by Krista Holt
I meet his kiss with one of my own. It’s designed to punish him, and his answering groan tells me he knows it. Strong hands pull at me, and I rise to my toes, trying to get closer. I lace my arms behind his neck as he picks me up and stumbles toward the closest wall, pressing me against it. He drops me back to my feet, his hand clutching the curve of my neck, lifting my face closer to his. His free hand pushes my shirt up my waist, touching warm flesh.
And then, he pulls back, breathing heavily. My tongue nervously wets my bottom lip. Time seems to stop. My heartbeat slows. Thump…thump…thump. It tracks the passing seconds in my chest until, BOOM. Everything speeds up.
My hands in his hair. Rough hands on my skin. Frantically shoving his jacket off. Lips and teeth marking my jaw. Clipped breaths and soft moans. Little battles fought in skirmishes between our kisses.
My coat hits the floor, followed by my shoes. Shaking hands pull his shirt from his pants, and I close my eyes when I touch firm skin. He presses me into the wall and plants his hands on either side of my head, breathing hard. My chest rises and falls rapidly, struggling to keep up with this burning desire for cool air.
“What?” I gasp, surprised he’s slowing down.
He doesn’t say anything, just kisses me roughly, quickly. Nimble fingers undoing the buttons on my shirt, one by one, painstakingly slow. Mind numbingly slow.
I try to help, but he bats my hands away with a smirk. Shaking his head, he orders, “Touch me.”
I obey, kissing him everywhere I can find a bare patch of skin. Fingers linger over his lower stomach, and when he inhales quickly, as if my touch burns, a thrill shoots through me.
“I love you,” I whisper. “No matter what.”
Coarse hair on his chin scratches the tender skin around my mouth as he kisses me. But I don’t care. I can’t care about anything but this.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
“I’ve got your dinners,” Garrett calls.
Nic’s head falls back with a groan, and he stares at the ceiling. “I’m really beginning to hate this guy.”
With a deep breath, I glance in the closest mirror. There’s no disguising what we’ve been up to. My lips are swollen and the skin around them is a dull red, competing with the blush staining my cheekbones.
Nic smirks over my shoulder, into the mirror. I roll my eyes, hurriedly buttoning up my shirt before I turn around and wipe at the lipstick on his cheek.
His eyes drop to my lips and his thumb runs over my bottom one. “I love you too, Reagan. Always.”
CHAPTER 27
Nic
AFTER A DINNER OF LUKEWARM Chinese food, exhaustion hits us both.
Reagan is already sound asleep in the middle of the bed as I slowly pull back the sheets and slide underneath them, careful not to disturb her.
We never got back to where things were headed earlier, both of us seemingly understanding that the moment had passed. Truthfully, in a cheap hotel room, with the FBI next door, isn’t exactly romantic.
Reagan shifts beside me, sighing softly. I carefully wrap an arm around her, kissing her forehead before relaxing into the pillow. The alarm clock casts a red-hued glow over most of the room. It’s not bright enough to disturb, but as I stare at the ceiling, sleep doesn’t come.
Normally having her this close would be enough, but tonight it’s not. Not with tomorrow on the horizon. I have to face him. To look him in the eye, and tell a room full of strangers all the horrible things my father has done. That’s the price of my freedom. It’s that small, and that challenging.
I can’t really describe how strange it is to look over your life and wonder how you got here. And as I do, I realize it wasn’t one huge thing that led to this. It wasn’t even a couple of big moments. It was just a never-ending litany of instances that drove me to this point.
Because every bad guy has a story to tell. No man is born a threat, or a villain. They don’t just stumble upon the art of being dangerous. It takes practice. It takes precision. Dangerous men aren’t born; they’re made. And it was no different for me. Nothing about the man I’ve become happened by chance. My father shaped me, molded me. But in the end, all it took was meeting Reagan to turn me, the monster of his own making, against him.
