Darkest Night

by Megan Erickson

  “Do you want another sandwich?”

  He could probably eat five, but he just shook his head.

  “I take it you liked it?”

  “It was fucking great. Thanks.”

  She beamed and plucked a grape from her sandwich, sticking it into her mouth. He looked away as her lips closed over her fingers. Sometimes she did something so pretty, and a little bit sexy, and it hurt to look at her.

  Sundance sighed heavily in the corner, his eyes drooping.

  “Why’d you name him that?” Jock asked.

  “Sundance?”

  “Yeah.”

  Fiona glanced over her shoulder at her dog and then back toward Jock. “I was alone a lot as a kid. Not just at home but at school, too. I was shy. Wren was one of the first real friends I ever had.” She snorted. “Sad, right?”

  He didn’t laugh. “Pretty sure you get I’m not a social type.”

  She smiled. “Yeah, I guess you understand then. Anyway, I always wanted a friend, a partner. Ride or die, you know? Like Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid. So I named him Sundance because the name makes me happy.”

  Jock nodded. “I like it.”

  Fiona’s eyes were soft. “I’m glad.”

  Jock cleared his throat. “Anyway, we need to talk.”

  She paused as she raised her glass of water to her lips. “Oh.”

  “Sorry to bring it up, but I want to know if you’ve had threats before, why you moved, how they contact you, all of that.”

  She pushed away her plate. “Yeah, I guessed this discussion was coming.”

  “Apologies.”

  She shrugged. “Not your fault.” She propped her elbow up on the table and dropped her chin into her hand. “So where should I start? Well first, I never bothered changing my name. Fiona is my middle name, and the name I always go by, but my documentation is all Sara F. Madden.”

  He knew that but stayed silent.

  “I didn’t have the money or the street smarts to change identities or go into hiding. So I try to use cash whenever I can and keep to myself. They find me, though; they always do. They send me…” Her eyes dropped to the table. “Photos of myself. That’s usually when I move. Even though I know they’ll find me again, I move. I’ve had no choice, no way to protect myself. All I could do was change where I lived under the illusion that I was hiding from them and keeping myself safe.”

  That was a harsh life, to be waiting for them to find her again.

  “Do they ever call? Email?”

  “Only mail,” she said. “I think they like me to know they have my address.”

  “And what are their threats, specifically?”

  “To keep quiet. They remind me that I promised to tell no one what happened to me, and if I did, they’d take me again and…” She swallowed and looked away. “They’d do worse this time.”

  He’d kill every fucking last one of them.

  She shifted in her chair and tucked her knees under her chin, clearly uncomfortable. “I hate talking about this. I hate it. It’s embarrassing—”

  “You have nothing to be embarrassed about,” he barked, maybe a little too loudly because she flinched. He inhaled sharply. “They are predators and sick fucks, and I’m goddamn impressed you’ve built a life for yourself knowing they’re watching you. You’re still standing, and I’m sure, every time they look at you, they know you’re stronger than them. It probably eats at them that they didn’t break you.”

  She stared at him, her mouth open. She blinked rapidly and her throat worked. “I—thank you, Jock.”

  He nodded, the muscles in his shoulders tight with the anxious desire to fuck up these men. “Have you ever felt like they are following you physically? Have you ever felt watched?”

  She shook her head. “Not really. I look over my shoulder all the time, but that’s habit. I’ve always known they could come for me anytime. Even though they told me they’d leave me alone. I don’t trust it.”

  “Yet, you live,” he said.

  She wrapped her arms around her legs and rocked slightly, chin on her knees. “What choice do I have? I want to stay alive. I know that with a bone-deep certainty. Sometimes it’s the only thing I’m certain of. My life isn’t perfect. I’m scared more than I’m not. But I don’t mind my job. I like living here, and my dog is great. I’ve been here a year now, and I hope to stay here.”

  “I will get that for you,” he said.

