Envy (The Deadly Seven Book 1)

by Lana Pecherczyk

  These tumultuous thoughts tumbled through Grace’s mind as she returned home later that evening. On the cab ride, she’d dialed Evan’s phone several times, and no answer.

  She’d saved lives today, but she didn’t feel like it was a success. Not a win.

  Evan was gone.

  Grace walked into her apartment, bone weary and soul heavy. The first thing she did was go to her bedroom and open the window to the fire escape, letting the cool night air in. She hoped against all hope that Evan would turn up, just like he did last night, but somewhere deep down inside, a dark voice teased her. He wasn’t coming back. She’d stopped him from fulfilling his misguided mission, and he’d had enough of her meddling in his plans.

  He wanted to end Sara.

  Images of the attack flashed in her mind. That look of danger and laser sharp focus in his eyes. He’d been so hateful as he sent his power into the water, watching with satisfaction as Sara and her attacker fried.

  She threw her purse on her bed, growling. That wouldn’t have solved anything! Sara would be dead. His brother would hate him. They’d never get to the bottom of the attack on the apartment complex that killed her parents and many more.

  Grace didn’t want Evan to lose his humanity.

  She peeled her coat off, kicked her boots off, and paced the space beside her bed. When she walked back across the path she’d taken, she kicked her fallen clothes out of the way in aggravation.

  What if he never came back? What if he did… but reverted to the person she found at the hospital earlier—bruises all over his body. The way he fought today confirmed her suspicions. He was magnificent. He could fight, and she meant, really really fight. There’s no way he’d have put himself in the position to be hurt and pummeled, unless he wanted it.

  Unless she was right, and he punished himself for wanting something he couldn’t have—vengeance.

  Her throat closed up. Was he out there now, punishing himself? Getting beat up?

  He’d said she was his balance because she felt no envy, but it was more than that. Perhaps Grace could stop him from spiraling out of control, from falling prey to the sin that plucked at his sanity. He just had to trust her. She could do this, not just by being near him, but by supporting him emotionally, from being his conscience when he wasn’t listening to his own. There had to be a reason the world brought the two of them together.

  Wherever he was, he needed her.

  And she would find him. Determination solidified as a plan formed in her mind. Underground fight rings were common in the Narrows area, the very tail of the Cardinal City bird that joined the mainland by a bridge. She knew about these slums and their fighting rings because some of her patients had told her. The CCGH clinic was the closest free medical facility, only a hop, skip and jump from the seedier side of town. Too many had come in battered and bruised—to the clinic, and to Emergency. They’d all pretended to be brave, to want to fight for something—money, control, power—but when it came down to it, they all feared to die. Death made everyone vulnerable. They’d all looked at her with that quiet desperation, too afraid to voice their need. Each and every time, she’d assured them, no matter their upbringing or life choices. I won’t leave you alone.

  Tears burned her eyes.

  “Right,” she said, psyching herself up. She could do this, despite the impossible odds. Go find a fight ring, find Evan, bring him back. “Coat. Boots.”

  She scrounged around under her bed where she’d kicked her boot. Oh blech. So much junk under there. She really needed to clean the space.

  “Goddammit, where are you?”

  She flailed around the floor, searching blindly. Her face squished on the side of her mattress as she reached further. Then her fingers wrapped around the leather toe of her boot and her tears sprung free.

  She’d found it. She found the boot. The perfect pair to the other lonely boot sitting on the floor of her lonely room.

  She slumped against her bed, knees bent.

  Oh, God. She was alone, and he wasn’t coming back. She didn’t know if she had what it took to find him. Who was she kidding? She didn’t know if she had what it took to keep him. He’d always be doing this, going off to fight. Maybe not the fight rings, but in the city battling crime every night. He was a soldier. Now that she’d had time to process this, and see it for herself, she realized she loved that about him. Out of all his siblings, he was the only one left fighting the good fight. But it was the same thing that drove her wild with worry.

  But fighting for justice was not the same as getting beat up as punishment.

  Her chest constricted, and she gulped in air, trying to calm her derailing thoughts.

  The crash of a glass bottle breaking on her fire escape stole her attention, and she jumped to her feet, holding her boot as a weapon.

  She hoped. She dared. But it might not be…

  A shadow fell to the platform and stumbled. Cursed loudly. Grace prowled to the window, slowly and carefully squinting to see clearly. The shadow wasn’t acting like Evan. It wasn’t graceful and lithe. It was heavy, sluggish… drunk.

  “Evan?” Grace asked, voice wavering, boot hovering.

  The stranger turned to her and stepped into the spilled light from her window, ducking to see inside better.

  A tall, hooded man. Glazed eyes stared at her over a green scarf covering his mouth and nose. It was him. Her heart stuttered. Her belly fluttered.

  His lids lowered as he looked her over with lazy entitlement, resting on her lips then traveling lower to her breasts. Yep. Evan alright.

  He pushed his large frame through the tiny window, caught on something and fell in a tumble to the floor. The smell of bourbon wafted into the air as he landed face first.

  “Ow,” he moaned into the carpet.

  “Are you drunk?” she hissed.