Realizing what I had with her, realizing the potential of what we could have, was the final nail in the coffin of my old life. It was also the driving force behind me reaching out to Garrett. I had wanted out. I needed out.
I needed a life with her. Even if it meant betraying my family, and burning every part of my past to the ground. I was going to do whatever I had to in order to be with her.
I’m not immune to the guilt, though. The ugly emotion that creeps in when I wonder what this will do to my mother, my sister. They may hate him, but they’d never turn against him either. Not like this. I’m not unaware of the moral dilemma either, of having close to a hundred other people’s lives ruined, just so I can walk free. It’s not something I’m especially proud of, but I couldn’t continue as I had been. Reagan would have never stayed, and I wasn’t deserving of her then. I’m still not, but if this helps, even a little, to balance the scales, testifying against my father is worth it.
My chest rises and falls with a deep breath. Reagan protests the movement, mumbling something under her breath that I can’t quite make out. Slowly, I shift to my side, ignoring the complaint from my ribs as I stare at her. At my future.
If I’m lucky enough to live that long, that is.
The clock on the bedside table ticks as another minute passes. And with each following tick, my freedom inches closer. It’s almost within reach, so close I can almost touch it. But for the rest of the night, sleep remains elusive.
* * *
The SUV hits a pothole, jostling Reagan into my side. I wince, bracing my ribcage.
“Sorry. Are you okay?” She turns to me as much as her seatbelt will let her, eyes filled with concern.
“It’s fine.”
I squeeze her hand, giving her a reassuring smile. She’s been quiet since we woke up. We both have, actually. There was this moment though, when our eyes first opened. We looked at each other. Excited. Hopeful. Then reality crept in, covering everything in this shitty cloud of gray.
It’s been like that ever since. Through the breakfast neither one of us could eat. Getting dressed. Watching Reagan as she moved around the room. Leaving the hotel in the back of this SUV.
Even now, as the car stops at the back entrance to the courthouse, everything seems bleak. Because statistically speaking, if I’m going to die today, odds are it’ll happen in the next few minutes. The few feet that separate the curb and the stone exterior of the building are where I’m the most vulnerable. And if it happens, Reagan will see it all.
“We’ve got to go, Nic. Make it quick,” Garrett tosses over his shoulder before exiting the vehicle. The other agent climbs out on the other side, leaving us alone.
She smiles at me briefly before unbuckling her seatbelt and climbing up onto the seat. Carefully, she straddles me, winding her arms around my neck. I pull her close, enjoying the feel of her. Chest to chest. Heart to heart.
“Is it stupid to tell you I’m proud of you?”
My body shakes with silent laughter as she sits back, looking me in the eye.
“Maybe a little.”
She shrugs. “I am.”
“Reagan…” So many thoughts circle around in my head, so many things I could tell her. That I love her. That she is the most important thing in the world to me. That if I lost her, I would lose everything. But I can’t bring myself to say any of them. Because they’re too heavy, too emotional. Too much like a goodbye.
“Don’t.” Her hands grip my upper arms. “Don’t say anything other than you’ll see me in a few hours.”
I brush some hair off of her collarbone, and my hand travels to the back of her neck, pulling her to me. Our foreheads rest against each other, and her eyes close as she inhales deeply.
“I’ll see you in a f
ew hours then.”
“Yes, you will.” She smiles, and then it falls away.
I brush my thumb along her neck, up to her jaw, and then back down. Hitting a pulse point every time. And every time her steady heart kicks against my thumb, I feel mine race, trying to somehow catch up with hers.
Right now it’s just us. No trial. No betrayal. No lies. Just me, and the woman I fell in love with, in the back seat of a car.
I kiss her. Slow and lingering. Like I have all the time in the world. Like there’s nothing more important than this. Than her lips on mine. Than her fingers in my hair, and my hands on her hips. Than two soulmates stealing a few seconds with each other, away from the demands of the world.
We both know it’s ending. Reality can’t be kept at bay for much longer, but we hold on for as long as we can, until the air we shared becomes hers and mine again.
