by K. V. Rose
Copyright © 2019 by K V Rose
All rights reserved.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
For more information, please contact [email protected]
Cover design by German Creative
Interior formatting by K.V. Rose
ISBN: 978-1-9992752-1-1 (paperback)
ISBN: 978-1-9992752-2-8 (ebook)
To everyone who has lost someone, in any way
Theme Song
I’m the One
HELLYEAH
Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Prologue
Past
The door is unlocked, and I pause as I twist the knob, listening. But beyond the threshold, I hear nothing. It’s nearly two in the morning, and Bianca has been more careless lately, but she’s never left the door unlocked. She knows better.
I drop my keys on the table inside the foyer, close the door behind me and wait, still listening.
I don’t hear a damn thing.
And that’s a problem.
Bianca always falls asleep on Friday night in front of the TV, and she always leaves it on. She hates sleeping without noise if I’m not home. It’s been our routine every Friday night when I get home from Shade to pick her up from the couch, turn off the TV, and carry her to our room.
But there’s absolute silence in this house.
I reach for my phone in my back pocket and call her as I flick on all the lights, walking through the foyer, down the hall, into the empty living room that echoes with a strange silence.
Her number rings and rings and rings but she doesn’t pick up. I check my texts, thinking maybe I missed something from her, even though I never do. The last text she sent said she couldn’t wait for me to get home.
What the hell?
I glance in the kitchen and see nothing. I turn back the way I came, then jog up the stairs, phone still in hand. It’s dark up here and when I reach the landing, I flick on the lights. Nothing. More silence.
I call her again as I search every room in our house. Our bedroom, guest rooms, the bathrooms, my office. All of them are empty. Neat and tidy, too, which means Bianca hasn’t been in them recently.
Her phone goes to voicemail again.
This shit doesn’t make any sense. She would’ve told me if she was going out, and last I recall, she has a photoshoot in the morning at sunrise, so going out didn’t seem like it would be in the cards for her tonight.
But then I remember.
Her car is in the driveway.
Which means if she isn’t here, someone else took her out.
I scroll through my contacts and dial her sister, waiting at the top of the steps as if any minute Bianca might walk inside.
Her sister answers on the third ring, and as soon as she does, my heart sinks. Her voice is groggy on her “Hello?”, which means I just woke her ass up.
“Britt,” I say calmly and clearly, “have you heard from Bianca lately?”
There’s silence for a second, and I pull the phone away from my ear to make sure Brittany didn’t hang up on me for waking her up. Nope. Still connected.
I press the phone to my ear and my other hand curls into a fist at my side as I watch the front door down below.
“Brittany.”
Surprising me, Brittany let’s out a shaky breath.
“Benji,” she says, and she sounds scared. My heart skips a beat in my chest. “There’s something I need to tell you.”
“Go on.” If she doesn’t hurry the fuck up, I might actually have a heart attack. If something is wrong with my girl...
“But first you need to go find her.”
I lean my head against the wall. “Brittany, what the fuck are you—”
“Benji,” she snaps, cutting me off. She sounds angry now and I can relate because I’m feeling the same damn way. “I’m going to give you an address. Do you have something to write it down with? I can’t go because of the kids, but you need to get your ass—”
“What’s the address and whose is it?” I cut her off. I don’t need to write it down.
I head down the stairs, taking them two at a time as she tells me where she thinks my girl is, about a ten-minute drive from here. And her voice nearly breaks when she says, “Hurry.”
As if she needs to tell me that.
I head to the kitchen to pull the gun from the top drawer. Only to find it isn’t fucking there. But I don’t have time to deal with that shit right now.
In seconds, I’m out the door and in the Range Rover, address on my phone, and I’m pulling out onto the main road, going double the limit. If a cop wants to pull me, he’ll have to fucking escort me to wherever the hell I’m going right now.
I make a left turn after a few kilometers and find myself barreling through a neighborhood with identical faded brick homes in varying states of disarray. I know about this area. It’s right outside of a street nicknamed Heroin Alley.
I’m gripping the steering wheel so hard my hands hurt, but if I don’t, they’ll start shaking, and I need to find this address. Now.
Why the hell would Bianca be here? She doesn’t do drugs. She doesn’t even smoke weed. I mean, lately she’s started drinking, but so what? Doesn’t everyone in their early 20s drink? And yeah, we’ve had a few fights lately, and our relationship is certainly not traditional, but still…Bianca wouldn’t come here. Not willingly.
