by S. Massery
I muffle the noise of surprise that comes out of my mouth, my hand pressed over my lips. I close my eyes for a second, unable to not see the body falling away from Griffin.
Griffin starts back toward me, and goosebumps break out across my skin. This is a lot different than the boy who snuck into my bedroom, the boy who beat up the high school bullies and kissed my bruises. A little more haunted. A lot more terrifying.
He opens the driver’s door and kneels next to me. “Hadley.”
I look over at him. My muscles creak.
“Let me drive you home.”
“Home?”
“Your apartment? Your parents’ place?”
I grab his shoulder. “They know where I live.”
Never mind that I thought I was about to witness Griffin die.
My whole body trembles. “I can’t go back there. He threatened— You killed—”
He pulls me out of the car and quickly places me in the passenger seat. I stop him before he can render me completely helpless. He lets go of my seat belt and gives me a small frown while I click it into place, then he gets in the driver’s seat.
I stare at the bodies—the one from the roof and the one he shot—as he backs out.
“Where did they grab you?” he asks in a low voice.
I try to breathe. “Right outside my apartment.”
I absently rub the scar on my forearm. It was a nasty break a few years ago, and sometimes I can still feel it on cold days.
“I’m sorry, Hadley.” He shakes his head and smacks the steering wheel with his palm. “This is my fault. I pissed off the wrong person, and now they’re coming for anyone I ever cared about.”
Cared. Not care. I try not to take it personally. Five years is a long time—enough for feelings to evaporate. Or at the very least, fade.
You should know best of all.
“I meant what I said before. You should come with me,” he says out of the blue.
I glance over at him, but his jaw is set.
“No, really. You should come with me. It’ll be safer. At least…”
I take an evaluation of my life: I’m living alone, in an apartment where bad things have happened twice. I don’t have a job in my degree. The job I do have is mediocre at best, and I’d just put in my notice anyway.
I have some appointments scheduled for the next few weeks, but those can be pushed back…
“To Paris?” I clarify. Wistful visions from my childhood replay in my head: skipping down the streets with Griffin. Standing under the Eiffel Tower. Learning how to speak French.
He lifts one shoulder. “Yeah. I have to make a stop first, but…”
“Okay,” I say without hesitation. “I’m in.”
Who cares if he’s only taking me along to keep me away from the bad guys?
He parks in front of my apartment and motions for me to stay where I am. I can hardly breathe, looking up at the place. It feels foreign. Someone took my home and transplanted it with enemy territory.
Griffin steps inside and turns on almost all of the lights. He comes back out only moments later and opens the passenger door, extending his hand to me.
“It’s okay."
“It’s not. I hate that place. I don’t want to—”
“We just need to get you some clothes. Your wallet. A passport.”
A to-do list. I can handle that. I slide my hand into his and let him pull me out of the car. He stays in the kitchen as I slowly walk into my bedroom. There’s a knife stuck in my desk, right through the feather. It stands on the point, like someone slammed it down with enough force for it to stick.
The duffle bag from my closet gets thrown on the bed. Clothes. Toiletries. On a whim, I grab the knife and examine it. It has a leather hilt, and the metal is dark gray waved with light gray, like a fingerprint. Damascus steel, I’d bet.
An expensive blade.
I once got good at throwing knifes at a summer camp my parents made me go to. That was post-Griffin. They had activities such as knife throwing, archery, wrestling, self-defense. I sucked at the hand-to-hand combat and defense. I couldn’t block or throw a punch to save my life. Hitting a target was easy in comparison—and a lot less scary.
I wrap the knife in a shirt, stuffing it in the bottom of my bag.
Griffin comes in as I’m zipping up my bag.
“My passport expires next year,” I say. “I haven’t used it in forever.”
“Just that trip to Niagara Falls?”
“You kept tabs on me.” I’m not surprised. My parents and I went to Niagara Falls when I was eighteen—it was a high school graduation present.
He shrugs, but the tips of his ears turn red. “Judge might’ve mentioned it. Are you ready to go?”