Her blue eyes are so deep, I could lose myself in them, and I plan to as soon as this is over. But in order to do that, I have to get out of the car.
“Remember, no one knows you’re here, Reagan. I want to keep it that way, keep the attention on me. So stay in the car, and do everything the agent tells you to.”
“I will.”
Garrett taps on the glass, growing impatient. Reagan starts to return to her seat, but I reach for her, kissing her one last time.
“I’ll see you in awhile, sweetheart.”
“You had better, Nic.”
With one last look at the woman who holds my heart, I grasp the door handle and force myself out. Shielding her the best I can, I maneuver around the car door before shutting it. Because as far as anyone watching can tell, the SUV is now empty.
“Everything okay?” Garrett asks, signaling for a few agents to walk ahead.
“Yeah, she’s holding up.” I glance over my shoulder at the agents who have us surrounded, in a good way.
“She’s not exactly a wallflower, is she?”
I smile, unable to stop it. The idea of Regan being passive about anything is ridiculous.
“That woman is a lot of things. Maddening. Irritating. Frustrating. But no, she’s not a doormat.”
Garrett gives me an odd look but doesn’t say anything.
“What?”
“Nothing.” He scans our surroundings. “You’re different with her, is all.”
“Men are varied beasts. It’s just a matter of finding the right person to tame them.”
He shakes his head and starts talking to someone through the communication piece in his ear.
I follow him up a set of stairs leading to the courthouse, buttoning my suit jacket and tugging at the cuffs of my starched shirt. Everything about me is calm, cool, and collected, because I want it to appear that way. No one can tell fear is nipping at my heels. They can’t hear my heart race. Or how it echoes off my skull, dulling the noise around me as I enter the courthouse behind Garrett. The second the door swings shut on the heels of the last agent, I breathe a sigh of relief.
“Well, I didn’t get shot.”
“There’s that,” Garrett replies dryly. “The prosecution isn’t quite ready for us, so we’re going to wait in an isolated room somewhere in the criminal court division. Hold tight for a second while I figure out which room.”
He talks into the microphone at his wrist, and then listens to someone reply in his ear. “Okay, let’s go. The bailiff said the path is clear.”
I follow him down narrow hallway after narrow hallway until he pushes open a door that leads to a large lobby. Across what feels like miles of cheap flooring is another set of ordinary doors. Somehow, instinctively, I know they contain my father. My past. And what my life might have been.
I stare at the wood and glass and take a deep breath. Only to have it hammered right out of me when I spot my mother standing in the far corner.
“Ma?” I call out, unable to ignore her red-rimmed, tired eyes. “Ma!”
Everything turns chaotic. Garrett yells at me, at his men, telling them to get me into the other room. People are pushing and shoving me in the opposite direction. But I dig my heels in, wanting to talk to her.
Her face falls. Horror reflects in the depth of her eyes as she starts to cry.
She knows what I’ve done. She can tell just by looking at me. Because in our world, there are only a handful of reasons why the FBI would be protecting a man at a criminal courthouse. And only one reason why a man like me would be in their presence without handcuffs. A rat.
“It’s fine, Ma. It’ll be fine,” I yell, trying to assure her.
“Nicola,” she cries, her watery voice hitting me hard. “Son, what have you done?”
CHAPTER 28
“I WANT TO TALK TO her.”
“You’re not going anywhere,” Garrett says forcefully. “Sit down.”
“She’s my mother, she’s not going to hurt me. Let me talk to her.”
“Hold on a minute,” he says into the comms piece before yanking it out of his ear and planting his hands on his hips, revealing a shiny badge. “I understand you’re frustrated—”
“Do not try to shrink me right now,” I cut him off.