I find the address and pull up outside the curb. This house has weeds as high as the first-floor windows and a Jeep that looks like it’s seen better days in the driveway. But there are lights on inside.
I glance at my phone before I get out. Bianca hasn’t called me back. Or text me. But I’ve got half a dozen unread messages from her sister. They’ll have to stay unread until I get this taken care of.
I get out of the car, take the keys and my phone. I lock the Range and sprint up the driveway, past the Jeep. I rap my knuckles against the screen door, counting to ten in my head. If someone doesn’t come by then, I’ll go in through the window.
I spot a few cigarettes tossed on the porch, overflowing out of the ashtray. My mind is spinning. This is not Bianca’s thing. She even hates Shade, and I own the damn place.
I’m on ‘nine’ when the door is pulled open, and I wrench open the screen door, grateful it’s unlocked or else I might’ve pulled it off its hinges.
There’s a dude standing in the doorway, his eyes narrowe
d, and he’s wearing a white tank, jeans that hang low on his hips, and he looks like he hasn’t shaved or showered in days.
“Can I help you?” he growls, taking me in.
“Actually,” I say, stepping forward, “you can.” I glance behind him but see nothing but a staircase. “I’m looking for Bianca.”
He clenches his jaw, eyeing me up and down. “And why the hell would you be looking for her at two in the goddamn morning?”
I smell cigarette smoke from either him or this house. Or both.
I clench my fists, the screen door open against my back.
“She’s here.” It isn’t a question because he doesn’t seem at all surprised by her name.
The dude makes to close the door on my face as he says, “Get the fuck off my property before I—”
But I don’t find out what empty threat he’s got because I lunge forward, knocking him and the door aside.
He stumbles against the wall and the door closes at my back as I take the place in. It’s junky, clothes and blankets on the dirty linoleum floor, a chipped coffee table crowded around a small television just before the narrow staircase. And the smell of smoke is worse in here.
“What the hell, man?” the dude growls, regaining his balance, pushing himself off the wall.
I turn to him and shove him, hard, back into it. “Where is she?” I’m not angry as much as I’m fucking terrified.
The guy’s eyes go wide. He’s probably in his thirties, maybe ten years older than me. And I still don’t get it. Why is Bianca here? Is she even here? And why did her sister know she might be here?
“Man, she came to me—”
I shove him again, into the wall, and then I start yelling her name, walking up the stairs. “Bianca!” I call out, looking up into the dark landing. “Bianca!”
I hear movement, and something that sounds like a sob. I hear the guy swear under his breath behind me, but I start running, and see a light on, just a hint of it beneath a door that isn’t closed properly at the top of the stairs.
Another choked sob.
I burst into the room, darting my eyes around the small, yellow-painted bathroom. The shower curtain looks moldy and it’s thrown back. And in the bathtub, her knees to her chest, hunched over into a ball, is my girl.
Except she is not at all how I left her this afternoon.
Her thick, black hair is pulled into a messy bun, strands of it hanging around her face. Her mascara is smeared, her eyeliner trailing down the corner of her dark eyes, which are lined with red. She’s shaking with silent sobs, but none of that is the real problem.
The real problem is the bruise forming around her eye, her split lip, and the fact that her nose, her beautiful, perfect nose, is pouring blood and swelling even as I look at her now.
I sink to my knees, at the side of the tub.
“Bianca...” I don’t know what to do. I don’t know even what to say. My brain isn’t working. I try not to panic, try to swallow past the bile in my throat as I take in her injuries, and the way she shrinks from me as I reach for her.
But then it occurs to me who probably did this. And that thought obliterates all the others in my brain.
I pull out my phone and dial 911, not bothering to say anything. I leave it on and put it on the counter, the dispatcher trying to get me to talk. But they’ll send someone. Which means I have to act fast.
“Baby,” I say, “hold your nose like this.” I move her trembling fingers where they need to go, just above her nostrils. “I’m going to take care of you, Bianca,” I tell her. I see bruises starting to bloom on her neck, red and angry marks that look like handprints on her brown skin.
She still looks scared of me and I have no idea why. It makes my skin crawl, how she recoils from me. But I’m going to fix it.
“Keep your fingers right there, okay baby?”
She nods her head, still trembling in the tub. There’s blood on her white shirt.
Slowly, I stand to my feet. I hear the 911 operator still talking through the phone. I leave it on.
“Everything is going to be okay,” I say to Bianca. “I promise, baby.”
And then I turn around and yank open the door, ready to find the motherfucker that lives in this house and put his hands on my girl.
“Benji,” Bianca calls softly after me.