  Her head jerked back. “You’re just watching me for now to make sure the threat is empty, right?”

  The job had changed. “I ensure your safety, then I’ll take out the men responsible.”

  Her eyes widened. “Wait, what? Take out?”

  “Take. Out.”

  She didn’t speak for a long time as she studied his face. He wanted to fidget and squirm, but training kept him still, letting her look her fill. Finally she stood up and gathered their empty plates, body tense.

  He spoke. “Fiona—”

  “It’s probably an empty threat from this…Maximus.” She placed the dishes in the dishwasher and didn’t look at Jock. “He wanted to punish Wren and Roarke, and he wants to hold me over their heads, but I’m nothing. I’m an insignificant woman that they drugged, raped on video, and sold to a bidder.” The emptiness of her voice chilled him. “I’m used to my life. The photos they send don’t bother me anymore, and their threats are always the same. I keep my head down, I live my life, and it’s okay. You don’t need to take out anyone for me.”

  She could say that, but that didn’t change what he intended to do. So he stayed silent.

  She sighed and stared out her back window. “You have your mind made up, then?”

  “Yes.”

  Her eyes closed briefly. “What if that puts me in more danger?”

  “It won’t.”

  “You sound so certain.”

  “I’m very good at my job.”

  She swung her head to face him, and the fatigue in her expression pierced him. He stood up and walked over to her. Fuck she smelled good—sweet from whatever soap she used in the shower. His fingers ached to touch her hair but he kept his hands at his sides. “You don’t have to worry about anything for a while. For now, I stay in New York, and I watch over you, and I ensure the threat is as meaningless as you believe it is. Okay?”

  She sighed. “Will you promise me you’ll tell me when you leave New York and change the trajectory of this mission from protection to revenge?”

  He could do that. “I promise.”

  She exhaled and turned away. “Great. Now get out of my kitchen and go find something to do. I have brownies to make, and you’re going to sit and eat them with me. But I get the corners. All four of them.”

  He reached up and allowed himself one touch. He clasped his hand around the back of her neck, and her body stilled beneath his palm. Her eyes lifted to his, and his heart beat rapidly in his chest. He wanted to tell her he wouldn’t be leaving, not ever. That when he did leave, she’d be coming with him where he could always make sure she was safe. But that was ridiculous and made his palms sweat. So all he said was, “Corners are yours.”

  Then he walked away to check on her front door locks. He felt her eyes on his back the whole way.

  * * *

  Maybe it was Jock’s presence that was giving Fiona the confidence that she’d long ago lost. Or maybe she wanted to prove to him—and herself—that she could handle life while this threat loomed over her.

  While Fiona wasn’t sure yet that this threat would lead to anything, she was under no illusions that the men who’d tormented her would ever go away. But maybe she could start to live less in shadow. So with that, she’d announced that if Jock would go with her, she wanted to attend a weekend festival that night. A few streets away, the heavily Dominican neighborhood shut down the streets and flooded them with food, dancing, music, and laughter. She wanted to go. She wanted to eat and dance and feel like an actual person.

  When she’d asked Jock he’d been
silent for a long time, so quiet she thought he’d say no. But then he’d nodded.

  So here she was in her bedroom, standing in front of her one full-length mirror, smoothing the fabric of her dress over her hips. It was a warm, humid night so she’d gone with a simple cotton dress in a light blue that complemented her eyes. She’d left her hair down—a rare occurrence lately—and brushed it until it shone. Hell, she even wore makeup even though she was a little concerned about the age of her mascara and hoped it wouldn’t give her an infection.

  She was nervous, not just about attending the festival, but to be in Jock’s presence in a way that didn’t have to do with feeding him or standing by while he checked her smoke detectors.

  There was a knock at her door, and after a swipe of lip gloss to her lips she ran to answer it. A deep voice said, “It’s me,” before she even got a chance to look in the peephole.

