Dark Horse

by Jessica Gadziala

  When she looked down and saw Xander's name and then Enzo's name on her texts, she finally remembered why she was supposed to fight it.

  They worked together.

  He was competition.

  But still, in the late morning light, body aching in places it didn't normally thanks to her beat-down, soul still a bit fluttery from a good orgasm from an even better man, well... she just couldn't seem to muster the same determination to keep him at arm's length anymore.

  So she was a bit surprised at how formal Enzo's texts seemed, just filling her in like they all promised they would, on what was going on at the office while she nursed herself better.

  Well, really, she was not the nursing herself better sort.

  In fact, she was a godawful patient.

  Which was why it was good that she generally took care of herself.

  She grumbled and bitched and got surly because she couldn't do the things she normally could.

  But she was determined to not be a pisser when he eventually got home, so she set to showering, making sure to clean up meticulously afterward, not wanting to throw his hospitality in his face.

  She spent the rest of the day on the couch flicking impatiently through channels and checking her phone.

  They didn't seem to make too much progress, and the sketch guy couldn't come out until the following morning.

  She wasn't surprised when she heard Enzo's key in the lock just barely after six when normally they would pull longer hours at the office.

  She was surprised when he came in with grocery bags, dropped them on the counter, put them away, then wiped the counter and his hands, then came over to check on her face and ribs.

  Not because any of these tasks were all that odd. But because of the somewhat cold, methodical, detached way he did them all.

  Like nothing at all had happened between them.

  Like he didn't realize something somewhat profound had taken place.

  By the time they sat down to eat, her doing so almost angry that the food was so damn good because she was kind of pissed at him, she had decided that it was fine. Just dandy. He wanted to be that guy, okay. Then she could be the girl who was too goddamn independent, who had his card, who had been around the block enough to call a fuckboy a fuckboy, then go right ahead and pretend that it didn't bother her in the least that she had been on the receiving end of his fuckboyery.

  As Enzo washed dishes, her jaw was so tight that her teeth hurt.

  Every urge inside her was telling her to hash it out, to lash out, to get it all out there.

  In situations with guys, she was either the motherfucking ice princess, or the flame that burned way too goddamn hot when she was angry. There was no in between. But because being the flame would show that he and his actions had the ability to impact her, she knew she had to go for cold.

  Even if she froze from the inside out by doing so.

  It was a small price to pay.

  That night, she went to sleep in the bed. He went to sleep on the couch. And nothing.

  The next morning, she woke up to him gone again, telling her to take a cab to the office by eleven for the sketch artist.

  She had just grabbed all her stuff to do so, her anger at Enzo not enough of an excuse to waste anyone else's time even though she wanted to text him back and tell him to go fuck himself, when she heard it.

  See, most people wouldn't know the sound if they heard it.

  But because she had literally been taught how to do it at her father's hip, she knew the sound of a lock pick set intimately.

  Someone was trying to break in.

  And, if they were the same people who got into her apartment, they could manage it.

  Panic like she hadn't felt in a long, long time welled up, knowing she was all but helpless.

  She backed into the bedroom, going toward the window as she dialed Enzo's number.

  "Fuck!" she whisper-shrieked as she tried to pry open the window to the fire escape.

  "Espen?" Enzo asked, making her realize he had picked up without her noticing.

  "Someone is trying to break into your apartment," she told him, desperately clawing at the window, tears stinging at her eyes at the strain sending shots of pain up and down her ribs.

  "Get out," he said, voice steel, and she could hear a slam followed by him barking off what was happening as he, she presumed, rushed out of his office.

  "I'm trying," she almost half-cried at him when the window just refused to budge, having been closed for far too long, stuck. "The window won't budge," she hissed, looking around for anywhere she could try to hide, knowing he would only be a couple minutes, that maybe she could stay hidden until he got there.

  "Fuck. Motherfuck. Okay," he said, getting a hold of himself as she heard a huffing like he was running. "In my closet, the carpet is ripped up in the corner. Rip it up, pull up the wood too. There is a gun and bullets. Take that, load it up, and sit in that closet. Fire at anyone who opens that fucking closet door. I will be there in less than three minutes."

  Espen threw herself into the closet, carefully closing the door behind her so it didn't make noise, and flying at the floor, feeling splinters stab into her fingertips as she pried at the flooring to reveal the gun, wondering where he got it from, why he had it, what he had possibly done with it before as she loaded it, thanking her lucky stars that she was raised in a way that made her capable of such things, then pressing herself into the corner and waiting.

  Being a room away, of course, she didn't hear the door open. But she did hear the footsteps on the hardwood in the kitchen and living room. No drawers opened or shut. There were no sounds of rummaging around. It was a shitty area after all, so a home invasion couldn't be ruled out. But people who broke into your house to steal shit, you know... looked for shit to steal. Whoever this was wasn't looking for stereos and pricey TVs.

  They were looking for people.

  She couldn't help but wonder if they were after her, if they knew she was there, or if they had found out that Enzo was on the case as well, and were after silencing him.