“Yes.”
I follow him out the door, pausing at my side table. There’s paperwork that I threw there earlier, and I fold it quietly, shoving it into my bag. It doesn’t look like anything other than a bill, and I pray no one spotted it amidst the break-ins and abductions.
I snort, and Griffin turns back to me. He raises an eyebrow.
“I just referred to the break-ins and abductions in my head like it’s normal,” I explain. “I think I’m losing it.”
He winks at me. “It’s the middle of the night. Laughter is a coping mechanism for trauma. We’ll get some sleep on the plane, and hopefully you’ll feel a bit better.”
Doubtful.
But I smile and nod. “Sounds good. What airline are we taking?”
He lifts the bag from my shoulder and puts it in the trunk. “Can’t a guy just try to surprise a girl every now and again?”
“Gee, you? Surprise me? Every time I see you, I’m surprised.”
His face darkens as we climb into the car. “I’m sorry about that.” He lifts my hand and brings it to his lips. “This will be different. This is a good surprise.”
“I trust you,” I manage to say. My heart bangs around my ribcage, even after his lips leave my skin. I’m shocked that the words are solid in my mouth. That after all he’s put me through—popping in and out, his disappearance, toying with my heart—I trust him.
He looks at me for a beat before his attention goes back to the road. He still has my hand in his lap, and he squeezes it. “I trust you, too.”
I almost flinch. It’s one thing to believe he has good intentions. It’s another entirely to believe that I won’t betray him down the road. I fear that I will, and we’ll both be crushed by it.
4
GRIFFIN
When I was twelve, my mother overdosed on heroin and my father blamed me. He beat the shit out of me once or twice a day for about two weeks before Child Protective Services intervened and took me to my aunt’s house. She lived in Bitterwood.
Only a year later, she had a heart attack.
The social worker who picked me up from the hospital told me there weren’t any families in the county who could take me on such short notice, so I was going home with her.
For a while, I tried to guard myself. I didn’t want anyone getting close to me, not after three people who were supposed to love me had abandoned me.
She was nice. Strict, micromanaging, but she gave me three meals a day, didn’t lock the outside of my door, and… she trusted me around her daughter. Hadley Quinn Weatherly, only five years younger than me, had the kind of face anyone could love. She had the personality to match, too.
That broke my tough attitude, I think.
I was with them for four months before Arthur Wallace—still a prosecutor in Ashleigh, the neighboring town, at the time—said he would take me. His wife had just divorced him. His house in Ashleigh was almost a thirty-minute bike ride away from Hadley’s.
Getting used to him was a different sort of beast. While Mrs. Weatherly was strict, he commanded respect. He didn’t only try to win over my heart—he won over my mind. And he made me a better person because of that. We had the type of respect and trust earned over a lifetime. He somehow got that out of me in a
month.
I couldn’t shake Hadley from my mind, and Judge told me that it wasn’t a bad thing to try to protect her. So I did, piece by piece. I figured her out. I learned to tell when she was having a bad day by the slump in her shoulders, and how her entire face lit up when I stopped by after school.
I tried to visit on the bad days so I could be the reason she smiled.
Things got rougher after school started. I was a little, unhappy fish in a big pond. My school work suffered. I skipped class so I could go to Bitterwood and make sure Hadley wasn’t getting picked on. I got into a few fights. Okay, more than a few fights.
Through it all, the judge was cool. Hadley’s mom came and visited us, and she basically told me to snap out of it. While me looking out for her daughter was sweet—her word, sweet—it was unnecessary.
My protection mission became more… subtle. Devious, maybe.
I turned eighteen and was shipped off to boot camp for the Navy. After eight weeks, we had leave time to visit family. I snuck into Hadley’s room and woke her up by touching her cheek. I scared the daylights out of her before she recognized me in the dark.
She patted her bed, and I laid next to her until she was sound asleep. It wasn’t weird—it just felt… safe.