  She threw open the door, expecting to see Jock in his ever-present camo pants and black shirt, but she sucked in a breath at the sight of him. He wore a pair of dark jeans, worn at the pockets and knees, snug on his lean hips and thick thighs. His broad chest was covered by a dark gray button-up. His hair was even semi-styled, and he’d trimmed his beard. Good God, he was dressed up as if this was a date.

  For a moment, his blue eyes raked over her, taking in her appearance with a heat that seared straight to her marrow. In a blink, he was back to all business, but her body was warmed to the core.

  This felt like a date. She hadn’t been on a date in…well, she couldn’t really remember. She did, however, remember what it felt like—the butterflies in her stomach, the excitement of the night stretched before her, unsure what it would hold. She didn’t need a spoken compliment from Jock—that look had been enough.

  When he spoke, he said softly, “Babe, you need shoes.”

  She glanced down at her bare feet and wiggled her toes. “Oh right, I forgot.” She whirled away to go find a pair of sandals that would work. She heard the door close, and when she came hopping down the hallway while slipping her feet into her shoes, she found Jock waiting for her in her living room.

  Jock’s eyes had lost some of their harshness, and as she straightened before him, once again smoothing her skirt, he reached out to finger a strand of her hair before dropping it back where it draped over her breast. “I like your hair down.”

  Oh God, he’d verbalized a compliment. Her entire body flushed hot. She decided right then she going to wear her hair down more often. Every day. “Thank you. You look so nice. I didn’t realize you owned these clothes.”

  “Didn’t. Bought ’em today.”

  She smiled.

  His eyes dropped to her mouth for a moment before he announced. “This is a date.”

  Her body jolted. “What?”

  He pointed across the hall. “Neighbor?”

  “What?”

  “Who’s your neighbor, Fiona?”

  “Oh, uh, Marlene.”

  “What’s she like?”

  What did Marlene have to do with him saying they were on a date? And why were they on a date? Still, she answered his question. “Marlene is in her seventies, lives alone.”

  “She nosey?”

  “Uh, yeah, she’s a seventy-year-old woman who lives alone. She’s maternal and watches out for me.”

  “So this is a date,” he said again.

  Okay, what in the world? “I’m sorry?”

  “Neighbors are nosey, neighbors talk. I do not want talking. To explain my presence, I’m your boyfriend. That means we act like it. That means I cannot show up here with you looking like that to take you out on a date wearing camo. I gotta wear this. Because a man with you on his arm is going to make a fucking effort.”

  Fiona stared at him. There might have been a few more compliments in there, but she couldn’t be sure. “So wait, you just decided this and I go along with it?”

  “Not asking you to suck my dick in the hallway, Fiona. I’m asking you to pretend I’m your boyfriend in case your neighbors ask because having a bodyguard is not fucking normal.”

  Visions of herself on her knees at his feet filtered through Fiona’s mind in a way that should have freaked her out in a scary way, but instead freaked her out in a good way, while his face darkened and he muttered “fuck.”

  That drew her from her pervy visions. “What?”

  “Forgot, uh, flowers, or some shit.”

  “Oh, in case Marlene saw?”

  “Marlene?”

  She gestured toward the direction of Marlene’s apartment. “Yeah, the whole fake-boyfriend thing.”

  He scowled. “Nothing to do with that. Just thought you’d like flowers.” He picked at his shirt. “And while this is also for the illusion of a date, also had to step up my game so you weren’t embarrassed to walk out there with me. Haven’t been out in a while, or maybe ever, so I wanted tonight to be good for you.”

  That told her a couple of things. Yes, Jock was playing a part, but there were a couple of things that he hadn’t had to do. Flowers, clothes, and mainly, that look he’d given her when she opened up the door—he’d done those for her benefit. No one, not even Marlene, needed to know he’d looked at her with that heat in his eyes. Fiona wasn’t sure what to do with all this information.

