Game of Lies

by Amanda K. Byrne

  With Isaiah and Tris dead and Constantine in police custody, the danger is gone. We should be going our separate ways, falling back into the routines we’ve tried to create since we agreed we needed to spend time apart. For all his apologies, his refusal to listen and pay attention to my misgivings succeeded in widening the gap between us. But today’s standoff was exhausting on several levels. One or both of us could have died, several times over. The need to feel Nick around me, warm and solid and real, is overwhelming.

  Careful of his leg, I scoot into the space he created. I sigh when his arms come around my waist and he nuzzles my temple. For the first time since he limped to my rescue this morning, I relax. “What’s going to happen to Constantine?” I murmur.

  His hold tightens, and silence descends. “I don’t know,” he says at last. After Nick got patched up in the ER, he went up to see his father and filled him in on what happened. Whatever was said between them, he hasn’t seen fit to tell me. “He’s in jail, being held without bail. Dad still isn’t quite willing to admit that change needs to happen. He wants to speak with Uncle Anton first.”

  The lack of answers doesn’t bode well for the future. “What’s going to happen to me?”

  “You?”

  I nod. “Your dad’s been quite insistent that I need to be held responsible for my actions. Is he still planning to have me turned over to the police?” If I’m going to be arrested, a heads-up would be nice.

  Nick surprises me by laughing. “Fuck. I forgot to tell you. You’re safe.”

  I lean away and scowl. “And you didn’t think I should know this?” I push at his chest to get him to release me, but all he does is tighten his hold.

  “With everything that’s happened in the last few days, it got lost in the shuffle. He’s still unhappy with how you chose to deal with the issue of Isaiah, but he won’t be turning you over to the police.”

  The news should make me happy. Knowing I can finish my degree without constantly looking over my shoulder, without waiting for that knock on the door? There’s security in that. But Nick’s laughter has faded, leaving behind a weariness I feel in my bones. “What else?”

  “Nothing you—” He stops when I glare at him and sighs. “I told him if he didn’t drop his vendetta, I’d walk.”

  Shock races through me. Nick has been adamant about remaining in the organization. “You’re not serious.” I study his expression, note the mule-like stubbornness of it. “You are serious. Nick, why? This is what you want. You’ve told me a few times. Why change your mind now?”

  He frees one of his hands and shoves it through his hair. “This has been building for a while, Cass. Peter, Constantine, even Isaiah have all gone to my dad, alone and together, to tell him we’re spread too thin. It’s the one thing my cousins and I agreed on.” Sadness flits across his face. Is he wondering what might have happened if they’d all worked together instead? “Constantine and I have been having difficulty keeping track of the day-to-day operations because they’ve grown so large. I’ve been handing jobs off to Peter that technically he shouldn’t be doing, but I don’t have the capacity to handle them myself. The family needs to undergo a major change, and with Con out of the picture, I need to reorganize the companies too.”

  He drops his head back onto the back of the couch. “It’s one shitstorm after another,” he says quietly. “Nothing’s going to happen quickly, but if Dad doesn’t start listening when others speak, the ship will continue sinking. It might be time to bail.” He lifts his head. “I don’t like the idea of continuing to operate within boundaries I can’t see.”

  I frown. “How big a part do I play in this? Because if you’re basing your decision on what’s happened—”

  He cuts me off with a finger to my lips. “Yes, it will factor into my decision. Anyone who says otherwise is a fucking liar.” He replaces his finger with his mouth, the kiss soft and chaste. “You matter, Cassidy. If you didn’t, you wouldn’t have been able to hurt me. Give us time. We could surprise each other.”

  Forever. I want you forever.

  Forever is a long, long time, and it’s a step I know I’m not ready for. That doesn’t stop me from craving it like a drug. I let out a shaky breath. “Okay.”

  * * * *

  Clouds chase each other across the sky, wind whipping through the twisted, spindly limbs of the Joshua trees the park is named for. Mom stares at the view spread out before us. “This is it,” she says quietly. “We’re here.”