I crept out as the sky was lightening, newly invigorated with my plan.
Any time I had a chance, I went to her. I witnessed a boyfriend drop her off in front of her house and kiss her a little too roughly, and my blood nearly boiled over. The Navy had tempered me into a sharp weapon, but they failed to teach me enough discipline. When to use that power. When not to.
I was always on edge when it came to Hadley, and it killed me that I couldn’t just stay.
There were long pockets of time I didn’t see her, and they hurt us both more than I realized. Between Scorpion and traveling through Europe, I hadn’t made it back to Bitterwood in years.
“Griffin,” Hadley says, breaking me out of the memory. “You just disappeared.”
I focus on her again. Focus, focus, focus.
We circle the airport now, and I park the lot for the private jets.
We get out and her jaw drops. I lead her into the hangar, and she lurches, eyeing the plane. It’s not mine—I lease different planes based on my needs—but it’s one of the sleeker models I’ve flown in. For overnight flights, it’s perfect. There’s a bed in the back.
My pilot, Smith, greets us with a big smile.
I urge Hadley up the stairs, into the plane, and shake hands with Smith.
“Thanks for sticking around,” I tell him.
He just shrugs. “You pay me well enough.”
“True.” I chuckle. “Everything all set?”
“Yes. Ready to go when you are.”
“Let’s get crackin’, then.” I jog up the steps and stow our bags in a compartment near the cockpit, then take a minute to watch Hadley.
She runs her fingers over the cream leather chairs, wandering back toward the couch. The door to the bedroom is closed.
“Amsterdam?” Smith asks, closing the door behind us.
I give him a nod, and he takes his seat. The flight attendant is already next to him, adjusting her headset. I walk down the aisle, motioning for Hadley to come to me. “We have to sit in regular seats while the plane takes off.”
Her eyes are huge.
“What is this?” She lets out a nervous laugh. “Are you— I don’t even know what I’m asking. How do you have a private plane?”
I try my friendliest smile. “I’ll explain everything soon. But for now, let’s sit.”
She plops down at a window seat, and I sit across from her. There’s a table between us. Her hands grip the armrests as the plane moves, and I let out a soft chuckle.
“When’s the last time you flew?”
“Never,” she says.
I stand and switch seats, and then lean over and buckle her seat belt for her. My head is even with her breasts, and I try not to notice how her breath quickens.
Has she always had that reaction?
“We can experience your first time together.” I lean back so I can enjoy the way her cheeks turn scarlet. “On a plane, of course.”
She exhales. “Right.”
The plane taxies to the runway, and we sit in silence. When it picks up speed, her hand lands on top of mine. I flip mine so our palms are pressed together, and she squeezes like her life depends on it.
“That wasn’t so bad,” I say a few minutes later. “Easy.”
She releases my hand, and I miss the warmth of it when it’s gone.
“Almost. Did I hear the pilot say Amsterdam?” she asks.
“Yes, that’s where I need to run a quick errand, then on to Paris.”
She grins. “Two different countries? You’re taking me on quite the adventure, Mr. Anders.” Her voice is teasing.
I stare at her lips for a minute before she covers them to yawn.
And then, like an ass, I remember how big of a night she’s had. “Do you want to sleep? There’s a bed in the back.”
She glances over her shoulder. “A bed on a plane. I’m in an alternate reality. Yes. Sleep.”
She unclips her seat belt and stands, sliding past me. I resist the urge to follow her. Maybe I’ll slip in there in a few hours, when I can’t fight temptation anymore. I tip my head back and exhale.
I should’ve killed both men, but the one ran, and I couldn’t leave Hadley.
Satisfaction washes through me that I at least made good on my promise to the man who broke into Hadley’s house, putting two bullets in his head.
I’m caught between wanting to go to Hadley and not wanting to freak her out even more. She’s embedded in my heart, so deep I can feel the pulse of her. I stay in my seat and stare out the window until the sky lightens further and contemplate what the hell I’m going to do about her.
The plane trembles with turbulence.
