumpled on the edges out of my bag. “In here is my biological mother’s address. Ted found her against my wishes. But I think I’m ready to write the ending to my story.” Well, maybe not the ending. I had a future ahead of me, and part of that future was to unravel how I felt about Dillon. I’d told him that I liked him a lot, and that was the truth. He made my stomach queasy in a good way. He made my palms sweat and my heart race. I didn’t know what to make of all the weird feelings he gave me, but I knew I wanted more with him.

  “How do you feel about knowing who your mother is?” Bruce asked evenly. He had his reporter hat on.

  I shrugged. “At first, I was dead set on not contacting her. The more I think about it, the more I’m warming to the idea. I am curious, and I do have questions.”

  “You should know who your mom is. If not, you’ll look back and regret that you didn’t follow through.” He seemed as though he had a regret or two of his own. “So, does Calderon fit into your story?” Bruce asked.

  “You mean will I write about the part where he left me for dead? Absolutely.” Until I met Dillon, I wouldn’t tell anyone the details of what Cory had done to me. Dillon had said in so many words not to hide who I was because of some scar. I couldn’t see past the revenge that had dug its nails into me so deep, so hard, and so clear. And while I hated that I was forever marked, or more like disfigured, I had an opportunity to ruin Cory’s reputation and warn women of men like Cory.

  He gripped my shoulder. “You’re healing, and that’s good. I’m proud of you, but what you’re writing sounds more like a memoir and not for the paper.”

  I pouted. “What about the editorial section?”

  “Mags, your job is to report on the actions of criminals. So stick to the Black Knights story. Find the facts.”

  His rejection stung like an angry bee. I could argue all day long. It wouldn’t get me anywhere. Bruce was super sweet but tough as nails when it came to running a newspaper. He’d also been around the industry long enough to know what would sell papers. After all, the company was in the business to make money, not listen or read my dark history. “Got it, boss.” He was right. I had to stick with the Black Knights for now. After all, I had a job to do, but at some point in the near future, I would write about my life. The small amount of words I’d written had seemed cathartic, as though I’d shed years of emotional distress.

  “What did you find on the house?” Bruce asked.

  I pointed to my notepad on my desk. “Marco Holdings owns the house. Weird that the owner is a holdings company and not an individual or couple. I couldn’t find who owns Marco Holdings, though.” The house Nadine had been in was in an upscale neighborhood, but a holdings company?

  He tucked his hands in the pocket of his khakis. “It might be odd, but not unheard of. Does Ted know what you found?”

  “I haven’t talked to him,” I said. The last time I had was when he’d scolded me about Nadine. I was avoiding him somewhat anyway. He would probably ask if I’d contacted my mother, and when he found out I hadn’t, he wo
uld launch into a speech about family again.

  “Let’s not clue him in to what we have,” Bruce said. “I don’t want him to call my boss like he did when we were working on the bank heist last year.”

  I’d completely forgotten about that. Then again, I hadn’t been the reporter on record. My former colleague who had retired had been working on that story. Regardless, I knew that once Ted had caught wind of what the paper was about to print on identifying the mastermind behind the bank robbery, he had taken the sails out of the entire article. Bruce had been livid. Needless to say, he wasn’t all that thrilled when he found out Ted and I were tight.

  I gnawed on my lip. “You won’t get an argument out of me.” I was tired of hearing “Go home, Maggie, or you’re going to get yourself hurt.” I liked that Ted worried, but damn it. I had a job to do as well.

  “Good. So whatever you find and have solid proof on with the Black Knights, then you come to me. Our goal is to sell papers, not kiss the ass of the police force.” His tone was as sharp as the scissors next to my notepad.

  I hadn’t given up on snooping around the house that Marco Holdings owned. I knew the house could be under surveillance as Dillon had mentioned, but I didn’t see any harm in driving by it at least. Maybe I would get lucky and find Cory walking in or out. I was about to tell Bruce my plan, when I heard my name.

  “Maggie is over there,” Fran said.

