Sebring

by Kristen Ashley

  When he stopped talking, I turned my head and drew in a slow, deep breath, taking him in, my nose brushing his skin, knowing, the day I died, my last thought, my last feeling, the last scent I’d experience was going to be the memory of that breath.

  Drawing in what I wanted but could never have.

  Drawing in Nick Sebring.

  Drawing in a Nick Sebring who’d just told me that man who I could trust who would think I was his everything was not nor ever would be him.

  Then I whispered, “Sebring, please get off of me.”

  It felt like I took more of his weight, like his powerful body slumped in defeat, right before he got off me.

  And unfortunately, so gently to the point it was tenderly, he helped extricate me from the sheets and put me on my feet.

  I got dressed. He did too so we could dance our dance, one neither of us enjoyed, one neither of us had the strength to stop.

  In other words, so he could walk me to my car.

  We stood at my driver’s side door and I wanted a hard, rough kiss to remind me of what we were.

  But I knew I wouldn’t get it.

  I didn’t.

  Instead, he lifted both his hands to cup my face and got deep in my space.

  “You’ll be back tomorrow night?” he asked.

  “Yeah,” I answered.

  “Yeah,” he whispered like it hurt to say.

  “You do know, Sebring, that you should also be fucking a woman who can give you more than me,” I pointed out.

  He’d already shattered my world.

  But that was when he destroyed me.

  “Funny how I can’t for the life of me figure out what that more would be.”

  Slowly, I closed my eyes.

  I felt him shift before I felt his lips touch my forehead.

  I opened my eyes.

  “Tomorrow night, Olivia.”

  I nodded.

  He let me go and stepped away.

  I got in my car and only glanced at him briefly to lift my chin before I drove away.

  For once, I didn’t look in my rearview.

  But I made sure I was well away when I allowed myself to pull over and dissolve into tears.

  The only thing I had, the only thing that gave me the strength to sort myself out, get back on the road, get home, get to bed and keep breathing was I knew.

  I knew I had something to look forward to.

  I knew I’d be with Nick the way I could have him and the way he could have me the next evening.

  Only a few hours away.

  Only a few hours.

  And I’d again have Nick.

  * * * * *

  Nick

  Nick stood at the top of his steps and watched the dark streets until he couldn’t see the back lights of Olivia’s Range Rover anymore.

  Only then did he go into his unit.

  He slid the door closed behind him and bolted it.

  He stared at his place.

  It was a great place. He liked it. He’d worked hard for it. He’d earned everything in there.

  Gone were the days he tried to find the easy way, living under the shadow of Knight, deciding, since he could never beat his brother he might as well use him to get the good things in life.

  Now they were his but only because he made it that way. He’d worked hard. He’d done it.

  So yeah, he liked his place. He liked his car. He liked his clothes.

  He had it all and he liked it all.

  He had it all.

  The look on Olivia’s face after he offered his deal blistered his brain.

  Fuck, he did not have it all.

  And Olivia Shade was not a mystery.

  With the time they’d spent together, he now knew so down deep it was the fucking air he breathed that Olivia Shade was something of exquisite beauty not allowed to be what she needed to be.

  Beauty bound.

  She was not a ghost who could be seen.

  She was a hostage in a lavish cage.

  Like how she got her scar, he could not know this with any certainty since he could never ask because she’d never tell.

  He still knew it right to his balls.

  It was not his job to set her free.

  It had nothing to do with him.

  She was not his end game.

  He had to let her be.

  He had to end it with her and find another way.

  He had the power to save her from one ugly thing that infected her life.

  And he was going to save her from that.

  He was going to save her from Nick Sebring.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Habit

  Olivia

  5:12 p.m. – The Next Day

  I stared at my phone.

  I was at David’s office, now my office, working, trying to catch up. Until I shifted it to Georgia I was still buried under two jobs.

  I wasn’t thinking about work.

  Normally by now, Nick had texted me. Told me when I was free to come over. Usually sometime around six and usually including telling me what he was going to be cooking.

  No text.

  I waited. I worked. I worried.

  I went home at close to seven and still there was nothing from Nick.

  I made myself a big salad, ate it all alone in my huge kitchen, and close to nine, texted, Are you okay?

  I eventually went to bed.

  It was the first night in three weeks I’d hit my bed without first hitting Nick’s so Nick could hit me.

  I tossed and turned all night, my phone by my bed.

  Dawn came.

  And from Nick, there was nothing.

  * * * * *

  8:36 p.m. – Three Days Later

  I knocked at Nick’s door.

  The Jag was there. The huge windows that, on the stairs, in his recessed entryway or even from the street I could not see into, were lit, the soft glow from the bedroom, a brighter glow from the living room.

  I heard nothing.

  He didn’t answer the door.

  I looked to the large signature bows of the black Valentino platform, peep-toe pumps I wore.

  Those bows, so simple, still a thing of beauty.

  At least there was some beauty in the world I could own.

  I looked to Nick’s door.

  He was in there.

