by Finn, Emilia
He left me! That’s what’s wrong with him! “I will not be sold to the highest bidder, Macallistar. You need to drop this. It’s my birthday concert night, and I won’t be leaving you for a single second if I’m arguing with you.”
“I’m not trying to argue, Mom. I’m just watching out for you.”
“And I don’t need it. Let’s go.” I move back to my dressing table and snatch up my clutch. “I’m not going to discuss this with you anymore, baby. It’s not appropriate, so if you keep it up, I’m gonna have to ground you or something.”
“Or something,” he scoffs. “Way to throw down the law, Mom.”
“Macallistar!”
He rolls his eyes. “It’s fine. Whatever. Enjoy your concert watching the old guy sing.” He follows me through the hall and into the kitchen where Daddy stands with his hip pressed to the counter and a Blair grin on his face.
“Not a word, Daddy. Not a single word.”
“I didn’t say a thing.” His dimples pop, and his eyes scream the billion words he’s not speaking. “You have fun, sweetheart. Don’t let Meg get you into too much trouble.”
“I won’t.” I don’t want to drag this out any longer than it has to be, so I snatch up my keys and drop a fast kiss on Daddy’s cheek as I pass. “I’ll be back tomorrow. I don’t want to hear about any trouble.” I stop and turn back. “I’m talking to both of you. Be good; don’t make me worry.” I snag my son’s hand and drag him toward the door. I can’t let him go until I absolutely have to. It literally pains me to know I’m walking away tonight while he’s sick and we’ve just argued. “Baby…”
Mac leans in close and drops a sweet kiss on my cheek. “You have no reason to worry, Mom. I’m older now; I’m wiser, and I know it hurts you when I’m bad.”
“Wiser.” A pathetic, tearful laugh escapes my throat. “You’re still a baby in my eyes.”
“Well, not in mine. I got this, okay? No one will come here. We won’t leave. I’m marathoning Robocop and peanut butter until I pass out. We’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Brush your teeth before you sleep!” Once a mother, always a mother. “And what do you do if someone comes to the door?” Like Zeke. “What then?”
He rolls his eyes. “Grandpa is right here. He can answer the door.”
I hate when he’s being reasonable. I hate even more walking away from my son while he smudges boogers under his nose and tries to breathe through a sinus infection. I’d rather stay home and eat peanut butter with my baby, but instead, I walk away from my home and slide into my little car. Looking in my rearview mirror into the backseat, I catch a glimpse of the overnight bag I stuffed in here a few hours ago. My boys needed confirmation I was going for the night. They needed to be sure I would go out and have fun, so I packed the bag and made a big deal about picking out slutty shoes.
Scoffing under my breath, I push my keys into the ignition and start the car. Pulling out of the lot, I turn left and blindly wave, because I know the guys will be watching out of the window.
Meg Montgomery has no clue she’s allegedly attending a concert with me tonight.
She’s not.
Hell, not even I’m going to that concert. And if the guys looked extra hard, they’d realize it when they found the tickets on top of my fridge in the very place I set them last month. If I were smart, I’d sell the tickets and pay next week’s rent with it, but I can’t do that. Instead, I now own two slips of paper that are worthless, but worth a whole lot at the same time. Those seats will remain empty tonight, and a couple outside the stadium will walk home sad that they couldn’t secure tickets at the last second.
I drive for only a few minutes before I reach the local motor-inn hotel I booked just yesterday.
I have to leave the house, because if I let tonight pass and don’t, Daddy would be offended I wasted his gift. But I can’t go to that concert either. I don’t want to drive into the city and hang out in a massive crowd of happy people. I don’t want to sing or dance to my teenage crush’s voice, I don’t want to buy a concert t-shirt, and I don’t want to pretend I’m not hopelessly heartbroken.
So I check myself into this little hotel on the edge of town and pray crackheads can mind their own business for the night. I sign in with nothing more than a curt hello to the lady at the front desk, collect my keys, lug my bag into my shitty room, lock the door and jam a chair under the handle, then I sit on the lumpy bed in a cute outfit and watch the TV on mute.