Hadley appears, catching herself on my shoulder. She throws herself into the seat next to me. “Is that normal?”
“Generally.” I crack a smile. “Did you sleep all right?”
“Sure,” she says. “It was a weird experience, though.”
“Are you hungry?”
The plane rattles again, and she grabs on to my arm.
She makes a face at me. “I could go for something bland.”
“Do you feel okay?”
She blinks her gray-blue eyes at me. They seem too big for her face. “I was in the hospital for a bit.”
“For what?”
“The flu,” she mutters. “Well, and the nosebleeds.”
I tilt my head to the side. “You’re good to travel?”
“Stop,” she says, rolling her eyes. “You’re suddenly worried. Where have you been the past five years?”
“I’m not a good guy,” I say automatically. “Okay? I left. I hurt you. I’m not a knight in shining armor.”
“I got it.” She shakes her head, lip curling. “It sucked, is all. And then you turn up out of nowhere, demanding a hell of a lot out of me. How am I supposed to feel about it?”
This isn’t going how I wanted it to go. This isn’t how I pictured it—reuniting with Hadley, I mean. She’s been in my head since I was thirteen—five years apart couldn’t erase that. In fact, when I saw her again, it just made the longing worse.
“We’re starting our descent into Amsterdam,” Smith says through the intercom. “We should be landing in about twenty minutes.”
“I was almost swept away by the new you,” she says. “It’s just an act, isn’t it? You’re going to cling to the idea that you’re not good, and that’ll excuse your behavior.”
I still. “We’re all acting.”
She flinches, but I catch her nod.
“Amsterdam for the night, then on to Paris,” I promise.
She presses her nose against the glass and stays in that position until the plane’s wheels touch down. Once the plane has slowed, she glances at me.
I gr
in at her. We get to the hangar, and everything becomes a flurry of movement: the flight attendant comes out of the cockpit and gets our bags for us, performs a final check, and opens the door.
I go over and poke my head into the cockpit. “Thanks for the smooth flight, Smith.”
He smothers a yawn, then winks at me. “You know I love those overnight transatlantic flights,” he answers. “I’ll retrieve your package like always. Who’s the girl?”
I frown.
He lifts one shoulder. “What? You never bring girls along. A guy gets curious…”
“Don’t make me hurt you, Smith,” I say with a grimace. “Keep Hadley out of your thoughts.”
He chuckles. “I’m more curious about what you’re doing with her.”
“None of your business. After you get the package, move the plane to that local hangar outside Paris, since we’ll be taking the train. The hangar we usually—”
Smith nods. “Get out there. Explore. Go have fun for once.”
“Thanks.” I tap on the door and head back to Hadley. “Ready to go?”
She hefts her bag up on her shoulder and grins at me, bouncing on her heels. The fear from only ten hours ago, our disagreement on the plane, seems forgotten. “Am I ready? I’m in Amsterdam. Somewhere I never even thought of going. Of course I’m ready.”
I laugh. “I’m starving. So first, food. Then I have something to do, and you can come along or wander a museum until I’m done. Then, sleep—because it’s evening here.”
She smiles. “A museum. Why didn’t I think of that? Oh! We can go see the Anne Frank House?”
“You’re cute when you’re excited,” I murmur, gesturing for her to lead the way off the plane. I try not to think about what’s waiting for us.
Europe has always been my playground. When Scorpion Industries released my team from our contracts, everyone scattered. It seemed like they all had a place to go: Mason moved in with Spike in Las Vegas, Jackson got a job with the US Forest Service doing fire management, Zach already had a house in Chicago, and Dalton went down to Miami. For me, the States felt too claustrophobic.
After Zach inadvertently jumpstarted my career—medic for hire, with a knack for dealing with mobsters and Mafia—I moved to Italy. It gave me a clarity I didn’t expect. There were no ties to people, no loved ones to worry about—just the job in front of me. Plus, news travels fast in the Italian Mafia circuit. Once I got in their good graces, nothing could stop me.