  Either way, her heart was hammering so hard in her chest that it was painful, it was nauseating. Her pulse pounded so hard in her ears that she was finding it hard to hear anything at all. Her palms went sweaty, making her take down one at a time to wipe on her pants as she held the gun with the other. Her hand, thankfully, was steady.

  As she squatted there in the corner like a sitting duck, she realized how much she needed to get better, to have her ribs fully heal. She didn't care about her eye, about the bruises, about the cut on her face. They didn't impact her ability to take care of herself. While she was comfortable using a gun, she was not comfortable having to use one. Normally, her body was a weapon. She didn't have to worry about carrying anything extra with her. And, well, repercussions for whooping someone's ass with your bare hands were far less severe than shooting someone with a gun. Especially one that was likely not legal.

  But just when she was sure she was about to be found out, she heard a pounding of boots - if she wasn't mistaken, several sets of them.

  "Espen," Enzo's voice called from right outside the door, but to the side, like he was smart enough to know that any noise might startle her and make her shoot. He didn't know her well enough to know that she knew better than to put her finger on the trigger until a threat was in sight. "Come on out, honey. Whoever was here is gone."

  She tried not to focus on the fact that it was the first time he called her honey since bed the other night.

  She uncocked the gun and moved up onto her knees, reaching up to press the door open.

  It had barely cracked open before it was being whipped wide, and Enzo was squatting down in the space, the light behind him somehow making him seem even more intimidating. Of course, that idea might have been due to the way his body was practically buzzing with tension, with the preparedness for a fight.

  "You okay?" he asked, reaching out to take the gun, checking the safety, then droppin
g it in the hole in the closet floor, reaching almost immediately to gently snag her chin. "Espen?" he pressed when she didn't immediately answer.

  "I'm fine," she said. You know, so long as you didn't know about the way her belly felt like it was sloshing around in her body.

  "Whoever was here, cut out before we even showed up."

  "We?" she repeated, knowing she had heard more than one set of feet in the main room.

  "Xander, Ra, and Kane were in the office when you called," he explained. "Come on out," he said, releasing her face, but reaching down to take her hand to help her up. It was the nicest gesture she had seen from him in almost two days.

  "Alright. What the fuck?" Xander asked, walking into Enzo's bedroom, brows drawn together, a hand moving up to rake down his face. Frustrated. It was a strange emotion to see on a man who generally seemed to have three modes: badass, laid-backness, and puppy-dog-love with Ellie.

  "This case is getting strange," Kane agreed, pushing his longish hair back as she moved to sit down on the edge of the bed, her ribs throbbing from all the running around and attempted window opening. "Why the fuck are you guys being stalked now? You're no real threat to anyone."

  That was true enough. Even if Espen could give the sketch artist a perfect description, that did not mean they would find the guy.

  "Alright. Well, neither of you can stay at your places anymore," Xander declared. Enzo went to object, but Xander's hard look kept his mouth shut.

  "Well, luckily we live in a city of about a billion hotels," Espen said, going for casual because of the pulsating tension in the room. Oddly, a lot of it came from, of all people, Ra. Everything about him seemed detached to her before. She didn't even know it was possible to get a rise out of him. But, though he was silent, there was no denying that this was chafing at him. His hands folded and unfolded into fists. His jaw was ticking he was grinding his teeth so hard. And his shoulders were set so square that his chest was expanded.

  "No," Xander said, voice steel, making her stiffen.

  "Um, I have a lot of respect for you Xander, but I'm not crashing at your place if that is what you are suggesting."

  "She can stay with me," Kane offered, surprising her. True, they got close, but not that close. At least, not in her opinion.

  Xander shot him a raised-brow look that she couldn't quite interpret. "Figure that if they know who Espen and Enzo are, and where they live, that they also might know where they work. Staying with any of us wouldn't work."

  "What are you..." Espen started to ask, only to be interrupted.

  "Take her to Navesink Bank," Xander's voice cut her off, but was speaking to Enzo.

  "Um, I think..." she tried again.

  "I want to work on this. This is fucking personal," Enzo objected.

  "Can't work on it if you're dead. And you can't work on it if you are constantly fucking worried about your woman."

  "Whoa, what!" Espen shrieked. "I'm not his woman!" she added on a hiss, only to be ignored.

  "I can drop her with Paine to..."

  "Alright," Espen said, shoving her pointer finger into Xander's chest. "I'm going to need you not to act like I'm not standing right here, and that I might have my own ideas on how to take care of my damn self."

  "Unless your plan is to crash with Atien, and I think we all know you don't want to show up to show daddy that face and prove him right, then your idea isn't going to fly."

  Damn if he wasn't right about that too.

  She had no other family that could truly protect her. Biyen was capable, sure, but he would absolutely rat her out. And that would just not go well. She was, quite frankly, in no shape physically or emotionally right now to deal with family drama. And since she had no actual friends... she really was at their mercy.

  Where the hell was Navesink Bank even located?

  "Fine," Enzo said at Xander's knowing look. "Yeah. I'll take her home for a couple days. Let this blow over."

