I raise a brow, wondering why we’re talking hypotheticals—because that’s all this is. There is no “no one gets hurt” way out. I have a plan, but even then, I have no idea how it will play out when it’s time. If the time ever comes.
But maybe with Cade’s help . . .
“Humor me.”
“Of course I’d want out.”
He edges back a step, giving me space to breathe. Thank God.
“Then I’ll be in touch soon.”
I open my mouth to protest, but I can tell my words won’t go far with this man. He’s stubborn and determined, and I have no idea why he wants to interject himself into my fight.
I can’t seem to get myself to tell him no, anyway. The wheels of my mind are turning as I formulate potential outcomes of what might happen if he does, in fact, get involved.
It’s selfish of me to consider accepting his help, though.
He nods as if satisfied by my lack of response and turns away. He grabs his jacket from the living room, and I trail behind him on our way to the foyer.
Once standing in front of me, the back of his hand skates down my cheek. “I’m not going to let anything happen to you, but I need you to tell me one thing.”
“What?”
His hand falls from my face. “How’s your dad connected to the McCullens?”
“He’s, um, one of their hitmen. The very best.”
There’s no physical response. No increased look of worry. It doesn’t make sense.
“Would he ever hurt you?” His eyes narrow. “Has your father ever hurt you?”
“No, he loves me.” In his own messed-up kind of way—in the way only a killer could . . .
He looks like he wants to reach for me again, to touch my face or my arm, but he holds back. His eyes say it all, though. I’ve seen the look before.
Guilt. But from what? Why?
I should be the one feeling guilty right now, for accepting his help.
“Here’s my number, if you need me before I get to you.”
I take the business card he’s holding and simply nod goodbye.
Everything is surreal right now.
I lock up once he leaves and slowly sink to my knees. My fingers smooth over the bold script on the card: CADE KING.
Can I really let him put everything on the line for me?
Can I trust a stranger?
I pull my knees to my chest and hug them as if I’m fifteen again, hiding beneath the trap door in my house—listening to the sounds of heavy shoes above my head.
Listening to my mother scream.
8
Gia
Streaks of silver drip down my canvas, mixing with the black and dark gray watercolors at the bottom. I don’t know what the hell I’m doing right now. I can’t concentrate.
“The colors are all wrong, Gia.” Darya scrunches her brow, leaning forward to get a better look at the canvas.
“What do you suggest?” I set my paintbrush down on the palette and place it on the stool.
“Your paintings are always so dark. So morbid. You need to do something with color. You need vibrancy in your life.”
I can still hear glimpses of Russian in her voice, even though she does her best to hide it.
“I thought painting was about feelings—and these are my feelings.” I remove the apron and clutch the material tight in my hands, then scan the room for about the twentieth time. I don’t think Mya is showing up. She would have told me if she wasn’t coming, though. Something isn’t right.
“Of course art is about emotions, but—” She cuts herself off and shakes her head. “I’m worried about you.” She brings a hand up and rests it on my shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze. “Do you want to talk?”
This isn’t the first time my art instructor has tried to get me to spill my thoughts, but isn’t that what the art is for? Why dilute paint with water? Why pour my heart out to a woman who’s not much more than a stranger?
“No, but thank you.” Darya will never know the real me, and probably, no one ever will.
“I need to clean up and get going. But, um, did Mya mention she’d be missing class tonight?” I loosen my grip on the apron when she lifts her hand from me.
“No, she didn’t. Maybe she’s sick?”
“Yeah, okay.” I nod, but unease rushes up my spine, and the need to get out of here has me cleaning my supplies in a hurry.
“Have a good night,” Darya calls out as I make a beeline for the door.
I don’t respond because my mind is elsewhere. I focus on the empty hall, checking left and then right, making sure I’m alone. I head to locker 524 and fumble with the lock and open it.
A heaviness lifts from my chest at the sight of a burner phone within the locker. I check the cell and notice a message.
Not wanting to waste time, I call the voicemail. “Gia, I found something! We’re close. Keep this phone. I’ll be in touch soon.”
Oh. My. God. Finally.
My heart speeds, and a mix of excitement and fear claims my body, taking hold as I replay Mya’s words over and over in my head.
I tuck the phone away in my purse and close the locker.
When I get outside, the car is parked out in front of the school, where it always is, but my driver isn’t waiting outside the car like normal.
I open the door and jerk back a step as if burned when I see who’s behind the wheel.
“Hi, love.”
He’s not supposed to be here. He’s not supposed to get back until tomorrow. And since he’s here right now, it can only mean one thing: I’m screwed.
“Surprised to see me?” Rory cocks his head to the side and jerks it a little, motioning for me to get inside. When I don’t, he adds, “We don’t have all night. Get in.”
He positions the rearview mirror once I’m inside so he can see me. “You left class early.”
“Mm hm.” I look out the window, trying to remain as calm as possible.
“Tell me something. Did you really think you could run around this city without me finding out about it?”
I stiffen, my gaze finding his. “What are you talking about?”
