by Lara Swann
I swivel and stride out of the room, towards the front door - only to find it locked when I get there.
“You can’t leave, Alana. Not until Sullivan finds the guy behind all this.” Caleb’s voice comes from behind me, perfectly dispassionate again.
I turn on him, glaring. “I’m not staying anywhere with you.”
Another flicker of his expression, but I ignore it - I hope to god it’s hurting him. It’s not like whatever small amount of guilt he might feel about all this can compare to the anguish and regret that’s lingering just at the edge of my awareness, only momentarily pushed aside by pure fury.
I shove back past him, into the sitting room and up to the large windows at the front, trying those instead. Locked as well. Angry, I scream and pound on the glass, expecting it to give way in an explosive shatter that matches my state of mind right now.
Instead, all I get is a dull thud.
“They’re reinforced. This is a safe house, Alana - I’m sorry, there’s no way out.” Caleb, behind me once again.
Following me around. Like he’s followed me all fucking semester. I was just too dumb to see it.
Only you could’ve thought that was because he was actually into you. Fucking hell, girl.
“Get the fuck away from me!” I yell, flinging my arms up as if they’ll scare him away.
Everything inside feels like it’s about to explode.
I can’t take this. The thought of my father…of Caleb…of all the lies that my life has been based on.
I still can’t believe it’s real, but with every moment it sinks further, I remember more…moments with my father, even my mother - questions, my endless questions.
Why did you and dad separate? Have you ever considered…you know, getting back together? What do you do, dad? Where do you work? Can I come visit?
Caleb steps back into the corner and just watches, and I can’t stand it anymore. The idea of being locked in this house…with him…after everything.
I scream again, and storm up the stairs, hoping he won’t follow. I have no clue what I’m trying to do - I just need to be away.
I fling open doors until I find a bedroom, then I dive inside and slam it behind me. Maybe it’s childish, but I need something. Some distance. Anything.
The open wardrobe catches my eye and I step up to it, my mind still reeling.
Clothes - all my style, all my size.
Fuck me.
This really was planned. It really was about me.
I glance at the closed door again, wondering if he is there. Whether he’ll be behind it, listening, waiting, watching.
How the hell didn’t I find him creepy before? He’s a fucking killer. How did I think there was warmth and compassion and amusement in those eyes?
I shudder, hard, then sink to the floor. The bed is only a few paces away, but I can’t make it.
I collapse, sobbing and crying and shaking as I watch my life tumble down around me, everything I thought I knew a lie.
My father…a complete stranger.
So why the fuck is it that Caleb’s deception bothers me more?
Chapter Eighteen
Caleb
The next couple of days are as bad as I expect them to be - maybe worse. It’s hard to tell when everything seems so desolate and empty.
I call Sullivan after Alana disappears upstairs, and for the first time I barely register his anger that I ignored his calls. My mind is too busy replaying my conversation with Alana only moments before, and I can’t bring myself to care about Sullivan.
Getting Alana away was more important than updating him, and even he can’t argue with that - whatever stress it might have caused him.
I’m barely paying enough attention when he starts talking about potential leads to remember my own concerns. But this is the one part of the call that actually matters - tracking this fucker down and dealing with him, so that this threat against Alana is gone for good.
“I’ve been thinking about the attack, and it doesn’t make sense, boss.” I think I might have interrupted him, but I’m not sure. My mind is fucking hazy right now, and I feel dazed with everything that’s happened.
Not the attack and flight - I’ve been expecting those for weeks - but the way Alana looked at me, the things she said, the obvious betrayal on her face. It shouldn’t bother me so much - I knew what would happen when I told her. It’s exactly what I expected. But it still feels…like something has been ripped out of me.
“Go on.” Sullivan replies after a long pause.
“He hit the circus event - when Alana wasn’t even there.” I start.
“You told me she planned to be there.” Sullivan responds immediately.
“Yes, she did. But, I mean - fuck, if my target didn’t appear I wouldn’t start shooting at random people. What kind of hitman do you know who’d blow cover without getting a firm ID of his target?” I ask.
Sullivan pauses again. “So you think it might be an amateur? That’s useful, I can work with that.”
I hesitate. That wasn’t exactly what I was thinking.
“I don’t know. If he can sneak around taking photos without me noticing…he’s something, at least. But the way this attack went down is bothering me.” I finish lamely.
I haven’t worked it out yet. I just want Sullivan to know so he can work it out. He’s better at that shit than me.
“Okay. Good point.” Sullivan responds, “But leave it with us for now - focus on Alana, the safehouse, anything that happens over there. And call me if anything happens. Anything at all.”
“Yes, sir.” I respond automatically.
“I’m sending you support as well - Kevin will be there shortly. You need someone to split the work with, and now you’re not on campus…we can get away with it.”
“Kevin?” I ask without thinking. I don’t recognize the name.
“Stephan’s out of action this last week, and Kevin’s stepped up well. He knows the case, has been working on it at this end - but you’ll lead at the house. You’ve spent more time with Alana, and fuck, I wasn’t expecting you to be able to stonewall her like that. If there’s even a chance of getting through this without her finding out about the mob…I’ll take it.”
