Game of Vengeance

by Amanda K. Byrne

  Since I hooked up with Nick, I’ve killed more people than I have in the last three years put together. Constantine’s warning reverberates in my skull. A jacket drops over my shoulders, and Nick sits, forearms on his knees. The breeze off the water musses his hair, a lock falling over his forehead. I brush my hand off on my jeans and push it back.

  “I see why you come here. It’s peaceful.” He stares out at the black waves crashing onto the sand, lights from the Santa Monica pier gleaming off the obsidian surface.

  Peaceful is only a part of it. “I like that it’s so constant. The change. It’s different every day, but it’s the same, you know? Like the waves are shattering and coming back together.” It sounds lame spoken out loud. When I shrug to cover the heat of embarrassment racing over my face, the jacket falls on the sand at my back. “It’s a sort of meditation. Out with cold, calm Cass. In with student Cass, the Cass who gets to feel.”

  He picks up the jacket and wraps it around my shoulders once again. His fingertips ghost down my back as he drops his hand, and the loss is so acute I inch over and lean against him, abandoning my solitude.

  The pressure of his arm around my waist, his hand flexing on my hip, is more comforting than I’d like, but I want to wallow in it. I crook an elbow around his leg and shift so I’m flush against his side. “It’s not always going to be like this,” I say quietly.

  “No.”

  “It’s always going to be there, though. The possibility. The need to carry a weapon, the need to defend myself. I will never be totally and completely out of danger. Leaving that life behind isn’t an option. Not if I stay with you.”

  Sometimes a lack of words is reassuring. Not in this case. Nick’s mouth stays closed for far too long. “Constantine’s been talking, hasn’t he?”

  “Yeah.”

  He grunts and holds me tighter. “He likes you. Respects you. He’s also right. If you want out, you’ll never be completely out of it with me. You’ll have the freedom to turn down jobs, and maybe eventually people will stop contacting you with offers. There’s always a risk, though, that someone will try to use you to get to me.”

  If Constantine is to be believed, none of his past girlfriends were close enough to be threats. Why is on the tip of my tongue. Why am I the special one? Why am I the one who’s worth it? I swallow the words. I’ll ask him. Someday. Possibly. Possibly not. I might not have to. This could all be over tomorrow if Nick decides I’m in too deep and it’s a risk he’s unwilling to take.

  I can’t lose him. I’ve just gotten him back, and as rocky as it’s been, I can’t walk away. He’s the one person I don’t have to lie to, and I will not give him up without a fight.

  Does he know? Does he know what he’s done? Embracing this, us, allowing me to see that dark, twisted side of him? Allowing me to show him mine? He has to. He’s not stupid. He has to know the significance.

  “What happened with your father, Cass?”

  Let’s introduce a topic I really don’t want to talk about. And let’s do it in the bluntest manner possible. “Nothing out of the ordinary. He made some suggestions. I told him I’d check them out. Then I left.”

  “I call bullshit.” His voice is mild, but the underlying steel is unmistakable. “I’ve talked to him a few times. I’ve seen the two of you together once. Forget that I don’t have the IQ of an astrophysicist, it doesn’t take a genius to see you don’t get along.”

  Oh, if only it were that easy. “We get along just fine. All I have to do is go along with his wishes, and we’re good.” I try to squirm away. Nick responds by pulling me onto his lap, imprisoning me there.

  “Please let me go.” This is supposed to be my time. I’m done sharing. I need to find Good Cass again and make sure she’s firmly in place.

  Backlit by the glow of lights from the street, his face is barely visible. I don’t need to see his eyes to know he’s glaring at me. “Bull. Shit. You don’t make yourself sick on rum and chocolate if you get along just fine.” He moves a hand from my hip to my face. He strokes my jaw in a sweet, tender gesture that threatens to break me in two. “There’s no point in talking to him if all he does is upset you.”

  I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from wailing. He’s right. There’s no getting through Turner’s hard head. I’m a failure to him, and it’s time I work on accepting that.