  “Just a little.” He held his fingers in a pinch gesture, then rolled to his side and pulled his scarf down. He heaved in a deep breath. “God it feels good to breathe again. This mask sucks balls.”

  Grace couldn’t miss his bloodied and bruised knuckles as he took his hand away.

  “You’re drunk, Evan.” She waggled her boot at him.

  “Don’t worry. I dropped the bottle before I could finish it. Wait, are you going to attack me with a shoe?” He laughed and snorted. “Look out, she’s got a shoe.”

  Grace glanced at her boot and lowered it awkwardly, slightly embarrassed. Then the reality of the situation hit her. She wasn’t the one who should be embarrassed. He should!

  “You—” She bit her lip, trying to think of all the names she wanted to call him. Asshole. Jerk. Insensitive little—she threw the boot. “I was worried about you!”

  He rolled to avoid being hit, still laughing.

  Didn’t do much good. The boot landed on his head, knocking his hood back to reveal the rest of him. Brown scruffy hair. Facial hair the same. Eyes puffed into amused slits. He sat up and leaned against the wall underneath her window. No, one of his eyes was more puffy than the other—there was also swelling and discoloration on his cheekbone.

  Grace gasped. “You’ve been fighting, haven’t you? And I’m not talking about this evening, with Sara and those—”

  “Those freaks?” he finished, venom on his tongue. “That psycho?”

  “That liar, yes.”

  His gaze snapped to hers.

  She held firm. Let him see. Let him take in the emotion on her face.

  “You—” his words cut off and his face crumpled. He took a deep breath. “You’re on my side—” He choked up, unable to finish.

  “Oh, Evan.” She crouched to his level and traced his scruffy jaw with her fingers. “Has it been so long since someone believed in you?”

  Her words were a bullet to his composure. He closed his eyes and leaned into her hand, then covered it with his large, rough paw. It melted Grace’s heart. He needed her. This big, lethal hero needed her. More than anyone else ever had. And despite everything, he’d come ba
ck to her.

  “Come on.” She tugged him up. Goodness gracious, he was heavy. And smelly. The leather outfit might be suitable for battle, but it didn’t fare well with dirt and… whatever that sticky mess was at his elbow. “Let’s get you cleaned up. Bathroom’s this way.”

  She took him into the tiny room consisting of a shower and a basin. She turned the faucet on and then inspected his face, checking on the puffy eye.

  He stared down at her through thick lashes, silent.

  Grace put his hand under the flow of water and watched as his blood stained her white basin pink. His wound must have stung, but he didn’t flinch. The leather creaked on his suit as he readjusted his posture, leaning into her from behind, giving his arm more slack. His back pressed up against hers like a hot brand. Glancing over her reflection to him, she noticed the hilts of his swords weren’t sticking over his shoulders. He’d either lost them, or left them somewhere. She sighed and pulled his hand out of the water to hold his knuckles to the light, trying to ignore the hard press of his body, now against her side.

  “Swollen. Split,” she said, inspecting. “But it doesn’t look contaminated. No need for stitches either.”

  “Doc,” his voice croaked. “You’re my sun.”

  Her throat closed up. She couldn’t look him in the eye. If she did, she’d have no resolve.

  “And you’re drunk.”

  “You make me warm,” he continued. “It’s how I can do all this.”

  He was intoxicated. She wasn’t. She had to be professional about this. “We should get some ice on your eye. You’ll feel better.”

  “No, no. You don’t understand.” He swayed and held up his hands. They crackled and buzzed. “This!”

  The sparks skipped over his fists. It sounded like an exposed live-wire in her bathroom. “Evan. Be careful.”

  “You’re not listening.” He frowned, then let go of his power until the sparks dissipated. “Grace, I can do this because of you.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “My power manifested because I met you. You’re my safety net. We’ve all got an ability inside us, but our creator didn’t trust we’d be able to use it responsibly without someone to balance us.”

  The world stopped.

  She was responsible for the incredible power pumping in his veins? For a moment, the pressure of living up to what he was suggesting overwhelmed her, but then Grace remembered it was an echo of her thoughts, only minutes ago.

  She wanted to be his conscience when he wasn’t listening to his own. She needed to care for him. It was who she was.

  He cupped her face in between his still warm palms. The touch heated her cheeks and sparked a zip-line down her spine. Naked, raw emotion stared back at her, so close she could see the flecks of brown in his green eyes.

  Well, he wasn’t the only one allowed to feel. She did too, and she wasn’t used to it. She’d locked her emotions away for too long, and now they were hard to process. She had to know, had to be sure she wasn’t making things up before she gave her heart to him.

  “You stopped,” she blurted. “Why did you stop?”

  “What?”

  “You had Sara. You could have killed her. It was what you wanted, but you didn’t do it. Why?”

  He frowned, arms dropping. “You told me to stop.”

  Oh God, she was going to bawl now. “You did that for me?”

  “Yes.”

  “Even though you knew what would happen afterward? That she’d probably use the situation against you—that it would be the final wedge driving your family apart… maybe for good?” Grace continued. She never wanted for that to happen.