  Bruce glanced out at the newsroom. “I think you have a visitor.”

  I popped up and peered over the array of cubicles. My mouth opened, and my belly went haywire as butterflies flapped their wings.

  Dillon’s hair was tamed like it had been at Nadine’s funeral, and while he would look good no matter what hairstyle he wore, I preferred the tousled, out-of-control vibe he usually wore—the one that shouted rugged, rough, raw, and red-hot. Despite his hair, the crooked grin he was giving me heated my cheeks.

  Bruce leaned in. “You’re blushing, Mags. That’s a first, and it suits you.”

  Dillon came around the cubicle wall with a bouquet of colorful carnations. “I hope I’m not interrupting.”

  He was a sight for sore eyes, literally and figuratively. My eyes needed a break, and I’d missed Dillon.

  Bruce extended his hand. “I’m Bruce, Maggie’s editor and boss.”

  “Dillon Hart.” He oozed all kinds of sex appeal from the way his fresh-ocean-scented cologne drifted off him, to his wardrobe—tattered jeans, biker boots, and a starched red button-up shirt with the sleeves pushed up to his elbows.

  After the two exchanged pleasantries, Bruce scurried into his office. I glanced around to find that most of the women in the office were riveted on my cubicle.

  I pulled him in. “You’re going to give the women a meltdown.”

  His rugged features crumpled as he sat on the edge of my desk in the exact spot where Bruce had been. His gaze scanned the contents of my messy desk.

  I lowered myself into my rolling chair. “Don’t be so coy. Hot guy walks into the newsroom with flowers. It’s every girl’s dream.”

  He let out a deep laugh. “Is that your dream, Maggie?”

  I thought my dream would be round two with him in bed or having him spank me with a ping-pong paddle, but that wasn’t enough anymore. In between writing, I’d had a chance to seriously think about things I wanted. One was a family. I had no one in my life other than Ted, and it was time to do something about that. I wanted a steady relationship with someone, that person being the delicious specimen next to me. I longed for him to kiss me, to touch me as if I were porcelain and breakable, and to tell me I was the only woman he wanted. I’d never wanted any of those things from a man. I was content with who I was and what I had. I was confident and bold and aggressive. If I wanted something, I went for it.

  With Dillon, though, I didn’t want to be bold. I believed I had forced him into keeping his distance, hence, leaving our feelings at the door. So I’d come to the conclusion that I had to let him make the next move. I was super stoked his move involved flowers.

  I was crushing hard. “What are the flowers for?”

  The orchestra of the newsroom restarted, and the pounding of computer keys, the phones ringing, and the voices droning tittered around us.

  He handed the bouquet to me. “They’re for a beautiful woman that I want to take to dinner.”

  I liked the romantic side of Dillon. “Are we leaving our feelings at the door?”

  “It wouldn’t be a date if we did,” he said.

  I wondered what had changed on his part while the blood raced through my system at breakneck speeds.

  I wagged my finger between us. “This is us letting nature take its course?”

  He nodded. “Something like that.”

  I’d never been out on a real date with dinner and flowers and wine and conversation. I’d never had a first crush either—one where girls got all giddy and gaga over a boy. Dillon might be my crush, my first love.

  He licked his lip ring. “If dating isn’t your thing, then I’m cool.”

  I was beginning to realize that him playing with his lip ring was a nervous tick.

  “I’m not sure how to date.” But if the date meant a first kiss, then hell yeah. I was on board. He’d licked and kissed parts of me, but he had never touched my lips.

  He chuckled. “Neither do I.”

  I could hear my neighbor, Rosemary, choke.

  “What changed?”

  He shoved his hands into his jeans pockets. “Time. A week. You. Me. Grace. Life. I realized after leaving Duke’s that I’ve been living in the past. I’ve been helping others and not putting myself first. It’s time I start, and I would like to start by taking you on a date.”

  Rosemary peeked over her cubicle, her blue eyes wide and shifting. “What are you waiting for, Maggie? Say yes to the hunk.”