Because I’m thirty years old, and not one single thing has changed since I was fifteen. Unloved, unwanted, and way too trusting of the male population when it comes to my body and heart. It’s been three weeks since I told a man I loved him, and three weeks since I last saw him.
Fuck you, Eric DeWhit.
I called it. I knew he’d hurt me, but nope, he just kept pushing and pushing until he broke my armor. Now I’m without protection, all alone, and crying on my own birthday celebration night.
22
Eric
Aren Aristov has been, still remains, and will for a long time remain in maximum security prison. It’s been more than a decade since he murdered my family in cold blood, and in that time, he’d earned a little freedom inside his cages. He was allowed time in the yard, time working in the cafeteria, and more recently, time working in the laundry, which is where he was able to have a phone smuggled in for personal use.
He called me to torment me, to hurt me, to scare me half to death, and it worked like a fucking charm. But he’s still locked away, and despite the fact Kane, Jay, and I are no longer federal employees, we were once, so we were able to speak to my former superior and have this taken care of.
You don’t fuck with a cop’s family and expect to have a cushy life inside prison.
Aren’s phone was confiscated, his time outside his cell cut off, and now my answering machine remains void of his slithery voice. But that doesn’t negate the seventeen times he called, the seventeen messages he left, and the seventeen separate occasions he was able to break my heart before we had him shut down.
He was shut down and sent to solitary confinement, and when he’s done with that, his limited freedom will have been revoked, but the fact remains, high security or not, revoked privileges or not, he still described Jess, Laine, Soph, and Andi right down to the pig. Which means someone is watching.
And when that information was relayed back to Checkmate because Soph was able to think clearly when I could not, it wasn’t taken too well.
You’ve never seen a Bishop get mad until you threaten his family. It was too close to what I’d said on that front porch only an hour before. It was too close to home for Jay, but much, much closer for Kane while Jess iced the goose egg on her forehead and rubbed her swelling belly.
I wasn’t running from Katrina for good. I needed space after my dream, if only to dry my eyes and settle my stomach before she saw. But now my distance is something else entirely. It’s protection. It’s necessary. The guys can’t leave their girls. They’re too deeply entrenched in each other’s lives; Aren’s men already know of their existence, and there’s no way in hell the girls would let them go.
But I have freedom where they don’t. I can leave Katrina while she remains invisible to Aristov’s spy. I can create the space so she becomes a waitress again, just a chick who used to serve me coffee and burgers. A hot chick, yes, but just a chick nonetheless.
In the last three weeks, I’ve done my job and dealt with regular clients to keep the company moving, but not for one single second did I stop watching Katrina. Soph was sent into the diner to pick up lunch for us all just a day after the first message was left on my machine, and while she was in there, slipped devices under tables, at the front counter, and on one lucky jump while the diner was all but empty and Katrina was in the hall, a camera was installed on the lighting fixture that hung from the ceiling.
Now we have eyes and ears on Katrina around the clock, but I don’t go in, and neither does anyone else affiliated with me
or Checkmate.
If Franky is wondering where half of his clientele have gone, there’s nothing I can do about it. This is me keeping Katrina and Mac safe. It’s me keeping promises and doing the right thing. The loneliness and deep yearning I feel for her in my heart cannot and will not win out over the yearning I would feel if she were hurt because of me.
I’m sacrificing my heart for her life.
I’m sacrificing myself to keep her safe.
So I go through the motions of my life. I go to work, do my job, collect my paycheck, ensure people’s safety, investigate fuckers, search for Aren’s spy, if he does in fact have one, shoot at Spence’s range to keep myself sharp, then I go home and… nothing.
There are no more midnight visits. No more diner dinners. No more dancing in the dark or making love under the stars. There’s just… nothing. It almost feels like those early days after Gemma and Callie died—the darkness, the loneliness, the silence.
But Katrina is alive, which makes the sacrifice worth it.
It’s been so long since Gemma and Callie, and in that time, I’d found myself in a better place. For years after, I was an empty shell, a workaholic with no emotion, a man with no heart, but time helped me find some semblance of peace.