  I press my forehead to his, willing the hurt away. “Can we go back to watching old Disney cartoons now? That’s about all I can handle at the moment.”

  “And eat brownies?”

  I shudder. “No. No brownies. No sugar. In fact, I think we should throw out all the sugar in the house and dump the rum down the sink.”

  He stands with me in his arms, the display of strength sparking desire low in my belly. “I’m keeping the rum and the cookies. Constantine will happily take the brownies off your hands.”

  He starts walking up the beach toward the sidewalk, and I wriggle. “You can put me down. I’m not injured this time.” He releases my legs, and they flow down his body, his hands skimming to my lower back, dipping to palm my ass. “I’ll wrap the brownies and take them to him tomorrow,” I say.

  His hands flex, and I catch a wince on his face before it blanks again.

  “What?” Even as I ask the question, my stomach sinks. I’m not going to get my alone time with Nick anytime soon.

  “Con’s on his way over. He was going to follow us home, but I told him you needed an hour. He thinks he’s uncovered some more information about where Isaiah’s hiding, and we need to jump on it tonight if we can.”

  Oh. I should have figured as much. Disappointment replaces my short-lived contentment, and I force a smile. “That’s fine. As long as you guys don’t mind my cartoon watching.”

  He adjusts the jacket over my shoulders and tips my chin up, covering my mouth with his. The kiss is tender and threaded with heat. It says not tonight, Cass, but soon, and I remember what he’d said yesterday in the shower, how he imagined being bare inside me, and that we’d talk about it later.

  It’s later.

  It’s also another topic I don’t want to talk about, although I figure if we talk about that, we aren’t talking about Turner, and I’d rather face a firing squad than discuss my daddy issues. I flick my tongue over his lips and slip it inside his mouth, drawing the heat out to wrap around myself.

  On a growl, he breaks the kiss, scraping his teeth over my lower lip. “Don’t tempt me,” he murmurs.

  “You can have more of that once Constantine leaves.” I step back and link my hand with his, and we wander up the sidewalk. “So. Um. About yesterday.” His hand tenses in mine, and I squeeze gently. “In the shower. You were serious, weren’t you? About wanting me like...that?”

  “I am.”

  Simple as that. Two words. Two words that, if I push him, will change everything for me. “I’m clean,” he says. “It’s not something I do with every woman I sleep with, and it’s not something we have to do.” There’s a trace of longing and lust in his voice. It zips through me, fanning the flames of my own desire. He strokes his thumb over my knuckle. “I’d be lying if I told you I don’t think about it. How good you’d feel.”

  Wings flutter in my stomach, bats or butterflies or hummingbirds. He wants this. Wants me, all of me. “I was tested in the hospital. I’m on birth control.” Thank God for my insistence on an IUD. The doctor hadn’t wanted to put one in, and I’d badgered her until she relented. I didn’t want to have to rely on little pills and needing to take them at the same time every day to have maximum protection. I blow out a breath. “I’ve never done this before.”

  I have never wanted someone as badly as him. I want this connection, this show of trust and commitment.

  If I take that step, I can’t go back.

  We walk in silence the rest of the way home, but he stops me at the end of the driveway. “You tell me when, or you tell me no. It’s your decision.” A brief kiss, and he leads me
past Constantine’s car into the house.

  I don’t think no is an option. If I want Nick around for the long term, if I want to take that chance of laying my shriveled heart on the line, I can’t say no. If we stand any chance of working past the age difference, I have to say yes. Because yes means I trust him. Yes means I can handle whatever the consequences are. Yes means I’m mature enough, sure enough of myself, that I can do this and come out on the other side mostly intact.

  Constantine hugs me hello, and I leave the two of them talking in the entryway and head for the kitchen. It’s a disaster zone. Flour and sugar dust the countertops. Cookie sheets sit abandoned next to the stove. The cap’s off the rum, the lowball glass next to it empty. The half-eaten pan of brownies are on the island, along with the dirty mixing bowls and measuring cups. Half of a stick of butter sits unwrapped, softened to the point it’s starting to melt.

  At least I remembered to put away the milk and eggs.