  I puckered my lips. Dillon and I were so much alike. We both had a dark past. We both had demons that drove our actions. I for sure was living in the past, but that was about to change. “So boyfriend and girlfriend. Dillon and Maggie. I do like the sound of that.”

  Rosemary clapped.

  Dillon gave me one of his heart-pounding grins.

  I believed all that had happened in our pasts had prepared us for that moment. Whether it was one date or more with Dillon Hart, I was ready for him. I was ready for feelings and, dare I say, love.

  26

  Dillon

  Norma lingered in the doorway of my office with a proud smile. In a small way, she reminded me of Grace, who had done something similar when I combed my hair in the bathroom mirror. Right now, I was threading my fingers through my hair without a mirror.

  Norma popped off the doorjamb. “You look good. You’re nervous, aren’t you?”

  I pocketed my phone and keys. “I’ve never been on a date.” I wouldn’t call the night Maggie and I had had sex a date.

  Norma moved deeper inside. “Not even in high school?”

  “Nope.” My high school days were a blur, and girls back then hadn’t belonged with a guy who was in a gang. I’d had enough worries with making sure my enemies didn’t come after my family.

  Heavy footsteps clobbered down the hall. Then Hunt’s big body filled the doorway. His blond hair was as unruly as mine. I’d thought about styling my mane much like I had when I’d gone to see Maggie at the newspaper the day before. But the GQ look wasn’t me. I couldn’t be somebody I wasn’t. Plus, Maggie kept looking at my hair for some reason. I’d concluded when I left her building that she didn’t like my hairstyle.

  “Dillon, you have a guest,” Hunt announced. “He says he’s your brother. Kind of looks like you.”

  I didn’t know how to react. Duke’s deadline to produce Grace was tomorrow. Maybe she’d shown up early. Or maybe I had my days wrong. Maybe he was there to tell me Grace hadn’t shown up, and he wanted to plead with me not to rat him out to the cops. But I hadn’t had time to worry about him or Grace. The time between Duke’s penthouse and now
had been an eye-opener in many ways.

  I’d had time to think about Maggie, Grace, my family, the shelter, and me. Rafe had been so right when he’d said, “Put yourself first.” I needed to take his advice. He’d been concerned about my health, and with my chest burning constantly, I had to agree with him. The rage, the worry, and the sleepless nights were mounting into an ulcer or a breakdown. My turning point had been what Maggie had said in the elevator. “Cherish what you have.” What I had was the shelter and her, and I wanted to explore what I was feeling for her.

  I couldn’t keep on my quest to find Grace. It was evident she didn’t want me to know she was alive. I would have been fooling myself if I said that didn’t hurt like hell.

  I did want to put my mission to find Grace behind me. I did want to see her. I did want to understand what had happened to her. But if she was alive, then I had to let her come to me.

  “Anyone with him?” I asked, my pulse staccato.

  Hunt shook his head. “Sorry, man. Do you want me to send him away?”

  The large knotted ball in the pit of my stomach tightened, and that pain in my chest resurfaced.

  “Yes,” Norma blurted out. “You’re going to be late for your date. Duke has been a dick to you, so screw him.”

  I’d given Duke an ultimatum. I wasn’t backing out of it, and since he was there, I had to at least hear what he had to say. “I have over an hour before I meet Maggie. This won’t take long.”

  Anger darkened Norma’s pretty face.

  I kissed Norma on the forehead. “You’re right about Duke. But I need to end this once and for all. Close the proverbial door.” That way, I could relax and enjoy Maggie in every way. I had big plans after dinner that involved her and me and slow, tantalizing lovemaking. No rough sex, at least not tonight. I wanted her to feel every touch and every kiss I gave her and her body.

  I walked out with Hunt and Norma on my heels.

  I didn’t doubt that they would want to watch and protect me, and while I didn’t mind Norma and Hunt eavesdropping, I didn’t want the women in the shelter to hear. My personal life wasn’t for their ears. They had enough problems in their own lives.