Though he did point out it wasn’t something he did with every woman he dated. And his L-word slip the other day when we were out running hadn’t gone unnoticed.
“It just came up the other day. We waited until we’d calmed down to actually talk about it, but nothing’s been decided. He says it’s my choice.” I pick up a chip and start breaking it into tiny pieces on the table. “I sort of feel like I don’t have one,” I admit. “He’s older. He’s done this before. I want to prove to him that I trust him and that I’m… I dunno, mature enough for him. It’s not the only way to do it, but it’s one way.”
Denise thunks her beer bottle on the table. “You always have a choice. Always. And if you think he’s pushing you into making one you don’t want, that’s not a choice at all, and you can walk away. You should walk away.”
This time I do wave off her comment. “I know. It’s on the table. He’s said I can say no if I want to, and I may just do that.” I leave out the part where I’m afraid if I do, he’ll get tired of me that much faster and I’ll be on my own.
I didn’t imagine the violence of his orgasm the other morning. Didn’t imagine the heat in his voice when he murmured in my ear.
And if he had any idea what was going through my head, he’d take the choice right out of my hands and insist on condoms every time. Nick would never pressure me into anything unless my life is in danger.
“I’m a little surprised,” she announces and takes a sip of beer.
I frown. “Why?”
She looks up as our plates are set in front of us, and she goes about cutting up her enchilada. “You haven’t dated anyone long-term since high school.” She would notice; we’ve known each other too long for her not to. “Never figured you’d end up with someone so much older. And from your mom’s firm, no less.”
That’s right. We told her Nick works with my mom. I don’t know how to back out of the lie gracefully, to tell her that no, Nick’s family controls a large portion of LA’s criminal underworld.
I am never telling her that.
“Wait.” She pauses with a forkful of enchilada halfway to her mouth, eyes narrowing. “Nick owns several businesses? And he works for your mom’s firm?”
Busted.
I stare at my plate, searching for answers in the mole sauce. “Nick owns businesses. Tech companies, mostly. He doesn’t work at Mom’s law firm.” I swallow hard, wondering how much further I’ll have to dig before I hit bottom. “I didn’t want to tell you how we met because it was so dangerous, and you’d worry even more than you already were.”
Her fork clatters on the plate. I glance up. Her arms are crossed over her chest, her expression stony. “How did you meet?”
Half-truth time. “I don’t know if it made the news or what, but there was a shooting at a Mexican restaurant, over near USC? We got caught in the crossfire. We ended up in the alley behind the restaurant together and just kept running. He was afraid someone would come after me, so he convinced me to stay with him for a few days.”
Her face darkens. “And the wound to your stomach isn’t a result of this first shooting?”
Do. Not. Squirm. I shake my head. “No. It was a random mugging. The guy didn’t believe me when I told him I didn’t have anything on me and wouldn’t settle for taking my phone.”
“Well, that’s true.” She uncrosses her arms and picks up her fork, her forehead scrunched in a frown. “Cass, is that the whole truth? What about the scar on your throat? You told me someone tried to slit it.”
I had. “That’s true too.”
“So two random violent incidents happen to have you as the victim?” She studies my face for a long minute, and as the seconds slip past, the closer I get to breaking down and telling her the truth. “I’m sorry,” she says at last. Her face is blank, tone carefully neutral. I’ve seen her do this once before after a fight with Charlie. She’s shutting me out. “I need to get home. Got a final tomorrow.”
It takes everything I have not to beg her to finish her meal. “Sure. Hey, did I tell you I’ll be back on campus next semester?”
Her smile doesn’t reach her eyes. “That’s great.”
We call for the check and take-out containers, then pack up our dinners in silence. I don’t know why lying to Denise sucks so much now. I’ve been doing it for years. Making excuses when I come home late, or not at all, or when the job closes in and distances me from everything. She’d never understand that switch inside me, the one I can flick so easily.