  I pull out a plate and transfer the brownies, holding my breath the entire time. Setting them out of sight, I hunt through the cupboards for a cookie jar.

  “Help you find something, Cass?” Nick rests a hand on my back, and I twist around.

  “You don’t happen to have a cookie jar, do you?”

  He grins. “Never needed one. No one’s baked for me since my mom when I was a kid.”

  So Cecelie never baked him anything? Interesting. I shield the tiny kernel of smug triumph and retrieve another plate. “You need a cookie jar. Cookies belong in jars, not on plates.”

  Constantine snags a cookie from the wax paper I’d laid them on to cool. “Cookies belong in my mouth. Not in jars.”

  I point at the offending brownies. “Take those. Please.” Even the sight of them has my stomach clenching.

  “Fuck yeah!” He scoops up the plate and cradles it to his chest, the amount of excitement in his eyes bordering on ridiculous. A giggle escapes, and I turn back to the cookies and the plate, grinning when he moans.

  “Con, do you want to be alone with the brownies?” Nick picks up another cookie and bites off half.

  “Shut up,” he mumbles.

  Nick piles dirty bowls and trays next to the sink. I nudge him out of the way when he turns on the water. “Nope. My mess. I clean it up. You have shit to talk about. Go. Take the brownies with you.”

  He cups the back of my head and nibbles a line up to my ear. “We’ll stay out of the living room.” Leaving me free to watch dancing mice and singing fairies and talking dogs, if I should so choose. Leaving me to remain ignorant of what the next steps are to tracking Isaiah.

  Giving me an out.

  It would be easy to allow Nick to take over. It would keep me out of harm’s way, which would make him happy. But that’s sending him to fight my battles for me, and I’m perfectly capable of protecting myself.

  I plunge my hands into the soapy water and scrub the first cookie sheet. One by one, the dirty dishes become clean, the water swirling along with my thoughts. I set the last bowl on the counter and dig out some clean dish towels. After wiping down the counter, I unfold the towels and place everything that wouldn’t fit in the drying rack on the towels, then wipe off the kitchen island. I cap the Kraken and stick it in a lower cabinet.

  I wander out into the living room a few minutes later, another mug of mint tea in my hands. My chest squeezes and relaxes, unhappy with my options. I have to back my words with actions. I have to back Nick’s words with actions. I’m in this. I can’t bury my head in animated, Technicolor sand and let others decide what should happen next.

  They’ll be in his study.

  I pause outside the door, my legs shaking as my hand rests on the knob. Through the door, I hear their voices, too low to make out the words.

  Their jaws snap shut when I enter. I lower myself to the floor, careful not to spill the hot liquid. “So. Isaiah.”

  Nick’s lips twitch once, twice, before settling back into a neutral line. “Isaiah.” He points to a monitor with a satellite map. “Last we heard, he’s holed up somewhere around here.”

  I can’t see the map from where I’m sitting. Clutching my mug like a lifeline, I get to my feet and pick my way across the floor. Major arterials are written in tiny letters, the only indicators of what neighborhood it might be. I reach over and enlarge it once, and smaller streets pop up.

  It’s my old neighborhood. It’s the neighborhood Denise is still in with Charlie. Unprotected. Dread ices my skin, and I swallow tea to melt it away. Denise will be safe. I’ll make sure of it.

  I draw in a breath. “Gentlemen, I think I can be of use.”

  Chapter 8

  Denise is already seated when I walk into El Dorado the next day. I duck behind a giant leafy palm tree for a moment and take a mental inventory of all the lies I’ll have to tell her to get through this meal. There are a lot of them, and the possibility is huge I’ll get tangled up and back myself into a corner.

  I let out a breath. As long as I don’t tiptoe anywhere near the truth, I should be okay. I slip out from behind the palm tree and wave at Denise to get her attention.

  “Cass!” She jumps up from her seat, jolting the table in the process. Water spills onto the surface, but she ignores it as she throws her arms around me and hugs me like we’ve been apart for years.

  I should talk. I hugged her back just as hard.

