Hidden

by T K Barber

  They had existed on opposite sides of a sad heart-shaped coin, stuck mid-flip in the air. She’d been clinging to the memory of a ghost. He had too. A memory from which she could now be free.

  She sniffled and wiped her face as she stared at the lifeless, broken man on the ground in front of her.

  Now she could let him go.

  She pushed back up to her feet and rolled her shoulders, resisting the urge to run her fingers through his hair or stroke his stubbled cheek one last time. She bit back more tears and headed toward the desk on the far wall, stepping over him into the living room.

  Once in the center, she draped her hands on the back of her neck and spun a slow circle.

  An homage to absenteeism at its finest. Where were all the photos? My God, did they even live here? Nothing on the fridge. No throw blankets, or couch pillows. No rugs. Not a single thing warm, soft, inviting like there’d been all those years ago.

  A pang shot through her heart. How did her precious Thomas turn into what he is, living in this environment?

  Hers? She frowned. She wasn’t his mother. That role belonged to that sweet woman Jaime. Actually, that’s probably why he thrived the way he did.

  Her eyes landed on the large black photo album on the coffee table. She pressed her fist to her mouth and cleared her throat.

  “Oh, Lyle. Why did you torture yourself? Why didn’t you just let yourself love them?”

  As if he could answer. He wouldn’t have before, either. With another fast swipe of her cheeks, she made it to the desk and tugged open the thin, wide center drawer.

  Another brown clasp envelope.

  Her poor heart wouldn’t get a break, apparently, thudding even faster as she read her name on the front.

  She hugged it to her chest and sniffled as she sat in Lyle’s chair. It almost didn’t matter what it held.

  Almost.

  With shaking fingers, she tugged open the little metal prongs and pulled out a small stack of pristine paperwork.

  “No,” she breathed.

  Her eyes widened as she flipped from page to page to page, his elaborate signature perfectly placed on each, leaving everything in his empire to her and her alone.

  But it was the date that forced a stab of vicious regret deep in her stomach and a painful swell of love in her heart.

  Twenty-two years ago.

  It must have been what took him so long to get to the hospital that day.

  God.

  Why didn’t he tell her? Better yet, why didn’t he destroy these? Tears fell again, and she leaned back, hands on her cheeks. If she’d just gone with him like he asked . . . but there was no way she’d abandon Scarlet to Ian.

  “You miserable ass,” she growled, angry all over again. “You really did love me. And hate me.”

  Though it had become clear, he hadn’t been capable of separating the two emotions for a long time. Her fault? His? It didn’t matter now.

  It was done. And everything belonged to her. Well, until she gave the money where it was due.

  She firmed her lips and shoved the papers back in. Now, there was the simple matter of—

  An angry voice sounded outside, freezing her in place.

  Rico! She straightened up with a jerk, slapping the envelope down.

  Why was he here? Did he follow her? No, he wouldn’t have known she came here. She left after he did. Then why?

  Her heart ran away so fast she got dizzy, and she spun, facing the front door. He was going to be seriously pissed when he found her here.

  Another familiar voice barked next. She tilted her head, listening, her eyes widening as her stomach dropped.

  Booker.

  A smile curved her lips. Ah. Rico tracked him down. He was so good at—her heart fluttered, and her smile dropped.

  Everything.

  Her breath quickened as she stepped over to the window. She tugged the curtains open, biting her lip when an intense thrill shot through her. Rico holding a gun was a sight to behold. Rico doing anything, come to think of it.

  Again her heart hitched. Why had she been so damn blind? So focused on. . . what? Her stomach ached. Self, that’s what. Self-pity. Self-loathing. Self-preservation. Fucking self-congratulation. And stuck in the past.

  What was he saying?

  She dropped the curtain and crept over to the door. As soon as her hand landed on the knob, three loud pops sounded. One closer to her than Rico had been. Two from farther away, where he stood. Her veins froze. Oh, God no!

  She ripped the door open in time to see both of them fall to the ground. Blood oozed from Booker’s head and chest. But Rico—his shouted obscenities sent a chill straight through every bone in her body.