“Monday night. When you ran off to see Cade King . . . did you think I wouldn’t find out? You don’t breathe unless I know about it.” He makes a tsk noise. “And when he was in your apartment last night, did you fuck him?”
“What? No camera inside my bedroom?” I hiss, unable to control my anger. “You don’t watch me when I shower or sleep?”
I should try to backpedal, to make some excuse instead of further angering him. What the hell is wrong with me?
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you? You’d like for me to be watching you while you touch yourself—when you fantasize about me fucking you.”
I look out at the Hudson as we cross the Brooklyn Bridge, and my fingernails bite into my palms.
“You lied to me Friday. You knew who the arsehole was and didn’t tell me, and now I want to know why. Who is he to you? Have you met him before?”
I glance back his way, noting how his fingers are wrapped tight around the wheel and his voice is pitched higher than usual, like he’s on something, maybe coke. The glow of the city lights dances across his face.
I decide silence is my best bet, and so I close my eyes, but I know wishing myself out of this conversation won’t actually work.
“Someone like Cade might be useful to me, so I want to know what the story is with him.”
“Useful?” This has me opening my eyes fast. “Useful how?” Bribery, money laundering, foreign purchases . . . I can think of a few things, but there’s no way in hell someone like Cade would do business with Rory.
Rory doesn’t know that yet, which could play to my favor. Buy some time.
“Why don’t you just tell me what the fuck is going on between you two instead?”
“I didn’t tell him anything about you. Relax.”
Rory’s acted cagier than normal ever since his dad was sentenced, and I
have to assume he’s afraid of winding up in the cell next door.
Wouldn’t that be nice?
“I don’t believe you.” His eyes are focused back on the road. “I looked into him. A rich arse like him would go after easier tail. But we’ll talk more about this face-to-face at your place. I don’t trust you, Gia. Not anymore.”
Did he ever?
I lean back against the leather as he drives, knowing I should be more scared, that my skin should be crawling with unease, but Mya’s message tonight gave me too much hope—and I’m high on the possibilities of what she might find.
Of course, I need to be able to get away, and even if Cade wants to help me, Rory’s never going to let me out of his sight again.
But I have to find a way.
Once we’re at my place and in front of my door, he uses his key and then shoves me in so hard I fall to my knees. If he’s being rough with me, then he’s not too worried about my father, but I’m not in the right state of mind to internalize that information right now.
I slowly rise to my feet, a burst of adrenaline shooting through me as I think about the last ten years of living a caged life. I wish I never hid ten years ago when they came for my mom and me. If I hadn’t, at least I wouldn’t be here now.
I loosen my jacket and take it off, feeling suffocated by it, and toss it to the floor, facing him head-on, as if I can actually stand up to him.
And for a moment, it feels good.
Euphoric almost. I push my chest forward with confidence as if I’m in control.
He rubs his jaw, a smirk spreading across his face. “Ohh. You’re looking to fight me, eh?”
Well, that wasn’t my exact intention. I never learned to even throw a punch, and now I’m wondering why not, given my life.
His laughter fills the air and slides under my skin, making me sick. “There’s only one way this would end.” His face is only inches from mine now as he adds, “With you pinned beneath me.”
His breath touches my skin, and I look up at him.
He grips my chin, his jaw locking tight, and I press my hands to his chest, trying to push away from him, but his other hand secures around my back, pulling me closer.
“You can’t fight me, baby, so don’t bother trying. Instead, be a good girl and tell me what the fuck you told King.”
He releases me, and I drag in a breath. “You think I ratted on you, is that it? Why would I tell him anything?”
I need him to believe me if I’m going to have a chance in hell at getting away.
“King beefed up his security at his office and home. Military-grade. He wouldn’t do that for no damn reason.”
“Maybe you scared him at the club Friday.”
“Then why the hell did he risk his neck by seeing you again Monday?”
“I wanted to see him, not the other way around. I don’t want anyone dying because of me.” Sometimes the truth is easier to hide behind.
“Little late for that.” He scratches at his throat, shaking his head. “Maybe if all you did was spread your legs for him, this situation would be easier to deal with . . . well, for you, at least, but I’m betting it’s about a lot more than your pussy.”
He reaches between my thighs, and I smack him right in the face on instinct. The slight sting against my palm feels good. It was almost worth it.
He throttles my throat a second later and shoves me against the wall. He’s squeezing so tight, I’m seeing stars.
“Tell me what I want to know. You have five seconds, love.”
It’s hard for me to think, to focus, to find a way out of this.
I’m losing oxygen, and my eyes shut. The fight in me is dying.
And then I hear a noise. A voice, maybe.
Before I know it, I’ve fallen to the floor, dizzy. Everything is blurry.
“Well, now I don’t have to look for you.”
“I’m right here. I’m ready.”
Two voices.
One is Rory’s, but the other . . .?
I blink a few times and drag my gaze up the length of a pair of jeans, to a familiar black fleece jacket.
Cade.
He’s here.
“You think you can really walk in here and point a gun at me?” Rory’s voice is smooth, almost casual.