  She forgot Jock didn’t play games. He knew going out on a date wasn’t something she did ever. She wasn’t comfortable with it, and hadn’t been. Probably wouldn’t be again if Jock wasn’t here. But he was now, and maybe, just maybe, she could get there on her own.

  “I don’t need flowers,” she said softly. “And I don’t care what you wear. But you do look nice, and I appreciate the effort more than you know.”

  He absorbed the words, she could see, and his chest inflated slightly. “Good. You ready?”

  She grabbed her purse from a hook near the door on the way out. “Yeah. I’m hungry, too. I can pretty much smell the meat cooking. Can’t you?”

  “Yep, I’m starved, too.”

  She didn’t even think much of it. When they stepped out onto the sidewalk, she linked her arm in his. The warmth of his body against hers fueled her confidence, and she leaned her head back, inhaling the night air full of city smells. Some weren’t that great, but luckily the scents of the food from the festival overpowered the bad ones.

  She closed her eyes, and when she opened them she grinned at the sliver of the moon. She turned her head to say something to Jock, but whatever she had meant to say fled as soon as she met his eyes. He was staring at her with an expression she had trouble figuring out. Longing? No, that couldn’t be. Maybe he missed his family or his friends. Maybe he wished he was here with another woman. But he was directing that look at her. Her. Fiona Madden. A man hadn’t looked at her like that…well, she wasn’t quite sure how long it had been. She’d grown to be an expert at blending into the background.

  “What?” she asked, when he didn’t say anything.

  He shook his head and looked away. “You’re happy, so I’m good.”

  And that was that. She knew deep down he meant every word. “You’re the best bodyguard ever,” she breathed.

  He laughed, a sound that surprised her, a hearty laugh that made him look altogether like a different person. She’d been funny once. Her family had told her so, her friends. She and Wren used to be hilarious together. A two-woman show. Maybe she could get back to that. Find that inner humor she must have left behind. She needed to hear Jock laugh like that more.

  The sounds of music and voices grew louder the closer they walked toward the festival. She smiled a bit, wondering what the neighborhood would think of Jock. He was like a giant blond Viking. She bet he’d totally rock a Game of Thrones costume for Halloween.

  But as they entered the crowd, Jock blended in well. Other than his size, he didn’t stand out as much as she’d expected. He took her arm out of his, and she was sad for a split second until he grasped her hand, twining their fingers together. Right, he still wanted to keep her with him, but he
probably had more control this way.

  She led him right to a stand that sold pork on a stick, and she ordered one while Jock ordered four. Four. And he ate each one in two bites while Fiona nibbled on hers as she browsed some jewelry stands.

  She loved the handmade beadwork of the necklaces sold by one woman. The price tags, although high, were perfect for the beauty and amount of time each piece must have taken to make. She fretted over one, a pretty black and coral-colored one. She could afford it, but she might have to go without some of her favorite fresh produce.

  The necklace was pulled from her hands and she turned to yell at whoever had taken it from her but found the necklace intertwined in Jock’s thick fingers. He checked the price tag and then handed it to the woman along with a wad of cash.

  “Gorgeous,” the woman said, trying to sell it even though it’d already been sold. “This will look beautiful on your neck. Want another? I’ll discount the second.”

  Jock shook his head and took the necklace. He took a moment to run it over his palm, studying the stones before twirling his finger at Fiona, a silent order for her to turn around. “You didn’t have to get that,” she protested. “I was going to.”

  “You want it on or not?” he asked.

  She swallowed. “I guess…on.”

  “Turn around,” he said.

  She did, her eyes closing briefly as he gathered her thick hair and pushed it to the side then slipped the necklace over her chest. He fiddled with the clasp at the nape of her neck and draped her hair down her back again.

  She fingered the beads at her throat, the weight comforting. It was a simple necklace, not that expensive, but she felt like a million bucks. “Thank you,” she said.

  He nodded, gripped her hand, and kept walking.