  “No!” She screamed and ran to him, falling beside his writhing frame. His eyes widened, fear and agony swirling as plain as day as he glared at her.

  “TESTARDO! Mar—” he gritted his teeth as he clutched at his bleeding thigh. “Belt, now.”

  She nodded and worked it from around his waist, jerking it out of the loops.

  She wasted no time and cinched it around his upper thigh above the wound. He let out a strangled grunt when she tightened it one extra notch.

  “Ca—”

  “I am.” She dug his phone out of his left back pocket, where he always carried it, and dialed her direct contact at 9-1-1.

  He put a shaky blood-smeared hand to his forehead as he flattened on his back.

  “This is Mrs. Price. Yes, gunshot victim, hit in the thigh. Valentine house. And please send Brian and Leo, asap. Yes, two bodies.”

  She disconnected the call and Rico grunted again, anger lacing his words. “I should have fucking tied you to the chair. You’re so stubborn.”

  “Yeah? Well, you’d be here bleeding out alone! Then what?” The phone shook in her hand. “I’d have never seen you again!” Her voice hitched, and he shot her a look.

  “Madre de dio, Marianna! It isn’t like you’d care!”

  She deserved that. She did. But he was wrong. When she opened her mouth, he cut her off with a quick head shake.

  “Why are you here?” His furrowed brow relaxed for a second, then pitched up. “Fuck! You came for him? Why am I NEVER the one? Even after—”

  “He’s dead! He’s dead, Rico. It’s over. Everything.”

  His face blanked, eyes locked on hers. The charged stare down was only interrupted by his clenched teeth and sporadic winces. Finally, he spoke.

  “Are you okay?”

  She twisted her mouth to the side, and despite the tears that fell again, she nodded. That was Rico. Always, always worried about her. Even when he was lying on the grassy front lawn of their mutual enemy, bleeding from a gunshot wound to his thigh, and a perpetual wound to his heart, he still worried.

  Even when she didn’t deserve it, which, honestly, she never did.

  “Rico, I—”

  “No.” He shook his head, chewing on his lip as he let his head hit the ground, hand still locked around his upper thigh. “Not here. Not now.”

  She nodded, though he wasn’t looking. She just had to hope she’d have the willpower to admit. . . well, she didn’t even know.

  This had been a serious wake-up call. The thought of Rico not being in her life was an absurd one. He was as much a part of her as her own arm. She could have lost him tonight. She could have—

  A sob choked out and she crumpled forward, pressing her cheek to his chest, hands clenching his shirt. “I’m sorry, Rico. I’m so sorry.”

  He wrapped his free arm around her, smoothing hair from her forehead, and let out a harsh exhale. “Not. Here.” Emotion clogged his words, and she craned her neck, meeting his wet gaze and clenched teeth. “He’ll have no more parts in our play. Nothing else will have his mark on it. Not. Here.”

  She nodded again, full understanding dawning. He was right. Anything said on Lyle’s lawn would forever be associated with him, even if it had nothing to do with him.
She rested her cheek on Rico again, enjoying the sound of his breathing, even labored as it was until sirens drew her attention.

  She picked up her head and cleared her throat as the ambulance turned up the street behind the house.

  She knew. She just hadn’t admitted it to herself. Her fingers played with his shirt until he rested his hand on hers and squeezed, eyes trained on hers.

  Lyle being gone was like a blue hazed visor had been lifted. And she could see all the colors now. All Rico’s glorious colors, vibrant, and hers if she’d take them.

  If he still wanted her.

  Gavin

  “You sure I didn’t have more than this?” Gavin shifted his glare from the counter to the clerk. “Where’s my fourteen-karat gold plated horse statue?”

  The clerk snorted and slid the sign out sheet through the window.

  “Must be with the evidence of your innocence.”

  Gavin made an O with his mouth and blew out an amused breath.

  “‘S’that right? Man. I’m not gonna miss this place. At. All.”