I turn to look at her.
“He has your gun.”
I smile at her. “I hope he fucking knows how to use it.”
One
Present
I watch Riley slip into the pool, going over the side instead of using the stairs, as if she was made for the water. She doesn’t need to acclimate to the cold. She sinks down gracefully, until her head is covered.
She waits.
From the interior of the condo, behind a pane of glass, I wait.
She doesn’t know I’m here.
She refuses to swim in the heated indoor pool, and as I watch her, I think I know why. When she comes up, long, light brown hair dripping down her back, she turns in every direction.
It’s Monday morning and the place is empty, save for an elderly woman streaked with white sunscreen reading a magazine.
And me, in the foyer of the pool entrance, watching behind a window.
Riley’s eyes come to rest on me, and her lips part. She’s surprised. But I’m glad she found me. It means she’s paying attention. In the indoor pool, it would’ve been too late. The pool room is too small. If Rolland had been in there, if he had slipped in without her noticing while her head was under...
I clench my fists as I think about him.
But it doesn’t matter.
She’s at the outdoor pool, plenty of space to run. And there’s a guard, too, at the gate. I can’t see him from this angle, but I know he’s there. He’s armed. I know because Caden and I asked before we bought three units at this place.
It’s been three weeks since Caden let his dad live when he should have killed him. Three weeks since Rolland left his house in Toronto. Three weeks and no one knows where the fuck he is.
For a moment, Riley watches me. I watch her. After her initial surprise, she gives nothing away. Caden left earlier this morning, a flight back to Toronto. Riley has a couple of classes starting at noon, and then she works a shift at the gym. Caden wanted her to quit, but she refused.
I’ve spoken to Caden every day, seen them both a few times a week. But now, I’m on duty. This week Caden is back in Haven for SVE. I’m here watching after her.
We didn’t discuss how this would go. Or rather, she and I didn’t. Caden had plenty to say in private, when it was just me and him. But Riley hasn’t mentioned it to me.
I think she’s a little scared of me.
Which is good. Because she should be.
She makes a move first. She turns her back on me, and my eyes dip down to the small of her back, the slight swell of her hips. She’s still thin, but she’s had more to eat these past three weeks than she’s probably had this whole year. Her mother is a pitiful excuse for a human being, and Riley was feeding them both with what little she had.
Rolland Virani couldn’t even make sure she didn’t starve while he kept her on a leash.
She dives back under water and I see her tan skin and black swimsuit race beneath it. At the far end of the pool, she comes back up for air, angling her chin up, rubbing her eyes, her lips parted.
She doesn’t even glance my way again when she’s up. Little brat.
I push the door open, welcome the hot North Carolina sun at my back. Back home, it’s cooling down. I packed my shit two nights ago, what little I wanted to bring, and the mornings were already brisk even though it’s only August.
No such briskness here. I can’t say I’ll hate my time in the south.
“You shouldn’t be out here alone,” I call to Riley, standing at the edge of the pool, opposite her. I pull my shades over my eyes, slip my hands into my pockets.
Riley frowns at me, treading water at the deep end. Sh
e glances at the old woman who is either ignoring us or literally can’t hear us.
I know what Riley’s thinking. She’s thinking I should keep my voice down. She’s thinking of telling me I don’t own her. She’s thinking I should fuck off.
But she says none of those things. Instead, she tilts her head, her green eyes vivid in the summer sun.
“You shouldn’t wear all black to a pool.”
I glance down at my fitted black jogging pants. But my t-shirt is dark blue. I think to point that out but don’t give in to her bait. She isn’t colorblind. She doesn’t even dislike me. She just doesn’t like being babysat.
“I’ll give you a ride to class,” I say instead, watching with amusement as she scowls at me. Caden wanted to buy her a car. She refused his offer. Refused even a used one, which is a good thing, because Caden would’ve just made it new. She would’ve been pissed. They would’ve fought.
It’s the thing they’re best at.
“I take the bus,” Riley says, dipping her shoulders beneath the water, fanning her arms out at her sides.
I roll my eyes, unseen by her behind my dark shades. “Not today. You’re riding with me.”
She laughs. It’s bitter, and I don’t really blame her. She got reenrolled in school only to have Caden ride beside her on the bus every day, there and back, monitoring her every movement.
Or not hers, exactly. But the people around her.
It’s not enough for him that she moved to this condo, and her mom, too, to the unit beside her, with Caden insisting he and Riley have their own. Not enough she has a new number. Not enough she deals with Caden even though he can be as demanding as Jack was.