  But we were over.

  He was the smart one.

  The strong one.

  Thank God one of us was.

  I walked down the steps with my head held high. We were friendly. He’d stopped communicating. Now I was just an acquaintance he’d fucked who was checking on him.

  I had no proof but still, I knew he was fine.

  I could move on.

  Yes, I would move on.

  Nothing to look forward to, not anymore.

  But that was okay. Naturally, I’d keep breathing.

  It was habit.

  I made it to the bottom of the steps, went to my car, got in and drove away.

  I didn’t even look up to Nick’s unit.

  He was already a memory

  * * * * *

  Nick

  Nick stood at the window, teeth clenched, muscle jumping in his cheek and he watched her walk to her car.

  Total poise.

  Like a princess.

  His princess.

  The adult one.

  “Shit,” he whispered.

  She got in her Range Rover and drove away.

  And she did that not once looking up.

  Not once.

  That was good.

  If she’d looked, he wouldn’t have been able to stop himself going after her.

  It was better this way for everybody.

  Especially Olivia.

  * * * * *

  7:19 p.m. – That Next Friday

  Nick stared at the texts on his phone.

  Are you okay?

  Missed yesterday. Tonight?

  Sebring, is everything okay?

  After that, no
thing.

  His head shot up and his mouth got tight when he saw Turner had slid on the stool next to him. He’d slid off that stool five minutes ago to use the bathroom. He’d returned and Nick was so deep in thought about Olivia, he didn’t feel him come back.

  “Responses kinda slow, Sebring,” Turner murmured, eyeing him closely.

  Nick didn’t reply. He looked away from his friend, lifting his drink to throw the rest of it back, his eyes catching on a woman’s at the end of the bar who was looking at him.

  She gave him the smile that was his opening.

  He looked away and threw back his whisky.

  He returned his attention to Turner.

  “I need another way to get at Harkin and Shade,” he told him.

  Turner held his gaze, his lips now thinned.

  They unthinned so he could ask, “Are you serious?”

  Nick saw the bartender pass, got his attention and jerked up his chin before tipping his head to Eric.

  The bartender nodded.

  Nick looked back to Turner. “Olivia’s not gonna work.”

  “Because she doesn’t know dick that’ll help you or because you like havin’ your dick in her too much to use her to help you?” Turner asked.

  “We’re not discussing that,” Nick stated. “You don’t have any ideas, all right. You got thoughts on Olivia you feel like sharing, that’s not happening.”

  “Seems there’s a pattern with you, work a job, get pussy during it, you fall for it.”

  Nick turned fully to Eric.

  “Careful,” he warned.

  Turner tilted his head to the side mockingly. “Careful, me talkin’ trash about Hettie or careful me talkin’ trash about Olivia fuckin’ Shade?”

  “You hear me say we’re not talkin’ about this?” Nick asked.

  “I hear you say we’re not talking about Olivia fuckin’ Shade,” Eric returned.

  “Yeah, that’s what I said,” Nick confirmed.

  Turner’s expression shifted from seriously annoyed to pissed before he clipped, “Jesus, brother. She’s Olivia fucking Shade.” He got close and bit out low, “The daughter of the man who ordered Hettie executed.”

  Nick’s response was just as low. “I might be wrong but I think I remember that better than you.”

  “Seems to me, you protectin’ that bitch, you mighta forgot it.”

  “Careful,” Nick repeated, this time in a whisper.

  Turner leaned back. “Are you fucking serious? Hettie was yours but she was also a member of my team. She got whacked under my watch. And you get that, Nick. I know you do since you were a member of that team too.”

  Their drinks were dropped on the bar and Turner glanced at the bartender as they were.

  Nick didn’t take his eyes off Turner and only spoke when the bartender was gone.

  Then he asked, “You know what Tom Leary did to earn his acid?”

  “Denver lore, brother,” Eric gritted out, still pissed. “Leary a walking, talking lesson to any soldier who done Shade wrong.”

  “Yeah, I know that. But do you know why he earned his acid?”

  “Not thinkin’ Shade gave a shit what the lesson was for, just that the lesson was learned and not just by Leary but anyone who’d clap eyes on him.”

  “Olivia’s back is burned to shit.”

  Nick watched Eric’s head twitch violently.

  “What the fuck?” he asked quietly.

  “Not acid. No clue what it was but it left scars and a lot of them. A fuckuva lot more than Leary earned. Look at Olivia’s, feel it in my scrotum, the pain that had to come with gettin’ those scars.”

  Turner’s brows went up. “Her father?”

  “Could be an accident. Could be a lot of shit. That is, could be if her father wasn’t Vincent Shade and known for doin’ that crap. But she said she ‘earned’ them. You have an accident, you ever use that terminology?”

  Eric turned to his vodka rocks and lifted it, muttering, “No.”

  “She never smiles,” Nick said as Turner took a drink.

  His friend gave his gaze back to Nick but he didn’t speak.