  She makes no move to get out of the car, though. The four weeks she spent at Aunt Carol’s were good for her. The dark circles are gone, and she’s regained some of the weight she lost. But sitting there, her hands clenched on the wheel and a frightened, haunted look in her eyes, it’s as though she’s regressed in a matter of minutes.

  I don’t want to be the strong one. That’s her job. Someone has to get us both through this ritual.

  We’re here alone. No one but us, and that’s how it should be. And if Mom doesn’t have the strength to start down this path, then I’ll have to do it for us.

  I pop the button on my seatbelt and open the door. The movement seems to kick her into gear, and she unhooks her seatbelt and follows suit, climbing out to continue her study of the park. I retrieve the canister containing Turner’s ashes from the back seat and round the hood of the car.

  It’s not all of him. The minister at the funeral home suggested we may both want to keep a small portion. Mom has hers in a little ceramic box Turner bought for her on some random weekend trip they took years ago. Nick surprised me with a Chinese porcelain jar the other day. It’s sitting on the bookshelf in my living room.

  The lump in my throat makes breathing difficult. Mom holds out a hand, and I take it like a child. Together, we start down the path into the park.

  Turner’s directions are detailed. Follow the main trail for half a mile and veer to the left toward a cluster of boulders. We trudge along, not speaking, the sun peeking through the clouds. Mom finds the rock formation he mentions and points to it. “Up there.”

  It’s not large or high, which is good. Neither of us are climbers. We scramble up the boulders to the top, my progress hampered slightly by the canister. I pass her the metal container and take a minute to wind my ponytail into a bun.

  Mom sits, canister clutched in her hands, eyes on the scrubby desert sprawling around us. “He’d come here after every job. There’d be sand in his clothes. He tried to shake it out so he wouldn’t track it into the house, but he always managed to bring some of it with him.”

  I squint against the brightness. “How do you know?”

  Her smile is soft and sad. “He’d tense up. Walk around like there was a steel rod in his back for days. When the job was over, he relaxed.” She turns to me. “He did it whenever you took a job. Or at least the ones he knew about.”

  Every new thing I learn about Turner pulls the wound open a little bit more. I study the desert, trying to see what he saw. “It’s constant, and it’s constantly changing.” Like the ocean. “You look at it often enough, you won’t see it, but you know it’s different.”

  Her eyes widen. “You’re right.”

  It’s my turn for the soft and sad smile. “I use the ocean. Constant and constantly changing.” I didn’t know that Turner needed a place to take himself apart and then put himself back together. I don’t like thinking he did. It makes him…human. Vulnerable.

  Tears well, and I don’t fight them. They spill down my cheeks, falling faster when Mom folds me into her arms. I cry for all the missed opportunities, for all the times I held my tongue when I could have told my father I loved him and missed him. I cry for all the moments I overlooked. If we’d just had more time, we might have been able to compromise.

  “The night you got your acceptance letter to UCLA.” She strokes a hand down my back, and I sniffle, trying to quiet the sobs. “He put it in the safe. Right next to his guns and our passports. Said it was important to
keep it safe in case we needed physical proof you were going to be a Bruin. He was proud of you, Cassidy,” she whispers.

  I love you.

  Three of the most important words in the English language. They have the power to heal, to give hope, to decimate and destroy. With those three words, Turner became the dad I wanted. I never took I love you for granted, and he’s reminding me even now how precious they are.

  “Mom?” I blink away the last of the tears. “I love you. I don’t think I tell you that often enough.”

  She sniffs wetly. “I love you too, dear. And there’s never ‘enough’ when it comes to that.”

  I sit back and scrub my cheeks dry, then get to my feet. “What were his directions? Just sorta…fling them out into the open?”

  Mom looses a very un-Mom-like snort. “Hardly. They are to be scattered on the boulders in a gentle but firm manner.”

  “He did not say that. Gimme.” I snatch the paper from her and scan the directions. Sure enough, Turner wants his ashes scattered in a “gentle but firm manner.” “I’ve never heard him speak like that.”