  He punctuated his signature with his words and slid the clipboard back through the hole. He snagged his wallet, keyring, half pack of gum and eighty-three cents in change, glaring at the clerk the whole time.

  “Can I use the phone? Gotta call a taxi.”

  “Your ride’s already on the way. They called about . . .” The clerk flicked his wrist to reveal his watch. “Six minutes ago, now.”

  Gavin lowered his brows. “S’that right? Who the hell would that be?”

  The clerk sighed and shrugged as he leaned back in his chair. “Not my problem.” He quickly righted himself and snapped. “Hang on, almost forgot.”

  He reached into a little drawer in the filing cabinet beside him, dug out a phone, and slid it through the window.

  Gavin stared at it for a second, then at the clerk. “That’s not mine.”

  “It is now.” The clerk stood up, grabbed a stack of papers, and turned on his heel, headed toward the back.

  Huh. Who the hell would leave him a burner?

  He snagged the phone and pressed the home button. It flashed to life, displaying a new message notification. His pulse quickened as he opened it.

  The Price family offers its deepest apologies for your undeserved incarceration. The vehicle en route contains everything you’ll need to get back on your feet. Please call this number once you’ve gone through the items.

  “What the hell,” he murmured as he walked toward the door, reading the words again for good measure. Not that he wasn’t thankful, but talk about bizarre. And why now? Where the hell were they this whole time?

  The second he pushed through the door, a quick breeze laced with the smell of cedar blew across his face and he blinked in adjustment to the low light level.

  He breathed in and let out a satisfied sigh.

  “Fucking finally.”

  The outside of this stupid jail was the prettiest thing he’d seen in a year. Even in the dark. He smirked. Next on his list was a visit to a certain hot-as-hell, pocket-sized, blond firecracker that put everything else in this world to shame.

  And after that, he’d be paying a visit to his brother. He sneered as his fist clenched around the phone. That son of a bitch was going to die.

  His mind swirled until the crunch of tires on gravel snapped his attention to the freshly polished Bentley rolling toward him.

  It ghosted to a stop in front of him, not so much as a squeak from the brakes, and he blew out a slow breath as he tugged open the back door.

  He slid onto the supple leather seat and closed the door with a solid thud. Fuck this was a nice car.

  “Evening, Mr. Hunt.”

  Gavin’s attention shifted from the contrasting stitching in the leather to the familiar man in the front seat.

  “Eric?” He laughed and clapped him on the shoulder. “Are you fucking kidding me? How are you? God, what’s it been, eight, ten years? You’re with the Price’s now? I thought you were freelance.” He probably shouldn’t be bombarding the man, but damn it was good to see a friendly face.

  Eric shrugged with a smile. “I’m good man, I’m good. Technically, I’m working both sides now. More-so over the Valentine’s. But I work for her.”

  “Her?”

  Eric nodded. “Yeah. The Banker was killed a couple months ago. Left everything to his daughter, but Mrs. Price is running things.”

  Huh.

  Eric gestured with his thumb to the back seat. “Look through that stuff. She wants this done as quick as possible. You guys have suffered long enough.”

  You guys? His eyes widened and his stomach danced. Did he mean . . .

  He flicked his gaze up to the rearview mirror and the corners of Eric’s eyes crinkled as he nodded. “So hurry up. She’s waiting.”

  Marianna

  Back and forth and back again, Marianna paced the short distance in this tiny ER holding room, hands wringing as she waited for word from the doctor. Rico had better be fine. He had no choice but to come through this. And if something happened, she’d have everyone’s jobs.

  “Ms. Price?”

  “Yes!” She spun so fast she nearly tweaked her ankle, and almost crumpled at the familiar blonde face. “Li, oh goodness. Is he okay? He’s okay. Right?”

  Li chuckled and gingerly returned the hug Marianna pulled her into. “Peachy. Better than the last two times. The bullet didn’t do much internal damage, but it sure was a bloody mess. They did the x-ray, and based on where it was, decided to leave it there. No sense doing more damage.”

  Oh, Rico.

