By the time I saw Daya flicking on the lights inside, even though it was still technically closed, I was fit to be tied.
I jumped out, knocking so hard that the pain shot up my arm, making Daya jump, then almost run toward me, likely being able to read the desperation on my face.
She barely had the door open before I launched into it. The donation. The apology. The sweetness. The declining of his coffee date. The agreeing to an ice cream one.
Then the shooting.
And the unanswered calls and texts.
"Okay, Reese, you need to breathe," she commanded, voice firm in response to my hysteria. "You know how these things go," she went on. "I mean, with your brothers," she added. "Every time there was a news story about a Third Street shooting, did you fly off into freakout-mode like this?"
Honestly, I was barely even aware of the world around me those years. Those many, many years. Paine alone, that was a decade of my life. And then Enzo had reign for a few years after Paine left as well.
In all those years, unless it was on at someone else's place, I didn't hear a news program. I got push alerts for certain things sent through on my phone, but nothing local. And, as much as she liked to pretend it didn't impact her quite as much as it impacted me, Kenzi made sure she never stayed on a news station for more than a couple seconds when she flipped through the channels.
We simply didn't want to know.
We didn't want to worry.
Until we knew something bad went down.
I buried deep in fiction, only surfacing a handful of times.
Like when we got the news that Enzo was shot.
By Paine.
Like when we got the news that Paine was out for good.
Like when Enzo was beat-out as well.
Aside from those events, my mother made sure, and then as adults, we made sure that we just didn't feed into it, that we didn't let it make us sick. Because it would. If we let it, it would make us all physically ill every single moment of every single day for a decade.
So, no.
I didn't go into freakout-mode like I currently was.
I just pulled a ostrich.
But there was no way to stick my head in the sand now, now that I knew there was actually something to worry about.
Why wasn't he picking up?
He always picked up.
Even when I called once somewhat early on a Friday night, not realizing he was in "church," he picked up to tell me he was busy, that he couldn't talk, but he would get back to me the second it was over.
And he did.
Day, night, weekday, weekend, he always answered.
This was not normal.
It was pointing to something not good.
Suddenly, I wished we hadn't tried to keep our friendship a secret, that we had met each other's family and friends, that we had ways of getting in touch with someone who might have the inside scoop if we ever needed it.
Because this was...
"Thank God," Daya said just a second before the door chimed as it opened.
My head snapped over.
And I swear, I almost fainted.
Seriously.
I had never been a fainter, but I darn near did it right then. Out of pure and utter relief.
Only twice in my life did I feel something akin to it, the way the weight immediately lifted from the shoulders, and a cool, soothing wave of calm seemed to move through the system from the top of your head to the tips of your toes.
When Paine was out.
When Enzo was out.
And, now, when I realized Cyrus was okay.
Because there he was, right inside the doorway, dressed in the same clothes from the night before, looking like he hadn't gotten a wink of sleep judging by the dark smudges under his eyes, and the puffiness to the lids.
But alive.
Unhurt.
And, well, I flew at him.
I didn't slow, just hit him bodily, my arms going around his shoulders, immediately holding on for dear life.
His body jolted back a step, but his arms didn't even pause in going around me, holding me just as tight as I was holding him.
His chin came down on the top of my head as my face buried in his neck, taking a deep breath because - though I had never told him such a thing - I was strangely comforted by the scent of the oil he put in his beard. It was something herbal and fresh, something that was unique to him, that I hadn't ever smelt mixed together before, that would always make me think of him.
Even after a full day where he had likely not reapplied, I could smell it there, strong as ever. And I breathed it in like someone who had been starved for oxygen did when they could get air again.
"It's okay," he said, arms giving me an even tighter squeeze when I let out some strange, foreign, strobe-like whimper thing that I didn't even know I was capable of until that moment. It was almost like a gasp and cry hybrid that was utterly telling, and maybe a bit embarrassing. "I'm alright, angel," he added, one of his hands anchoring across my lower back as the other started running the length of my spine like it had the night before, when I found myself in a very similar position.
"I called," I managed, even though my air felt constricted in my chest given how tightly I was still holding on.
"I fucking left it in Reeve's truck," he explained, hand still running up and down, but on the next turn, his fingers went all the way up, not stopping at the base of my neck, but caressing up it, slipping into the very edge of my hair, making a sweet shiver course through my insides before it retreated and moved downward again. "He took off with the other guys to, ah, deal with some shit. I haven't been able to get it back since. I'm sorry. I didn't think you'd think..."
"Of course you should have thought that she would think," Daya cut in, and I could practically hear the eye-roll in her words. "She hears on the news about a shooting at the compound with one dead, then she can't get in touch with you? God, you bikers can be so dense," she added, mumbling to herself, but doing it loudly enough so that Cyrus could hear her clear annoyance in him.
Daya, it seemed, was just that kind of woman. Like Kenzi and Alex - not afraid to speak her mind. Not afraid of confrontation.