  “I wanted to kill her,” he admitted darkly. “But then I looked at you, and you were disappointed. I knew if I kept going, kept releasing my power, you’d always look at me that way and I couldn’t do it. I never want to see you look at me like that again.”

  He turned away. His hair was mussed up, still in need of a decent hair cut, but she loved the way it curled over his ears and flicked out at the temples… as though it had a personality of its own. Her fingers itched to run through it. She also loved the way he smiled, wide perfect lips kicking to the side in a secret smirk that crinkled his cheek, just like it did now, as though he knew something she didn’t. She loved how that smile turned wickedly smug after he’d had his way with her in the supply closet at the hospital. The memory brought a flush to her cheeks.

  She wanted to ask, “How do you want me to look at you?” But she didn’t. She chickened out. Instead, she pulled a fresh towel out from the cabinet beneath the basin.

  “Here. You should get out of that smelly outfit and then have a shower. I’ll go find something you might fit. I still have a box of my father’s old clothes around somewhere.”

  Then she shut the door as she left the room and leaned against it for good measure while she tried to steady her racing heart. When the sound of the shower turning on filtered through, she pushed off the wood and went searching for that box of her father’s belongings she’d kept instead of giving to Goodwill.

  Twenty-Five

  The scalding hot water of the shower knocked some sense and sobriety into Evan. Turning up drunk was a stupid thing to do. He should have come straight to Grace’s and waited for her. She must think he had a few screws loose in the old noggin.

  He washed his hair, scrubbed his body, and then did it again before turning the faucet to freezing cold—truly sobering up—and stepping out of her shower. Wrapping the towel around his waist, he searched for Grace. He didn’t have to look far. The apartment was tiny. He found her in the kitchen, standing in front of the bench staring blankly at an open cardboard box. In the sink next to her was the smoothie she mentioned in the morning. It was half washed down the drain, but he still caught the hint of something acrid, something not fruity. A kernel of doubt grew. Maybe it was an attempt by Sara, and when it didn’t work, she went for Plan B—manipulating his family again.

  Evan tore his gaze away from the sink and back to the box Grace clutched. The sides had been marked in red letters. Dad.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, voice flat, unable to look back at him. She reached in the box to touch something. “I don’t think anything’s going to fit.”

  Evan stood behind her, drinking her in. Tall, slim but curved enough to make him want to run his hands down her body and trace her dips and hills. Long brown hair draped over her burgundy cap sleeved blouse. The chunky white slashes randomly crossed over her arms made him wonder what sort of debris had gotten to her in the explosion. Evan didn’t think he’d ever stop feeling guilt when he looked at her scars.

  He leaned over her shoulder to peer inside the box. Water dripped from his hair onto the cardboard, staining it dark.

  There were more than clothes in the box. Photo frames. Trinkets. He reached around her to lift the item she clutched, but she wouldn’t let go.

  She gasped as his body pressed against the length of her spine.

  Carefully, he pried her fingers away and revealed the item, an open wallet with a photograph of Grace as a little girl.

  Evan put it down gently, and then placed a palm on each of her hands, now clutching the box with white knuckles.

  “I’m sorry, Grace,” he murmured. “I’m sorry you lost your parents.”

  “It’s not your fault.”

  Except, maybe it was. Because of his inexperience with his sin, he’d ignored the deadly levels of envy in Sara. He knew she was in the building before it collapsed. If he had followed his instincts, her parents might still be alive.

  She might be the best thing that happened to him, but maybe he was trouble for her. He had no words.

  This beautiful, smart, kind woman was sad, and he didn’t know what to do. He wanted to hug her. Instead, he traced a path up her arms with his fingers, lightly scraping her sensitive, scarred skin with his rough touch. She shivered and leaned back into him.

  “I haven’t gone through all of their things, yet,”
Grace whispered. “Can you believe it? It’s been two years and their house is still sitting there, empty and full.”

  “When you’re ready, Doc, I can do it with you. Just say the word.”

  “Thank you.”

  She picked out something else. A framed certificate of her acceptance to the surgical board. She sighed. “My parents were so proud of me being a surgeon.”

  “But, you don’t want to do it anymore?” he asked.

  “It’s not that I don’t want to do it. I’m… I guess I’m afraid. My anxiety attacks could hit while I’m operating. I can’t have that, especially if it’s on someone’s heart.”

  “Grace, you’re amazing. I’ve seen you take control of a disaster and come out on top. I watched you from a distance as you worked on all those injured people today. You’ve got this. But, whatever you decide, you don’t have to do it alone.” He kissed the top of her head. Hell, she smelled divine. How was that possible after the day she’d had?

  Her feminine scent drove him wild. Heat engulfed his body in a wave and his vision blurred, mouth turning to cotton. He wanted her. Bad. There was nothing between them but the jeans over her curved ass and the towel wrapped around his hips, getting tighter and tighter by the second. But while lust raged inside him, he forced his hands to stay gentle, to keep their path light until he encircled her front and embraced her gently. Hugs were the best. Hugs fixed everything. He wasn’t going to push his irrational desires onto her. Not when she needed something else from him.