Cade’s eyes connect with mine for a brief moment before I lose my focus again.
I try to stand, but my knees buckle, and I collapse back to the floor.
“Did you know that, in Gaelic, Rory means Red King? So—the two of us standing here—king to king. Face to fucking face, yet again.” He laughs. “Tell me, mate, why are you constantly trying to protect this woman? Is she worth it? Is her sweet arse worth dying for?”
My vision is almost normal now, so I look back up at Cade.
“Come on, you’re coming with me,” he says with a steady voice.
And unlike at the club, I’m not going to disagree.
“I told you before, you can’t walk out the door with her. So why the bloody hell do you think tonight is any different?” Rory takes a step closer to him, and the familiar sound of a safety being removed registers in my ears as I finally stand.
Cade extends his hand but keeps his other arm locked straight, prepared to shoot Rory. Is it bad that I want him to? That I want to see this man bleed all over my carpet, the ugly burgundy carpet Rory had installed in here?
“This time, I came prepared.” Cade’s brows stitch together. “Why don’t you call the boys you have parked outside and see if they answer?”
I allow Cade’s warm hand to grasp mine, and he pulls me around behind him, offering his body as a shield.
I peek around Cade to see what’s going on.
Rory’s hand slips into his jacket pocket and he pulls out his cell. His eyes remain on Cade as his mouth tightens. I assume no one is answering.
“You shouldn’t have come home from your trip early, McCullen. You should have stayed in Boston. But since you did return, now I have the pleasure of seeing your face when I take Gia away from you.”
“You won’t get far, mate. I’ll send every guy I have after you. Or better yet, I’ll sic her father on you. That motherfucker will shred you.”
My stomach folds in on itself at Rory’s words.
I want to close my eyes and go to that place in my head where I like to escape. It saves me when things become darker than I can handle.
“You think you have people in your corner?” Cade tips his head to the door, and I think he’s signaling for me to go to it, so I edge back a few steps, and he walks backward with me. “Well, I’ve got a whole hell of a lot more people in mine.”
We’re about to run, aren’t we?
Oh God.
“I-I can’t leave yet.” I move around Cade and his eyes become thin slits—confusion there.
“Change of heart, love?” Rory smiles, triumphant.
“Gia,” Cade rasps.
“I need something.” Slowly, I move Rory’s way, terrified he’ll grab me, but Cade edges closer, keeping the gun on him.
“Don’t even think about reaching for your pistol,” Cade warns. “I won’t hesitate to fucking kill you.”
My heart is beating so damn fast I can barely breathe as I move past Rory, fully aware his eyes are burning a hole in my skin.
Before I can second-guess myself, I rush to the couch, lift the cushion, and grab my sketchpad. “Okay,” I say under my breath as I walk past Rory, keeping a few feet of distance between us.
I nod at Cade as I crouch down to grab my purse off the floor by the door—I need the burner phone, too.
“I’ll be seeing you soon,” Rory says as I hurry out of my apartment, and then Cade slams the door shut behind us.
“Go,” Cade yells and motions for the stairwell at the end of the hall, knowing Rory will be fast on our trail.
And it’s barely three seconds before plaster explodes from the wall at my side.
I glance back, and Rory aims his gun my way, his eyes holding mine.<
br />
I’m frozen in place, waiting for him to fire, for this all to end.
But he doesn’t kill me.
No, he wants me alive.
Cade grabs hold of my arm and tugs me into the now-open doorway.
As we make our way down the stairs, more shots ricochet off the metal railing, and one almost hits Cade.
“Get in the car!” he shouts once we’ve made it out of the building.
There’s a black Range Rover at the curb, and I jump inside as Cade follows suit.
“We’ve got heat,” he says to the driver when I see Rory exiting the building.
Rory gets two shots off as we speed away, but they don’t seem to cause any damage.
“You okay?” Cade’s hand is on my thigh, but he’s looking out the back window, and so am I.
Rory’s still there with a phone to his ear. But he’s not chasing after us, at least.
I lose sight of him as we round a corner.
“You’re going to be fine,” he says and hands over his gun to the driver. He unzips his jacket and shirks it off.
Shit, he did get hit. I thought the bullet missed him.
I drop the sketchpad and my purse in my lap and move my fingers to his arm, where blood trickles down his bicep.
“How bad?” The driver looks back at Cade.
“The bullet only grazed me. I’m fine.” He looks down at my purse. “If you have a phone on you, turn it off so he can’t track us.”
My hand is shaking and slicked with his blood, but I tuck it in my purse and turn off both of my phones, not wanting him to see I have two.
“Why are you really doing this?” I ask a few minutes later when my heartbeat normalizes. I still can’t quite wrap my head around all of this.
I need to know the truth. I need to know if he can get me where I need to go.
His lips part as he looks away for a brief moment.
When his light eyes return to mine, he says in a low voice, “Because I should have helped you eight years ago, and I fucked up . . . so now’s my chance to make things right.”
9
Cade
God, this entire night has been a whirlwind.
My Every Breath Page 6