And then I walked into a diner and saw the raven-haired succubus.
Time had healed some of my wounds and made it so I could feel something again, even something for someone who has a kid. It wasn’t scary when it was lust and jokes. It wasn’t scary while she was in that diner doing her thing and I was just a customer. It wasn’t even scary when I was fucking her against the hood of her own car and finally, finally enjoying her body after only being able to look for so long.
But it sure as hell got scary once my heart was involved, my subconscious fucked me up with dreams, and then Aren finished us off.
You don’t get happiness, DeWhit. You don’t get shit, because the people you love die.
Now I have to choose: love and lose Katrina, or let her go, and let her live.
I lose her either way, so the right choice is to sacrifice my heart and let her fly away. She deserves happiness. She deserves safety. She deserves to not have her home raided while she sleeps and her life snuffed out through no fault of her own.
Now I stay away, but I still see her. I see her everywhere, while she works, while she drives home, while she leaves her apartment in a tight dress and a bright smile. The heels she wore that night of her concert made me want to poke my own eyes out. Her hair made me want to snap my own fingers, lest they reach out and touch. I knew where she was going, since Mac had gotten me the dates back in October; I knew she was going to that concert, and I knew when she’d be back.
So I let her go, and for the first time in a month, I went to Franky’s and ate a lemon zesty burger. I would have preferred the regular kind with Katrina-made relish, but life fucking sucks most of the time, so there would be no more relish for me.
I don’t forget my realization from forever ago: I was put here for a reason. I was put in that diner, in this town, in the Blairs’ path for a reason, and it sure as hell wasn’t to fuck Katrina and walk away.
So I watch; I do what I can from afar, and while I wait to figure out my purpose in all of this, I work.
“Cap. You’re up.” The sky outside is already turning dark when Riley rushes through our office with a hitch to his step but a smooth glide, considering he’s working on a new prosthetic. He drops down at his desk with a relieved grunt, fires up his computer and reads for a moment, then he hits print and sends sheets of paper spitting from the printer just two feet from where I sit.
Frowning, I click out of the screen I’m working on and turn to him. “What’s going on?”
“Criminal trespass and misdemeanor assault.”
“The fuck?” I whip the paper from the printer and shoot to my feet on a roar. “What the fuck? Katrina?” Out of habit and a billion years of training, I reach to my hip to make sure my sidearm is in place, then I sprint around my desk, only to be stopped when Kane appears out of nowhere and slams his hands onto my shoulders.
“Slow it down.”
“Assault!” I thrust the paper in his face. “Assault, Bishop!”
“Misdemeanor,” he returns. “I just left the cop shop. I saw her; she’s fine; the kid is fine. Everyone is fine.”
“Assault!”
Instead of backing away, my friend rolls his eyes and points at Riley. “Cop! He uses the big boy words, because that’s technically what this is, but she is absolutely not hurt. Zeke Douglas dropped by her place today–”
“Fucking Zeke!” Blood roars in my ears, thrums and pulses loudly. “Fuckin’ Zeke. I called it. I knew he was gonna be trouble!”
“He came by their place, wanted to come inside. Kat’s statement says–”
“Katrina,” I interrupt. “Her name is Katrina. She doesn’t like Kat.”
“Okay.” He releases my shoulder when I no longer push against him and relaxes back against my desk. “Zeke wanted in; she said no. He wanted to talk; she said no again. Their kid walked up on the situation after school and told Zeke to go fuck a fire hydrant; Zeke lost his mind and started demanding loyalty. Katrina got the kid inside, tried to slam the door, but Zeke put his boot in and busted it up.”
A billion scenarios race through my mind, but their faces blur. Gemma, Katrina. Gemma, Katrina. Did Gemma try to slam the door, too? Did she stand in front of Callie and try to shut Derrick’s people out? Did they put their boot through my front door and terrify my family? My stomach lurches at the very thought. “Did Zeke hurt her?”
“Nope. He literally didn’t touch her once. He got in her face, screamed so loud she’s struggling to get the buzzing out of her ears, crowded her against the wall, then her kid went to town and knocked the fucker out.”