Walking with her back to Charlie’s is awkward. I can’t find the words to make everything okay between us. This time, when she smiles, it’s sad. “Sorry. I guess… You’ve probably kept things from me before, but this was a big one, Cass. Huge. When it involves your life and a man who’s connected to you being in danger, I don’t know what to think.”
“I get it.” If I had as little information as she does, I’d probably feel the same way. “Nick really wanted to come with me tonight.” It’s not quite a lie. The only reason he gave in to my request that he stay home is because I sicced Lia on him. He’s entertaining his youngest sister at the moment. “But I wanted to see you alone, not with my own personal bodyguard looming over my shoulder, you know?”
She twists the bag handle around her fingers. “I want to be happy for you, Cass. I just…” She bites her lip and winces. “Ouch,” she mutters. “Since you’ve started seeing him, you’ve been seriously wounded. That’s a really big black mark in my book.”
The urge to defend Nick and tell her the truth is so strong I almost blurt it out. I drop my gaze to the sidewalk. “I’m sorry,” I whisper.
There’s nothing left to say after that. Bags swinging, we exchange hugs, and I head for Nick’s car parked under a streetlight a few hundred feet away. I put the take-out bag on the passenger seat and drive off, hunting for a new parking spot.
Wallowing in my grief will have to wait. I’ve got a recon mission to execute.
I find a place a few blocks over, not quite under a streetlight. If Isaiah’s hiding out here in my old neighborhood, it shouldn’t be difficult to find evidence of it.
Up one block, down another, cutting through alleys, I scan the streets as I walk, looking for a clue. A Greek-looking guy disappearing into a building would be a big honking one, but that’s too much to ask for.
I end up in front of my old building and finger the keys in my pocket. I still have them. Our lease isn’t up until the end of January, and Denise and I were supposed to talk about cleaning the place over dinner, now that the police were done with it.
Since I’m here, I might as well pick up more clothes. I let myself into the building and take the elevator rather than the stairs. The tape across the door is gone, but the place is still disheveled from the fight with Josef. A large section of carpet is missing next to my bed, cut away by scene techs most likely. My textbooks and laptop are, surprisingly, where I left them on my desk. I pull a bag from the top shelf of my closet and fill it with more clothes, then tuck the books and laptop on top.
The strongbox at the back of my closet is undisturbed. Extra cash, a blank passport, and the 9mm Glock my dad bought me for my eighteenth birthday along with spare clips stare back at me. This shouldn’t be here, either. I thought techs were thorough. They should have taken this with them.
I shut the box and stuff it into the bag. My breath huffs out when I lift it. It’s heavier than I thought it would be. I make a sweep through the living room and open the front door, stiffening when I hear voices coming from the stairwell. They’re low and decidedly masculine, and the back of my neck prickles, my stomach tightening.
Follow your gut, Cass.
My gut says to set the bag on the floor and wait and see who these men are. Shutting the door so it’s only open a crack, I keep my gaze trained on the door to the stairwell, willing it to open.
Isaiah steps out, a scowl on his face, the other man looking just as friendly. I ease the door shut,
holding my breath as I wait for them to leave the hallway. Sweat beads at the nape of my neck, a drop slipping down my spine.
As quietly as I can, I open my bag, unlock the strongbox, and pull out the 9mm, automatically checking the magazine. I zip up the bag and count to a hundred. Then I do it again. On the third count, I open the door, slip into the hallway, and lock the door, wincing as the tumblers click home.
I shoulder the bag and dart for the stairwell. I open the door with an agonizing slowness to minimize noise. The descent is just as agonizingly slow, and instead of exiting through the lobby, I continue down to the parking garage.
The shadowed space sets my teeth on edge, but it’s the best way out of here. Careful to keep my footsteps from ringing too loudly, I make my way to the exit. The door sticks as I push it open a crack and give the surrounding area a quick scan.
Using alleys and quieter streets, I weave my way back to the car, taking my first full breath when I pop the trunk to toss my bag inside. No one saw me, and I’ve found the one piece of information that will end this stupid little war faster than you can say “meep-meep!”