  “Thank you. Will they bring him back here?”

  “Yep. Should be here in a sec. Bleeding’s under control, wound is closed up tight, cops have already been in and gotten his statement, and he’s sufficiently drugged. Perfect time to ask him for a pony.”

  Marianna’s cheek twitched as she patted Li’s shoulder. “Thank you again. We’re so lucky to have you.”

  Li’s smile faltered, and she shifted her weight. “Well, just don’t get too used to that. I mean, you never know what the future holds, is all I’m saying.”

  Marianna tilted her head, offering Li a small unsure smile. Unless she was mistaken, Li was far from tying up her loose ends. That was a conversation for another day, however, as a commotion in the hall pulled both their attention.

  “Ah, here’s Mister Tough Guy now,” Li said, backing out the door and throwing a final wave to Marianna. “Take care. Don’t forget—pony!” With that, she retreated down the hall.

  Marianna’s heart hammered, and she covered her mouth as she pressed to the far corner, letting the male nurse position the bed.

  She stood locked in place as Rico was hooked back up to the monitor. The nurse elevated the head of the bed, and said something, but despite nodding, she honestly had no clue what, only that once the door was closed behind him it was just she and Rico.

  “Come here,” he slurred, holding his hand out to the side. “I’m fine.”

  Stupid tears dripped over her hands as she made her hesitant approach, and once she reached the bed, she wiped them all away and managed a smile. “Good. I have a few large pieces of furniture I need moved this evening.”

  He laughed, scratchy and sexy, his light blue eyes crinkling as he snagged her hand. Her breath caught, escaping slowly when he threaded their fingers.

  “Rico,” she whispered, and he tugged her closer, shifting up her arm little by little, until she tipped forward, bracing on the top of the bed. He tilted his head until their faces were inches apart, his eyes darting to her mouth.

  “Feels like I’m dreaming again,” he murmured, tucking her hair behind her ear.

  She choked down a gasp and shook her head. Words wouldn’t come, but she could do something.

  Her fingers shook as she smoothed them across his forehead, down his cheek, until she finally worked up the nerve to cup his face. Touching him like thi
s was new and natural in a way that broke her heart.

  “It’s not a dream.” She couldn’t stand this. Since when was she some meek, milk toothed girl? Enough.

  In the next moment, she pressed her mouth to his, wincing against the beautiful attack on her heart.

  “Tesoro,” he breathed and cupped the back of her head, deepening the kiss.

  Her body ached as his tongue danced with hers. There was a quiet fire in his kiss, a gentle, sweeping passion that filled her. His mouth was smooth and strong and commanding. He didn’t kiss like this was some new crush. This had been building, burning for too long.

  She broke free, panting, and caught his gaze. “How long?”

  He chuckled and smoothed the pad of his thumb along her jawline. “Only thirty-one years.”

  Her heart skipped. “Rico,” her voice nearly failed her. “You’re . . . telling me, you liked me from the age of seven?”

  He shook his head. “No, mia rosa.” He traced her cheek with the back of his finger. “I’ve loved you since I was seven. How could I not? Why do you think I was so eager to be your protection?”

  She cupped the side of his face. “I wish—” her voice did fail that time, choked off by grief.

  All these years wasted on not knowing. On him hiding it so well. No, on her being too blind to see. Too selfish.

  “You have no idea how badly I’ve wanted to touch you.” He exhaled and glided his rough finger over her eyebrow then down the side of her face. Goosebumps burst to life on her neck as a shiver danced down her spine.

  “Just to comfort you. Hold you. Love you like you should have been. I never could. I wasn’t the one. Ever.”

  She tucked her head under his chin and pressed her hand to his heart, the slamming beats soothing to her frayed nerves. “I’m so sorry I didn’t realize.”

  He grunted and shrugged. “I still got to be with you, amore mio. Just . . . not the way I wanted. And the fault doesn’t lie solely with you. I should have told you.”

  “You knew.” She sniffled and pressed her cheek harder against him. “About Thomas. I saw your face in the car.”