I should fucking hope I’m leading. I’m not letting another fucker I don’t know near her.
Stephan’s alright - nothing special, but Sullivan has always relied on him - but Kevin…you don’t trust anyone in the mob until you’ve worked with them dozens of times over and you know their game. And even then, you never really trust them.
“Yes, sir.” I don’t bother repeating any those thoughts.
It’s a blatant lie that I’ve managed to keep anything from Alana - but I was never going to tell Sullivan everything I’ve revealed, and besides…the moment they see each other again, I’m a dead man anyway. At least this way, I probably get to stick around long enough to see Alana safe.
He clicks off and I return to ensuring the safe house is exactly how I left it all those weeks ago when I first arrived. Everything in place. Ready and prepared - plenty of guns, ammo, food…no reason to go out.
I don’t see anything of Alana in the hours it takes Kevin to appear, and I don’t try to disturb her.
I answer the knock at the door cautiously, one hand on my gun. He might be one of us, but that’s no reason to let my guard down.
“Caleb.” He says, nodding. “I’m Kevin.”
I nod back, looking him over - older than me, with lanky brown hair and not quite as fit, but then he wasn’t raised by my father. Our eyes meet, but I can’t see much from the black depths looking back at me as we measure each other up.
He breaks it first. “How can I help?”
I allow myself the brief flicker of satisfaction, surprised I’m still capable of feeling anything after the day’s events. But it’s nice to see my position in the mob hasn’t faded despite my time away - I might be young, but as a highly trained killer, not many mess with me.
Y
eah, your position is perfectly intact…for a couple more days. Idiot.
“Watch the outside, the entrances, the neighborhood. Let me know if you catch anything.” I say.
He blinks, surprised. “You don’t want me inside at all? We could split—”
“No. Just me inside.” I don’t explain. I don’t need to.
Kevin pauses for just a moment too long before nodding.
“Okay, sure. Let me know if you need me or want to change it up.” He finally says.
I nod and turn back inside, shutting the door and locking it again. I feel on edge and uneasy, and I’m not sure why. Too much time spent watching shadows and suspecting everyone, I guess - and this fucked up thing with Alana.
This fucked up thing that makes the next few days with Alana awkward as hell.
When she finally comes out of her room to rummage around the kitchen for something to eat, her eyes are red and blotchy and there are tear streaks all down her face. It twists something inside me to see it, and I want nothing more than to take her in my arms and make it all better - but I can’t.
Even offering to make her something to eat just gets me a glare and a slightly hoarse fuck off.
It kills me, but I do just that - fuck off and leave her to it. I’ve already screwed up her life enough, no need to burden her with how I’m feeling now. I tell myself that I’m meant to be over this - expecting it, resigned to it. But it still hurts like there’s a fucking avalanche pressing down on my chest.
It’s okay. As soon as Sullivan finds out, it’ll all be over anyway.
It’s not quite a reassuring thought.
She spends the next couple of days wandering around the house, dipping into a few of the things her father had brought here - books and DVDs - and staring listlessly out the window. Punctuated by scathing looks if I come anywhere near, or her suddenly dashing back upstairs. I followed her the first few times that happened - to stand outside her door listening to the racking sobs and crying inside, letting the guilt tear into me in the same way.
It takes everything I have not to burst in, to pull her into my arms and hug and console her - make everything okay again. But I know that nothing I can say would help - I can only make things worse. So I let her deal with it alone, and wait for it all to be over.
This might be the hardest fucking thing I’ve ever done.
It’s not until the third day of this routine that she actually comes to find me, with that bittersweet mix of vulnerability and strength in her expression.
“How long am I going to be here for?” Her voice is still hoarse, but determined - even if she doesn’t quite look at me.
“I…don’t know. A few days, hopefully.” I shrug, trying to seek out her eyes. It feels like forever since she’s been in the same room as me for more than a few minutes, and I know I’m being ridiculous, but I can’t stop staring at her drawn face, picturing tracing it with my lips again.
“You don’t know?” She asks again, persistent as ever.
“We’ll be here until they find the fucker who sent those letters - now that he’s shown something of himself, it shouldn’t be long. But…they were meant to find him within a week or two of me being at the college, and that…didn’t happen.” I say, probably talking too much, but I’m just happy to be having an actual conversation with her again.
She pauses at that, her hands clenching and unclenching, but I let her work through it without interruption.
“I want to talk to my father.” That determined tone comes back again.
I hesitate. “I’m sure he’ll talk to you when this is all over.”
“No, I want to talk to him now. He seriously just left me here…with you…for days? Why the fuck hasn’t he come to see me after everything that’s happened?!” Her voice rises, and I can feel her getting angry.
Because he doesn’t think you know anything.
I think that, while letting the instinctive evasive answer come to my lips. Then I stop. I’m done lying - to Alana at least. The least I can do is be as straight as possible with her now.