Lia’s car is gone from the driveway when I pull in. I put my leftovers in the fridge and drop my bag in Nick’s room, idly thinking maybe I ought to go get the rest of my stuff out of the guest room.
He’s in the small room off the living room, as I suspected he would be, and from the way his hair is mussed, he’s been here longer than I thought. “When did Lia leave?”
“A while ago.” The words are short and clipped. Pissed off about something.
“Oh? I thought she was going to stay for dinner.”
The muscle jumps in his jaw, and I rub my fingers over it. He leans into my touch. “That was before she told me she was dating one of her instructors.”
Cheering would not be the smart thing to do, but God, I want to. I’ll have to call her later and get the details. “And you’re not happy because he’s older?”
“Then she called me a hypocrite.”
I tuck my tongue firmly in my cheek. “Well, she kind of has a point.”
He wraps an arm around my waist and tumbles me onto his lap. “We’re not talking about us. We’re talking about Lia, and she should be with someone closer to her own age.”
I nod solemnly, agreeing with Lia’s hypocrite assessment. “Would you like a distraction?”
He nuzzles my cheek, then kisses his way to my ear. His tongue trailing along the rim sends a ripple of pleasure down my spine. “What did you have in mind?”
Not this, but I could totally get on board with it if it weren’t for the vital information burning a hole in my brain. “Isaiah’s staying in my old building. Same floor.”
He stills. “You’re certain?”
“Saw him coming out of the stairwell myself with some guy I didn’t recognize.”
“Were you inside? Never mind. Not important right now. On your floor? Did you get a unit number?”
“No,” I admit. “I figured getting out of there intact was more important. There are ten units per floor, and we know one of them is mine, so that leaves us with nine. Less than, actually. The stairs are kind of in the middle, with four units on my side, six on the other. He turned away from me, so that means it’s not one of the remaining three. So, really, only six.”
He tucks my hair behind my ear and releases me, then nudges me toward the door when I stand. “I’m calling Con,” he says. “Go get some caffeine. It could be a long night.”
Chapter 9
I turn off the TV and slouch down on the couch, scowling at my feet. Nick and Constantine left almost an hour ago, and I’m still pissed.
The negotiations didn’t go well. He met every one of my arguments with a flat no. I finally planted myself in front of him and pointed at my chest. “Hello? I lived there. I know the building. I know the frickin’ neighborhood. I should come with you,” I said.
He remained in mafiaso mode, his face a cool, blank mask, eyes flat. “You’re staying here. I’m not taking a chance the minute Isaiah sees you, he’ll open fire.”
I continued to argue, and he grew colder and more distant until I forced myself into the same space. They left, and I wandered out to the back deck and sat, staring into the dark for a while, packing my anger into a little box before going into the house and finding something to read.
I couldn’t concentrate, though. I skimmed pages, closed the book, picked it up, and tried again. I checked my phone every thirty seconds and shoved it into my pocket so I wouldn’t text Nick and distract him. I picked up the remote and flipped channels, hoping something would catch my attention.
Nothing did.
I want to be there. I want to stare Isaiah down, see him on his knees.
At the same time, I understand Nick’s fear. With me there, his attention would be on any possible danger to me, and that’s not right.
Constantine and Nick took my apartment keys and drove over with the sole intent of figuring out which unit Isaiah was hiding out in. Then they’d decide on an action plan. I warned them the building is full of students, and they couldn’t just go busting down doors.
Turns out Nick’s no, really? face is the same as his I give a shit face. If I wasn’t so mad at him, I’d have giggled.
As terrible as the plan is, it’s still action. I think I’ve earned the right to be where the action is.
“But noooo, I’m stuck here, wringing my hands, waiting for the men folk to come home after taming the big, bad wolf,” I mutter.
He’s definitely not getting laid tonight.