"Baby, breathe," Cyrus commanded softly, making another of those shiver things happen. The 'baby' thing was proving, um, effective. Though I wasn't sure he meant anything by it at all. At least anything more than he meant when he said 'angel' or 'sweets' or whatever.
I slowly pulled in air through my nose, the burning it caused in my chest proving that he was right, I hadn't been breathing.
"So if it wasn't you," Daya's voice called, "who was it?"
"None of our guys," Cyrus said as I self-consciously released him, and moved to step back. Though, maybe my hands kind of slid over his shoulders, then the tops of his chest before leaving him completely. "Summer's dad seemed to be the target."
"Summer's dad..." Daya prompted.
"Richard Lyon. Big cocaine kingpin."
"Aw, that sucks. Poor Summer," Daya commented as she began wiping down the counter.
"Is she okay?" I asked, not knowing her personally, but having heard Cyrus speak of her fondly.
"No," he answered honestly, giving me a sad look. "She's just... completely broken, to be honest. Reign doesn't know what to do to get through to her. Edison called in the girls club, but even they can't really do anything but watch the kids, and deal with the arrangements, and try to get her to eat or sleep."
"Do you maybe..." I started, not sure what to say. "Should you be with them right now?" I asked, knowing the MC was like his family to him, knowing they had bonds that went as deep as any blood family. Heck, maybe even deeper in some ways.
"I think I'm right where I should be," he countered, giving me a somewhat tired smile.
I wasn't certain, but I was pretty sure I heard Daya mumble something like - You're goddamned right, you're right where you should be - as she turned her back, and started taking the lids off the containers of variou
s toppers for the ice cream.
"You look tired," I offered dumbly, grasping for any thread of conversation.
"I am tired," he agreed, shrugging. "But I want to be here more than I want to be in my bed. You want ice cream?"
I nodded immediately, the churning sensation in my stomach reminding me that I hadn't eaten anything for breakfast.
And I hadn't even had any coffee to stave off the cravings either.
"Then maybe coffee?" I asked. "I, um, knocked into my cup after I heard the news."
"What? Ree without her morning blueberry coffee? We can't be having that," he announced, dropping an arm across my shoulders like he often did, and I felt myself smile even though a part of me wished it was another hug instead.
That part of me really, really need to shut up.
So then we had ice cream.
And we walked down the street to She's Bean Around, neither of us doing much talking, each of us lost in our own thoughts.
Cyrus made small talk with Jazzy and Gala, who both proclaimed that it was good that it wasn't him who got, and I quote, "capped" because it would have been a waste of a very nice beard.
Then we left the coffee shop, Cyrus walking me back to my car.
The silence, even for someone who generally preferred it to useless noise, felt oppressive. It felt like it was full of things that needed to be said.
"Hey," he said finally as he held my car door open for me. "Let's walk," he suggested.
The library was a good twenty-minute stroll. And I was generally someone who didn't stroll often.
But there was almost a sort of desperation in his voice that had me moving away from the door so he could slam it. "It's a nice day for it," I commented, offering him a smile he seemed desperately to need.
The walk, like the walk to and from She's Bean Around was mostly silent.
It wasn't until we were almost at the doors of the library when he really spoke again.
"Why don't you throw me a book, and I'll hang here."
"Cy, shouldn't you maybe get some sleep? You're dead on your feet."
"I probably should. But I don't want to. I want to be here."
Again, there was that desperation that seemed so at odds with his usual persona, that there was no way I could refuse him.
So I handed him something off the new release section that was more of a mystery, and light on the violence, not wanting to add anything to his dark mood.
He gave me a weak smile, took his book, and headed off to a corner seat situated in the underused teen section, a seat that most people didn't know about, and was, therefore, the most comfortable.
When I walked past an hour later, he was asleep sitting up, the book open on his knee.
I thanked the universe that I was working with only Bradley that night, and that he didn't really ask why when I asked if he could try to stay away from the teen section so my friend could get some sleep, commenting only that Yeah, he looks rough before going about his business.
It wasn't until ten minutes after closing that Cyrus reemerged, looking a little more like himself, though a bit more disheveled.
"Guess Morgan isn't the author for you, huh?" I teased. "Put you right to sleep."
"Why didn't you wake me up when you closed?" he asked, looking around at all the dimmed lights.
Bradley had taken off a few minutes before, but only after I reassured him that my 'strapping male friend' (his words) would make sure I got to my car safely.
I had never been in the library alone after closing before. Even knowing the doors were all locked, and the windows didn't open, and that Cyrus was one scream away, it had felt eerie, like some lunatic could be hiding behind any corner. Which was why, as soon as Bradley left, I locked the office door, then sat down right beside it at the circulation desk, pretending to go over a spreadsheet, but really just trying not to jump at every noise in the freakishly silent space.
I nearly jumped out of my skin when the printer turned itself off with a beep.
"You needed to rest, Cy," I said with a shrug as he laid the book down on the desk.
"I did," he agreed, reaching up to run a hand through his hair which managed to muss it, but only for a second before it fell back into place perfectly. It's like each strand simply understood that Cyrus was too darned good-looking to have one hair out of place. "You ready to get going?" he asked, making me aware for the first time that we had another twenty-minute walk ahead of us. In the dark.