I look directly at her, even if she’s glancing off to the side instead of at me. “I wasn’t exactly supposed to tell you everything I did. He thinks you don’t know anything about…him.”
“I…what?” That throws her off guard for a moment, and her eyes flash to mine - beautiful sapphires masked with hurt and weariness. “What does he think I know?”
“Pretty much nothing. That there’s a threat on your life and you’re here until it’s safe.” I respond, watching the play of emotions over her face.
“What, you somehow thought you could keep it from him? That I wouldn’t confront him about all this the moment I see him?” She seems caught between anger and confusion.
“No, I’m sure you will.” I say, the first trace of amusement in my voice that I’ve felt in days.
I couldn’t imagine Alana doing anything else.
She takes it the wrong way, eyes flashing immediately as she waves somewhere in the air between us. “I’m guessing he doesn’t know about any of this either, then.”
“No, he doesn’t.” I confirm.
It’s not like that isn’t obvious - of course I’m not going to tell Sullivan that I’ve been fucking his daughter. But she seems somehow surprised.
“But you…like, work for him, right?” She asks, and I can’t tell whether she’s actually interested or if she just wants to yell at me and be angry for a bit.
Either way, it’s better than it has been for days.
I nod. Work for is a mild way of putting it, but still accurate.
Her eyes narrow. “I could tell my father what you did then, soldier. How you seduced me, fucked me…everything.”
She’s angry and hurting, it’s obvious in the coarse, rough tones and I want to reach out and touch her so badly. Wrap that spitfire in my arms the way I would have before - kiss her and let her know how sorry I am, how this was never meant to happen this way. But I can’t. Not anymore. The distance between us feels overwhelming, and I won’t force anything more on her.
“You could. I probably deserve that.” I say neutrally.
The only surprising part of her threat was could. It’s always been a given in my mind, and I’m resigned to whatever fate I’ve created for myself in this mess.
“He’d never trust you again.” She says harshly.
I blink at that, looking at her blankly. “He’ll kill me.”
The idea lost its shock and fear a while ago. As far as I’m concerned, the worst has already happened.
She recoils at the thought though, stepping back and staring at me as if I’ve grown another head.
“No…” Her face pales, voice turned soft and disbelieving, “My father would never do that…”
I stare at her, a strange laugh bubbling up inside me as I realize she still has no idea what her father is capable of. What it means to be the boss of the Irish mob. But I don’t let it past my lips - she may be in denial, but this isn’t her world and she’s already got far too much to try and process. I’m not going to blame her for refusing to acknowledge everything it means.
So I just shrug and turn away, letting her think what she wants and work it out for herself.
Alana is a clever girl. I just hope she isn’t the kind that will spend her life hiding from the truth.
There’s a long moment of silence, and then the door to the room slams and I’m alone again, too many thoughts and feelings circling.
* * *
The door to my bedroom crashes open and I’m awake instantly, crouched and gun in hand.
“You fucking bastard.”
My eyes adjust quickly to the dark and I look up at Alana, chest heaving and tears streaming down her face.
“Alana? What happened? What’s wrong?” I still keep my grip on the gun, looking for any sign of danger or invasion, but there’s nothing.
“What’s wrong?! Fuck, you’re what’s wrong.” She shudders, voice hoarse. “I fucking hate…this
.”
I breathe deeply, trying to piece my physical and mental senses back together as I slowly rise from my crouch, lowering the gun to the bedside table. This isn’t about someone trying to kill her.
But I realize I have no idea what to say.
You’re right? I’m sorry?
Everything I think of sounds stupid.
“What the hell were you thinking, Caleb? Why screw with me like that?” Her voice shifts between angry and hurt, and I have to stop myself for reaching out for her.
I’m not sure she’s really looking for an answer - but it’s the first chance I’ve had to give her one. To try and explain any of what I did.
“I…wasn’t thinking. I’m sorry, hun, it just happened. And I thought it would be a quick fling - that I’d be gone within a week, nothing more than that. Ah fuck it.” I shrug, feeling strangely helpless about it all.
There’s no way to say I was bored and frustrated and you were hot without sounding like a complete asshole. Which, to be fair, I probably am.
It’s just never bothered me before.
“But you weren’t!” She snaps out. “You weren’t gone in a week, and instead you…you pretended to be something you’re not. And I fucking hate it - I hate you, whoever the fuck you are. You…you made me fall in love with someone who isn’t even real, and now—now you’re a fucking expressionless, emotionless bastard. Everything I thought…just gone…”
I stare at her. And keep staring.
“What?!” It comes out quiet and intent, my breath caught in my chest.
I’m not sure she even knows what she said. But I can’t stop hearing it.
I can’t take my eyes off her. And finally, for the first time in so fucking long something makes sense.
“What what, bastard?” She scowls up at me, but even in anger, she’s so completely stunning.
I don’t hold back anymore - I couldn’t keep myself away from her and distant a moment longer even if I wanted to.
I step close and pull her into my arms, ignoring the way she stiffens and protests as I crush her to me, sinking my head against hers and breathing deeply. Something deep inside me relaxes as I inhale her natural scent again.