  “He had his moments.” She twists the lid off the canister. “Ready?”

  How can anyone be ready for something like this? I step close to her and slide my arm around her waist, her arm coming around my shoulders. Mom tips the container sideways and shakes it, a line of ash floating to the rock beneath our feet. She passes it off to me, and I finish the line.

  Another tear tracks down my face as the wind kicks up some of the ash, carrying tiny pieces of Turner out to the desert. “Bye, Daddy,” I whisper.

  I love you.

  Epilogue

  The air in the apartment is stuffy and hot. “Air conditioning’s turned off.” The landlord, a growly, scruffy-faced middle-aged man, shuffles over to one of the windows and shoves it open. “Apartment’s been empty for several months.”

  I nod and continue my perusal. The place is clean, but it’s a few steps down from my current apartment in Los Angeles. Worn carpet, small rooms, plus a smaller kitchen than I’d like. I leave the landlord leaning against the half wall separating the kitchen from the living room and duck into one of the bedrooms. The lone window faces the narrow street, the building across the way blocking most of the sunlight into the room. It’ll do for a bedroom.

  The second bedroom isn’t much brighter, and it’s even smaller. It doesn’t help that Nick dwarfs the room just by standing in it. Hands tucked in his pockets, the sleeves of his slate blue dress shirt rolled up to his elbows, he’s every inch the dark, intimidating man he was when we met almost a year ago.

  “Well?” he asks.

  I scan the room. “It’s the best I can afford.” My pulse is rabbiting. “I don’t need pretty or spacious. Just safe and clean, and this is both.” He nods, and I move to the window, avoiding his gaze. I’m nervous. For the first time in a long time, Nick’s making me nervous. Or more accurately, the question I have for him is making me nervous.

  My mouth has gone dry, and I run a fingertip along the windowsill. The words come out in a rush. “Would you be okay in a place like this?”

  We’ve been oh so very careful these last nine months, both of us speaking about the future—our future—in broad terms. There’s never been any doubt we have a future together. While it was bumpy at times and we still fought over Nick’s obsession with my safety, we stuck with our promise to slow down and fix what we’d damaged. But as the weeks became months and I threw myself into completing my degree, we never got around to having an actual conversation about what comes after graduation.

  And Nick never moved into the apartment, despite paying for most of it. He gets plenty of use out of it, choosing to work in the office there several days a week, but his clothes never migrated to my closet, and while he has a toothbrush in the bathroom, the apartment is very much mine.

  San Diego isn’t far from Los Angeles. If we have to, we can make this work from our separate cities. I’m selfish, though. I’m tired of being apart from him. Now I want him. All of him.

  That he has yet to respond to my question does not bode well.

  His expression isn’t any help, either. No one does bland neutrality quite like Dominic Kosta.

  “If you have something to say, now would be a fantastic time to say it.” Seriously. He needs to say something before I start babbling like Denise.

  He glances around the room. “You can do better.”

  I throw up my hands. “No, actually, I can’t.” The offshore account holding all of my ill-gotten funds has been donated to charity. I haven’t touched the life insurance money from Turner’s policy. It’ll come in handy when I need to pay for grad school. Assuming I get in. Moving to San Diego before I’ve even applied to graduate school is a risk. I need to get away from LA for a while. Charlie and Denise are moving to Cambridge, and Mom’s actually considering moving to Montana, something I never thought she’d do.

  Nick walks out into the living room, and I trail after him, trying to shrug aside my hurt. When he keeps going through the front door, I offer the landlord a pained smile. “I need to think about it.”

  He shrugs. “Don’t think it’s likely to get rented any time soon. You decide you want it, I’ll knock a hundred off the monthly rent.”

  Great. Now I’ll have money for groceries. Or other bills.

  I squint against the San Diego sunshine as I scan the street for Nick. He’s already in the car, seatbelt on and the engine running. I climb in and snap my own seatbelt into place. “You know, if you don’t want to live with me, that’s fine. You don’t need to be an asshole about it.”