"Ah, yeah. Just let me get my coat," I said, jumping up, and having to unlock the office where I had left it. "All set," I said with a smile as I walked up to Cy who was waiting by the doors.
He reached out after I unlocked the door, tucking a strand behind my ear, his eyes heavy with some emotion I wasn't sure I had seen there before. "Thanks for letting me hang here. And get some sleep, Ree."
"Anytime. Well, no," I rushed to cover. "I mean, you know..."
"Yeah, angel, I know," he agreed with a small smile as he opened the door for me.
We walked for a few minutes in silence before he asked me about what he missed while he was sleeping. And, well, it was a library, so not much. But I told him about some old lady who came to me frantically with her cell phone which was playing a very explicit porn video.
"I'm so sorry, miss. I don't know who else to go to. Something came up on my phone and, oh, it is so embarrassing. But can you please just... turn it off?"
Cy gave me his full, boyish laugh at that, always liking the stories about the older people who frequented the library the best.
We were walking past the long-closed bakery when I heard the screeching.
Tires on pavement going way too fast.
I really thought nothing of it.
The idiot teens often drag raced the streets at night when they were dead, something that had been going on literally as long as I could remember. The starting point used to be right outside my childhood apartment building.
Heck, it was almost comforting to me.
But that was until Cyrus' hands grabbed me, and shoved me down into an alley, pushing at me until I went down on the filthy ground, his body covering mine just in time for the bullets to start flying.
I had heard gunshots more than the average person would in their lives, which was likely somewhere around once or never. But I had grown up on gang territory, back before Paine and Enzo were too young to really even know what a gang was all about, back when the leadership was more violent, less concerned with the law or even innocent people who might get caught up in the crossfire.
But I had never heard them so close.
They sounded different.
Tucked in my bed as a child inside brick walls, they always sounded like an odd, almost soft pop pop pop.
This wasn't that. This was up close and personal. This wasn't a handgun either. This was machine-gun fire, the pops so constant that you couldn't tell one bullet apart from the next, the loudness almost deafening in the hollow alleyway.
It happened so fast that my brain couldn't quite keep up with the reaction in my body.
My pulse raced.
My heart shot up, and pounded so hard that I felt like I was choking on it.
And my stomach, well, everything in it was threatening to make another appearance.
Even so, even in a situation that was literally life or death, I still managed to notice how Cy's body was plastered to mine, how my breasts were crushed into his hard chest, how his beard was tickling the side of my face.
And - maybe this most of all - how he was using himself to completely shield me from harm.
It seemed to go on forever, time frozen to be nothing but bullets and fear, racing heartbeats, and stunted breaths.
But then, just as abruptly as it started, it ended.
We didn't move, though.
Cy stayed on me, but braced his hands beside my body, holding up some of his weight - an action that was both welcome, and unwanted somehow at the same time. On one hand, I could breathe
again. On the other, he wasn't pressed against me anymore.
"Alright, I am going to assume that you aren't involved in some nefarious underground book fangirl mob," he said, attempting levity a moment later.
"Well, I mean... there are some vicious fights between the 50 Shades die-hards and the ones who think it's a pile of burning dog excrement. But those fights are of the six-page blog post variety. I don't think they want to put holes in each other in a literal way," I offered back, smiling a little, attempting to keep things light as well, even if my belly was swirling ominously.
"Then I guess we can assume those bullets were meant for me."
He moved up slowly, crouching for a second, while holding his hand out at me, palm up, silently asking me to stay before he stood up and moved toward the mouth of the alley, looking outward.
I guess seeing nothing, he turned back to me, then rushed over to reach down. "Come on, angel. We need to book it," he announced, taking my hand, and none-too-gently yanking me up onto my feet.
His hand stayed in mine, in fact, tightened.
Then he ran.
And, holding his hand, I had no choice but to run as well.
Now, um, I was pretty sure I went all the years of my life with never, ever, ever breaking out into an actual run. There had once been a small fire in Kenzi and my apartment, and I had done a brisk walk toward the door.
By the time we reached my car, I was gasping so hard that I didn't even notice that he was opening the passenger side of my car and pressing me into it.
I could barely remember to reach for my keys by the time he slid into the driver's seat.
"You have your cell on you, angel?" he asked, taking the key, and turning over my car. I handed it to him, watching as he plugged in a number and brought it up to his ear. "Yeah, I know," he said as another voice spoke to him. "A friend's," he said, and I figured they were talking about cell phones. "Listen, I was walking down the street with my friend, and a car came out of nowhere, shooting. No, yeah. No. Listen, Reeve," he said, voice a little more on-edge than I had ever heard it before. "No, that's the thing. They could have hit me or us. Easy. But they didn't. Yeah. Okay. Alright. Give me an hour or so. I will. You too."
He handed me back my phone, and I took it with numb fingers.
Cyrus (The Henchmen MC Book 9) Page 10