“He… What?!”
“That kid has got cajones.” Jay walks into the office and sets a bag on Riley’s desk. Looking up to find the three of us watching him, he lifts a brow as though impressed with his audience. “That Mac is a wily little fucker; he’s kinda big for his age, but he’s still a kid, right? Zeke’s got twelve inches and a hundred pounds on him, but the police reports mention how much he fucked that prick up.”
S’okay, don’t be scared, Mommy. “He fucked him up?”
“Well, I mean, he didn’t cut his nut sack out or squeeze his cock in a pair of pliers,” Jay laughs. “But he took care of business. Katrina was shielding Mac, holding him back, squished him between her and the wall.”
“She was gonna sacrifice herself for her kid.” My throat tightens and makes it hard to breathe. “She was taking the fall.”
“Yeah, well, he wasn’t having it,” Jay scoffs. “He slipped out from behind her, let her bounce back into the space where he was, then a fast one-two landed the prick flat on his back with a busted coffee table beneath him.”
“Police report has been made,” Kane continues. “Zeke was checked over by unsympathetic EMTs then put into Turner’s cage. The dude literally got outta lockup this morning for some other bullshit. Now he’s back in. Judge won’t be so cool about this tomorrow.”
“Is Mac okay?”
Jay shrugs. “Hurt his hand a little. Not broken or anything, just a little achy. Might have to wrap it for a couple days, but that gym he goes to, the fighters, they’re taking care of it. They’ve got a no fighting rule outside gym time. Poor little dude freaked that he’ll be banned for life.”
I’m probably gonna be world champion. I’m gonna take care of my mom.
“Is he banned?”
“Fuck no!” Kane snaps. “They’re throwing him a pizza party and having Andi work on his hand. Zeke’s in lockup; Katrina’s with her kid; he won’t take his eyes off her; she won’t take her eyes off him. Now they’re eating pizza and telling war stories at the gym.”
“So what am I up for?” I turn to Riley and find him with his whole fucking leg off. He plays with the mechanics around the ankle, his brows pullin
g close as he inspects whatever he’s inspecting, and when he notices the quiet in the office, his gaze comes back up.
“Huh?”
“What the fuck are you doin’?” Jay snaps. “You need a minute in private?”
“No. I think maybe I got dirt in there. It feels sticky when I walk. What’s up?”
“Why am I up? You ran your ass in here and said I’m up.”
“Oh yeah, Blairs need a Gladiator. Like, right now. I talked to the chief about it; he’s on board. Talked to Spence; he thinks it’s a good idea too. So we’re getting the Gladiator set up.”
“When can we access the property? You said they’re still at the gym?”
“Yeah, we’re going now.” Riley slides his leg back into place and looks up. “The door is busted the fuck up. She needs it fixed tonight, then she needs security.” Déjà vu rolls like an oil slick in my stomach. “She’s yours, so you get the lead. We’re your soldiers tonight, boss.”
“Yeah…” Those dots want to fill my vision again. The whooshing in my ears wants to take me down, but I don’t let it. I’m not going to let history repeat itself. “Yeah, I want the lead on this, but she ain’t mine. Neither of them are mine.”
I snatch up my keys and turn toward the back hall to exit, only to be stopped by Kane’s hands and a lifted brow. “Come again, DeWhit? She’s not what?”
“She’s not mine. I’m not laying claim.”
“Motherfucker, you’re in love with her! You sleep with her; you stayed in her home; you laugh with her kid and ask for the same fucking meal three times a day just to be near her, but now you’re saying she’s not yours?”
“That’s what I’m saying. It’s what I’ve been saying for a month. I’m taking the lead on this, but this will be a standard job, in and out, set it up, and there’ll be no fucking kiss at the door.”
“You don’t have to pussy out on this, Cap.” Jay snatches the papers from my hands and holds them between us. “She’s yours. She was always yours, and Aren is locked up tight. Soph has eyes on him; she has eyes on Katrina; she has control of the situation. You don’t have to keep doing this.”