  “Not true, twice. Fucked her countless times, had her at my place every night for weeks. Ate dinner with her. Watched mindless TV. Saw her smile twice and both of them barely counted. Felt her smile but didn’t see them. She’d never let me in, Eric. Not because she’s protecting her father, because, if she does and she gets caught, what’ll she get? She knows. I saw those scars so I fuckin’ know. I’m not gonna fail in my mission but the slim chance I do and she gets caught between him and me, he’ll make her pay. And I’m not gonna be responsible for that.”

  “She’s part of his business, Nick,” Turner reminded him.

  “She hates her mother. I get a sense she’s relatively tight with her sister but that only goes so far. But she never talks about him. It’s like he doesn’t exist. And it’s not because we were both keepin’ shit to ourselves because that’s the way it is with people like us. She’s the most inaccessible person I’ve ever met. But if she opens up even minutely, lookin’ into her eyes when it’s there, it’s like falling into a pit of misery.”

  “Jesus,” Turner muttered.

  “Yeah,” Nick muttered back, remembering that look in Olivia’s eyes and shifting to the bar to grab his drink.

  “If it’s her father who did that to her, why doesn’t she leave?” Turner asked.

  Nick threw back a healthy pull before answering.

  “The entirety of the small of her back to along the top of her hips. Not a lot of space but too much for what happened to it.” He turned his eyes to Turner. “Mutilated, man. Not even a centimeter of healthy skin. That at the hands of Daddy. Whatever she did to earn it, she learned. That lore in Denver?” He shook his head but said, “She learned it. Fuck yeah, Eric. She learned. But she learned privately. And she’s shit scared of it happening again. She’s bound, man. A prisoner in tight skirts and expensive shoes who lives in a mansion.”

  “You take him down, you’re not gonna save her,” Eric stated.

  “I won’t walk over her to take him down either.”

  “She’s gonna know it’s you,” Eric pointed out.

  Nick felt his mouth get tight and turned back to his drink.

  She was. There was no stopping it.

  “Nick,” Turner called.

  Nick looked to his friend. “She will. And she’ll definitely get where I was at when I started things with her. But she’ll also know I didn’t end it that way. And she’ll know it was her that earned that respect. It might not be much, but it’ll be something.”

  “Buddy, she’s your best way in there,” Eric reminded him.

  Nick threw back more whisky and didn’t respond.

  “Murder has no statute of limitations,” Eric went on. “You testify against Harkin, he’ll get the death penalty, takin’ out a federal agent.”

  Nick looked again to his friend. “Not that I haven’t shared this with you a hundred fuckin’ times but maybe this time you’ll let it sink in. I come out as the confidential informant I was and openly rat on Harkin, Shade feels nothing. And it’s not just Harkin but Shade who’s gotta pay. And Georgia Shade is a wildcard, but she’s a Shade. She’ll be about retribution. And I’m not big on the idea of entering WITSEC, if that’s even offered to me for the low-level player that is Harkin. I’m also not big on puttin’ my family’s asses on the line. That happened once because of Vincent Shade, I’m not gonna let it happen again. I don’t disappear into witness protection and a miracle happens and no Shade wreaks vengeance, a rat in my business, I’ll lose every client I got. And I kinda like to eat, Eric.”

  Eric’s lips thinned again, not a big fan of anyone talking to him that way, but he still got Nick so he also nodded.

  Nick turned away and said no more.

  Eric fell silent with him.

  Minutes later, Eric broke the silence.

  “I think of a way in, we’ll talk.”

  �
�Appreciated,” Nick muttered into his glass, lifted his eyes and caught the bartender’s attention.

  He got another drink.

  So did Eric.

  He caught the girl at the other side of the bar looking at him two more times.

  He went home alone.

  * * * * *

  11:17 – That Night

  Nick stood at his kitchen counter, his fingers wrapped around another glass of whisky, a framed photograph held in his other hand.

  The picture was of Hettie. A woman who looked like a girl. A pretty girl. A mature girl.

  But a girl.

  When she was alive, Nick had thought she’d always look like a girl and would do just that until the day she died. He’d thought this thinking that day would be decades in the future.

  But in the end, in a way he hated, it had turned out he was right.

  Blonde hair, it had been thin-ish but it was soft. Big blue eyes. Freckles on her nose.

  She could act like a dork. She was sometimes klutzy. She had no problem being a big goof.

  She could also take down a two hundred and fifty pound man who was six inches taller than her.

  She looked so far from FBI it was hilarious.

  Which made her perfect for undercover work.

  He stared at her picture in its frame, something he’d had out for years. Something he’d put away when he’d started inviting Olivia over.

  And he stared at her picture realizing that over the years, she’d become a part of the décor. He hadn’t paid much attention to the fact, in one pad or the other, she’d been on the chest he now had at the wall between his bedroom and the workout room for years.

  She was a memory.

  She’d died and he’d vowed to himself she’d never be reduced to that.

  But she was a memory.

  A happy one.

  The wound of the shock of her brutal death fading, the rest, the good times, had floated to the surface.