  We finally pull apart, her face flushed, eyes bright. Her gaze lands on the faint scar on my throat. I stifle a groan. Nick’s preoccupation with my various hurts already drives me nuts. “Don’t. Don’t say it. I get enough of it from Nick.”

  Her lower lip pokes out. “Shut up. My bestest friend in the whole wide world almost dies and then escapes to Thailand for a month. I am allowed to freak out.”

  She has a point.

  We slide into opposite sides of the booth, and she picks up her napkin and begins mopping up the water. “I didn’t get a lot out of anyone while you were in the hospital, and then you didn’t say much of anything either while you were gone.” She gives me an accusing look. “What the hell are you into, Cass? Does it have to do with Nick?”

  Showtime. I hold up my hands in surrender. “Nothing. I swear. Nick owns a couple of businesses. He’s not, like, some nefarious criminal or anything.” The lie trips easily off my tongue. I just hope the next one goes as smoothly. “What happened was an accident. I tried to fight back, the guy didn’t like it, and he caught me in the stomach. I got really lucky it was the garage for Nick’s office and he found me in time.”

  Neese worries her lower lip, biting it repeatedly.

  “Stop it,” I scold. “You’re going to make yourself bleed. I’m alive. Nick found me, he’s being incredibly overprotective, and I’m not going to be dying any time soon.”

  A server appears at the end of the table, and we both order without thinking—enchiladas with mole sauce. I opt for water while she orders a Negro Modelo to go with her food, and we dig into the basket of chips between us, Denise wrinkling her nose as she accidentally lays her arm on the wet table.

  “So.” I lick salt from my lips. “What’s it like living with Charlie? Does he pick up his clothes? Put his dishes in the sink?”

  She grins. “You know, I think he’s so amazed by the fact I actually agreed to move in with him that he’s on his best behavior. I came home from class the other day and found him vacuuming. Vacuuming.” She snags a chip from the basket. “I mean, for realz, yo. And yeah, he puts his dishes in the sink. Sometimes he even rinses them first.

  “It’s nice, you know? Waking up next to him every morning, knowing I don’t have to run home first because I forgot something, getting to come home to him every night. We’ll probably have a fight soon and ruin everything, but I’m just going to enjoy it while it lasts.”

  Envy swells, and I push it back. She and Charlie have worked up to this. They’ve been together for almost two years, and they are absolutely gone over each other. I’ll get the
re with someone eventually. Then I’ll be the one amazed by the vacuuming and the dishes in the sink.

  Denise leans forward, an eager gleam in her eyes. “So? What’s it like?”

  “What’s what like?” I’m pretty sure I know what she’s asking about, but I’m going to make her say it anyway. Out loud. Because I’m mean like that.

  “Nick! Come on. Details. Because hi, yes please, and thank you.”

  “Mmm.” I crunch down on a chip. “Well, he certainly knows what he’s doing.” Times about a million. My experience is miniscule compared to what the man knows.

  Although…

  Denise and Charlie are my barometer of what a committed relationship should be like. It’s safe to assume they’ve done the sorts of things you only do once you’ve been with someone long enough to trust that no matter the outcome, you’ll deal with the fallout together. All I have to do is pony up and ask.

  “I did want to ask you something.” A blush works its way over my cheeks to my ears, the tips heating. “Have you and Charlie ever, um…” Crap. I can’t do this.

  “Ever what?”

  Dammit. I need to ask this. I need to talk to someone who’s been here before, and Denise knows me. She’ll get it. “Have you ever done it without a condom?” I ask in a rush.

  From the red spreading over her face, I assume the answer is yes. She tries to play it off with a shrug. “Yeah. For a while now. One night the condom broke, and we just never went back.” She reaches for her beer and chugs it down. “Why? Are you—” Her eyes widen a fraction. “Damn, girl. I knew this was serious business, but this is serious.”

  I wave off her comment. “Not really. I like him a lot, and he feels the same way. There haven’t been any declarations of love and devotion or anything like that.” His attentiveness and concern for my safety have seen to that.