“Fine, then I’ll give you the truth. You’re being an uncooperative asshole. My job is to get you through this trial. Alive and in one piece, and you’ve already been granted more special exceptions than any other important witness I’ve ever seen. The Bureau was willing to look the other way on Senator Thomas’s disappearance, and then Saul Marino’s death, and now, we’ve added a plus-one to the protection detail just to keep you happy. I am not bending on another thing. I have a job to do. A job you agreed to help me with. So shut the hell up and do it.”
My jaw clenches as I fight back the desire to punch him in the face.
“You know I’m right. So calm down.”
He is, and I know it. But I wanted to explain to my mother, assure her that I knew what I was doing. Because as much as I am doing this for Reagan, I knew my mother and my sister would be better off without my father, too. And I want to explain that to her, but Garrett is denying me the chance, even if he’s doing it for the right reasons.
Apologies aren’t my thing though, so I don’t offer one. Instead, I unbutton my jacket, and scowl at him. “Have you always been this much of a jackass, or did you recently develop this part of your personality?”
“If I did, it’s from being around you all the time,” he retorts, shoving the clear device back into his ear. “I’m gonna kill that bailiff. Path’s clear, my ass,” he huffs, collecting himself for a minute. “All right I’m back,” he tells whoever is on the other end. “Ok, we’ll be there in five.”
I lean back on my heels, arching a brow.
“The prosecution is wrapping up their opening statements. The defense will go next. Then they’ll call the first witness for the prosecution.”
“Which is me.”
He nods. “Are you ready?”
I take a deep breath and slowly let it out, ignoring the thumping in my chest.
“As I’ll ever be.”
* * *
The courtroom is dead silent. The slow walk down the aisle toward the judge is excruciating. Every footfall sounds loud, and I’m sure everyone on the jury can hear my heart racing.
I avoid looking at my father. I avoid glancing at my mother and my sister, focusing only on the back of the agent’s head in front of me.
I don’t want to see their expressions. I don’t want to see their faces, afraid I might find something that could chip away at my determination to carry this through.
“The witness may approach the stand,” the judge calls out, his voice monotonous as he flips through some loose pages of paper on his bench. “Bailiff, after the witness is seated, please swear him in.”
Garrett steps back, and a changing of the guard ensues as the bailiff escorts me to the witness stand. The stairs creak as I step onto the platform and the wooden chair groans beneath me as I sit down. My eyes stay trained on the bailiff. I don’t blink, I don’t b
reathe, I just wait.
“Please place your hand on this.” He presents a Bible and holds it toward me. “Do you solemnly swear that the testimony you are about to share with this courtroom is the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God?”
“I do.”
“Your honor,” he says robotically, “the witness has been sworn in.”
The judge nods before gesturing toward the prosecution. “This is your witness, let’s get started.”
The lawyer for the feds stands from her seat, smoothing out her prim skirt as she walks around the council table and toward the jury box.
“Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, allow me to introduce the State’s first witness against the accused, Adriano Selvaggio. His son, Nicola Davide Selvaggio…”
She drones on, telling the jury about how I’ve been working with Garrett, my plea deal, how my testimony will convince them that the man sitting in this courtroom masquerading himself as an old man, is actually a merciless mob boss.
My eyes scan the twelve people as they sit there, already judging. Me. My father. All of us involved. And that’s the funny part, because in the movies, there’s always twelve dedicated people appointed to a jury. They’re serious, intent, and willing to do their civic duty. They’re there to serve justice, etcetera, etcetera…
But in real life, that couldn’t be further from the truth. A jury is really composed of twelve pissed off people, willing to hang the defendant from the nearest tree for wasting their time. I don’t care how much they try to wrap the flag around jury duty. It’s a pain in the ass. Giving up your day and your schedule is no one’s idea of a good time. And then, to add insult to injury, if you work for an especially shitty place, you might not even be getting paid for your sacrifice.
These people sitting across from me have lives, jobs, families, and fifty other things that they’d rather be doing. But they can’t, all because some degenerate, like my father, can’t be bothered to follow the rules. I get that anger. The frustration. It’s heavy in the room as I sit next to the judge.