  “I didn’t say I didn’t want to.” His mild tone is almost as annoying as his refusal to answer the question. “I want to show you something first.”

  The last time he wanted to show me something, the item in question turned out to be a brand new Mazda 3 hatchback. No amount of threats or protests that a used car would suit me just fine could change his mind. The car was mine, and when I tried to pay him back for it, he got pissed.

  Over the twenty-minute drive, I fire question after question at him. Each one is met with silence, and I finally give up and stare out the window. We pull up to what looks like a duplex, the sand-colored building set back from the sidewalk with a small patch of grass in front. The beach is across the street, waves gleefully smashing into the sand.

  I get out of the car and study the duplex. One side looks occupied; there are curtains drawn across the front windows to block out the afternoon sun. As Nick rounds the car to join me on the sidewalk, the possibilities start to sink in. “What did you do?” He holds out a hand, a silver key dangling from his fingers. I stare at the key. “Nick, what did you do?”

  He takes my hand and folds my fingers around the key. The edges bite into my palm. “Yes, I want to live with you, Cass. Someplace safe and clean and with more space than the little box you just looked at.” Snaking an arm around my waist, he leads me up the front walk and unlocks the door with his own key.

  I should probably say something, but I’m stuck on yes I want to live with you. We could live in that box for all I care, as long as he’s with me. The hardwood floor echoes under our feet as we step into the living room. “You know I can’t—”

  He cuts me off with a kiss. “Don’t,” he murmurs. “Don’t say it. You’re not paying for this, love. I am. You want to pay for something, pay for the food. Gas for your car.”

  I pull away and wander to the far side of the living room. The walls are painted a pale, soothing blue. “You rented this place without me seeing it? How did you know I’d like it?”

  “The ocean’s right across the street and the kitchen’s huge. And I didn’t rent it. I bought it.”

  Of course he did. Why rent when you can buy? “I don’t even know if I’ll be here in a year.” San Diego State and UC San Diego are among my top choices for graduate school, but there’s no guarantee I’ll get in.

  The kitchen�
��s as large as he promised. The gas range is a gleaming black, matching the shiny side-by-side refrigerator. Glass-front cabinets stand empty, and it’s all too easy to picture them full of brightly colored plates and cups.

  I trail my fingers along the edge of the counter. Own signifies an even greater permanence than rent, and I’m okay with that. I turn around as he enters the kitchen. “How many days a week will you be in LA?”

  “Maybe one or two at the most. The new company will be taking up a lot of my time.” He bought a start-up in San Diego when I first started talking about moving. Then? It made me shake my head. Now? It means he’ll be closer.

  “And your dad’s okay with this?” I hold my breath, half afraid of what he’ll say. Andreas has proven reluctant to embrace the necessary changes for the Kosta organization to remain viable—and that reluctance drove a wedge between father and son. It’s growing wider every day.

  Nick’s taken several steps back, as has Peter, the two of them choosing to focus on the businesses Nick owns. The longer he stays out of the day-to-day operations of the family, the more hopeful I am this will be permanent.

  He leans on the counter. “No.”

  A single word, and it says so much. That part of Nick’s life, and my life with him, isn’t behind us. It may never be.

  I slip my arms around his waist, my lids drifting shut as he kisses the top of my head. “Okay.”

  We’ll figure it out. It’s what we do. Figure it out.

  Together.

  Amanda’s second book in the series, Game of Vengeance, is a must read for more of the same sexy, edgy thrills.

  On sale now.

  Game of Vengeance

  An eye for an eye, blood for blood.

  UCLA student Cass Turner was hoping to move on from the family business—but when the business is professional assassination, that’s easier said than done. And sleeping with the man she was supposed to kill only complicates things. Her relationship with Nick Kosta, a lieutenant in LA’s largest crime family, was supposed to be no-strings-attached fun. But if the two of them want to stay alive, they’ll have to keep each other close.