  "I'll call Larsen and tell him I'm taking over the case," Xander said. "And all other cases are on pause until we figure this shit out. That goddamn dog can miss her fucking salon visit without us chronicling it for once," he added, a small smirk in place.

  "Um. Yes, hello, I am still here," Espen said, as they actively went about ignoring her.

  "Yeah, we see you, kid," Xander agreed with a nod. "That's why we're making these plans. Can't have you getting your only good eye fucked up. You gotta wanna nurse those ribs, Espen. If you don't, you're gonna be down longer than necessary. Take a little vacation to, well, Jersey, and rest up. Come back in a couple days. You can get back to busting skulls - and balls - then."

  He had a good point.

  She really couldn't argue.

  "Alright, fine," she agreed, going back in the closet to reach for her bag... only to have it pulled out of her hand. "I can..." she started.

  "Get used to me helping you out a bit without making a goddamn deal out of it every time? Yeah, you can do that."

  She let out her breath in something that might have been called a sigh. "This is going to be an interesting trip."

  That was putting it mildly.

  TWELVE

  Espen

  The car ride involved nothing to write home about - a fight over music followed by comfortable silence as she watched the road signs on their way to Enzo's hometown.

  And in that silence, her brain couldn't help but start to wander. And wonder.

  When he pulled the car up beside what was, undeniably, a rundown building in a shitty area, her eyes went to the side of his face, finding his jaw tight, his eyes guarded. "Is this your old place?" she asked.

  "Yep," he agreed, not moving to get out of the car.

  "Would you rather maybe stay at a hotel?" she pressed, picking up on his reluctance to step back into his past. Whatever it was, it was clear that it was still eating at him.

  "It's fine," he said, tone cold. It was so unfamiliar that she shrank back from it as he exited his door, closing it with much more force than was necessary.

  She definitely got the impression that it was in no way fine.

  But he got her bag out of the trunk, and was at her door, so she had to jump right into not-fine with him.

  The apartment in this building was reminiscent of the one in the city. Except it looked like the place had been gutted at one time and completely redone. Expensively. There was no pinching pennies when it came to his seemingly marble countertops, cherry cabinets, solid wood dining table, plush black leather couches, giant TV, and top of the line stereo system.

  All this led her to wonder how the hell he could leave an apartment with so much pricey shit in it abandoned in a crummy area... and have nothing be stolen.

  Enzo moved past her without saying anything, returning without her bag, then moving toward the kitchen, going under the sink, and coming back with an armful of cleaning products.

  "Enzo..." she tried, not understanding what, but knowing that something was wrong.

  "This place is a mess," he answered back, not looking at her.

  The place was literally spotless.

  How? She wasn't sure, since he had been away for a while. But it looked like someone had been by an hour before to wipe every surface.

  "Ah, alright," she said, recognizing that this was just his thing, his tick, his weird compulsion, and drawing any attention to it, or making an issue of it, was not only unfair, but it simply wouldn't change anything anyway. "Well, you get your cleaning thing on. I think I saw a Chinese place right down the..."

  "No."

  Her brows knitted as he filled a bucket with scalding water. "No, what?"

  "No, you're not walking down there."

  No explanations. He was going to make her pry it out of him.

  "Why not? My ribs hurt, but I can walk fifty feet, Enzo."

  Again, when he spoke, his yes were elsewhere. This time, on the sponge he was wringing out. "It's not about your ribs. It's about Third Street."

  She took a beat, ment
ally thinking back to the street names coming in, realizing that Third Street was literally the street the apartment building was on. So, rationally, there was only one explanation for his response.

  "Is Third Street a gang?"

  This time, when he spoke, his eyes found hers. And, for the first time, they actually seemed... hard. "Yes, honey. It's a gang. And let's just say... we aren't on great terms right now. I'm not going to say you're unsafe here. My sisters live in this town and no one would dare touch them. But Paine is here to watch over them too. I don't know who is handling shit with Third Street right now, so I can't guarantee things will be smooth for you if you walk out that door alone. At least, not when you're hurt, and can't even fight off someone closer to your own size." Meaning Faith. Yeah, that little incident was constantly rolling around her head. She vowed that once she was in shape again, she was going to go to Faith's class or something to show her that she could, in fact, handle herself.

  She could tell from the ticking in his jaw that whoever Third Street was, and whatever issue he had with them, was not a good subject. So she was going to go ahead and do the more gracious thing... and let it slide. For now.

  "Who the hell is Paine?"

  If she wasn't watching, she might have missed it. But because she was, she saw his shoulders relax, his jaw stop ticking, his eyes lose their guards.

  Hell, he even smirked a little.

  Just barely.

  But it counted in her opinion.

  And she wasn't sure why the hell that mattered so much.

  "My half-brother," he said, with a shrug. "And, yes, that is his real name. And he is a tattoo artist. Yes, I know how ironic that is."

  She laughed a little then, the smile almost feeling foreign. Hell, she wasn't sure when the last time she genuinely smiled even was. "Hear that one a lot, huh?"

  "Been tight with him since we were five, so the shit about his name was constant. But when he started the ink thing, it tripled."

  "What are your sisters named?"