My phone buzzes, rattling across the coffee table, and I scoop it up. Lia’s name flashes across the screen. I thumb the lock off. “Hey.”
“Is he there?” she asks immediately.
“Nick? No. He and Constantine are off doing manly man things.”
“Oh, good. Sounds like you’re pissed at him, too, so I can vent without feeling guilty.”
I laugh and get comfortable on the couch, the cushions shifting under my ass. “Okay, first, why the hell didn’t you tell me? And second, your brother is a hypocrite, and I will tell him as much the next time I see him.”
She groans. “I know, right? Noah’s not even that much older. He’s only twenty-six. Or twenty-five. One of the two.” A car rolls down the street, bass thumping, and I glance out the front window as it passes. The driver neglected to turn his headlights on. Smart move, buddy. Real smart.
“Still. I’m pouting because you told Nick first when you knew he’d freak out.”
She growls. “I didn’t know. I thought after I moved out of Mom and Dad’s he’d gotten it through his head I’m a big girl now and I don’t need him helicoptering me.”
A sudden image of Nick worrying over his baby sister living it up flashes through my mind. I grin. “You should have seen his reaction when I told him you were out getting into trouble. He got all sexy and broody, and I just wanted to cuddle him.” Crap, had I said that out loud?
“Cass,” she whines. “You’re supposed to be on my side. I don’t need to hear about how sexy my brother is, thanks. And I was planning to tell you, but Nick started interrogating me about what I was up to and how I was handling being on my own. And now I know why,” she says darkly.
The bass-thumping car passes by again, and I get up to move to the bedroom. I need to unpack anyway. “Good. He needs to focus on someone other than me for a while.”
“Well, dying is a great way to ensure he won’t stop worrying about you any time soon.”
The thought turns my stomach to acid. We have to move past this, the protector and the protected, because if we don’t, it’s all I’ll ever be to him. “Hey, I was thinking of taking up Krav Maga. Wanna join me?”
“Ugh. No thanks. Too violent.”
Something hits the front window with a thud, followed by another, then another, a succession of them until there’s a high-pitched creaky, cracking sound. I drop to my knees and crawl
forward to investigate, vaguely aware of Lia’s voice in my ear. “Sorry, what was that?”
More cracking, and a whoomph.
“I was asking if you want to go out clubbing or something soon.”
“Sure.” Another whoomph, accompanied by flames crawling over the rug. “Hey, Lia, I have to go. I think the house is on fire.” I disconnect on her squawk and hurry to the end of the hall and study the flames, sliding into that cold, empty place in my head where the jobs live. The living room is on fire. Not completely on fire. Just partially, confined to the front under the windows, though it looks like it might have reached the couch. It’s far enough away I’m safe where I am in the hallway with plenty of other escape routes at my back.
I pull out my phone to dial 911 and make it to the bedroom in time to see another bottle smash through the French doors. Nick must have not felt it necessary to use the bullet-resistant glass throughout the house. The bottle bursts into flames. Fire spreads rapidly over the rug to tug at the bed linens. My bag sits next to the door. I grab it and run down the hall to the guest room as the dispatcher picks up. “911, what is your emergency?”
There had better not be another bottle coming through the guest room window. “Someone’s set my house on fire.”
“Okay. Ma’am, are you all right? Are you able to get out?”
Not if I have to stay on the phone. There are two windows in the guest room, one facing the street, one on the side of the house. Both are about waist level. The one facing the street is spiderwebbed with cracks, radiating out from a small hole roughly in the middle. I have maybe two seconds before a bottle comes crashing through that window. It also means there’s someone watching the front of the house. My only option is to backtrack and hope whoever’s out there hasn’t thrown bottles through the dining room windows too. “Maybe.”
A bottle smashes through the window, flame eating the rag hanging from the end. The bottle lands in the middle of the bed, and the fire catches on the blankets, eating up the fabric, little by little. I hang up and shove the phone into my back pocket.
Game of Vengeance Page 7
