by Lili Valente
Setting her down gently on a bench beside the shore, I pull my gun from the holster in my belt and move slowly down the dock, my feet silent on the boards. The moorings continue to creak lightly as the waves roll in, but aside from the wind and the faint chirp of crickets in the weeds, the air is silent.
Even when I get close enough to see who—or rather, what—has climbed aboard the paddleboat, the night remains quiet.
As I pause beside the swan, the two giant raccoons raiding the open cooler between the seats look up at me with challenging expressions. I can almost imagine the one of the right asking, “What are you looking at, buddy? Move along,” as he pops half a Twinkie into his mouth.
I make a note to remember to tell the story to Catherine. It’s the kind of thing she would love, the sort of observation that used to make her look at me with laughter dancing in her eyes.
She loved me then and she still loves me now. It doesn’t matter what she said, or that she ran away and fucked another man. What we have is real, and soon our relationship will be even stronger than it was before. I just need to get her out of the country and everything will go back to the way it was.
I tuck my gun into its holster and turn back toward shore, only to find the bench where I laid Catherine empty.
Too late, I remember her unusually quiet step.
Before I can turn to search the dock, small hands shove hard between my shoulders, sending me toppling off the boards into the water between the paddleboats.
I smile as I fall, sucking in a breath and holding it as I plunge beneath the surface of the lake. I enjoy the smooth execution of a plan as well as the next man, but there’s something to be said for fighting to get what you want.
And Catherine always did enjoy a fight.
I pull hard toward the surface, already imagining how good it’s going to feel to wrestle Catherine to the ground beneath me and promise her this is the last time she’ll ever take me by surprise. Soon, she’ll see that I’m all she has, all she’ll ever have, and realize it’s time to start making amends.
Maybe we’ll even start on the boat on the way across the lake. If anyone can take a woman from behind while steering a speedboat, it’s Nico Mancuso, esquire, former consigliere, and the last free member of the greatest crime family New York has ever known.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
From my hiding place behind the tiny boathouse near the lake, I watch Cat creep silently up behind Nico.
He’s distracted by a pair of raccoons that have crawled up on the seat of the swan paddleboat—a fact I’d planned to use to my advantage to shoot the gun out of his hand—but before I can disarm him, Cat moves into the line of fire. Normally I wouldn’t doubt her ability to take down a man Nico’s size, especially with the element of surprise on her side, but she’s not in top form.
As she walks, she weaves unsteadily from side to side, at one point coming way too fucking close to falling into the water.
I want to call out that I’ve got a gun on Nico and that she should turn and run. But I’m not sure she’s steady enough on her feet to get out of reach before her psycho ex grabs her. So I bite my tongue, ignore my racing pulse, and pray that whatever she’s got planned for Nico will put him out of commission long enough for me to get us both to safety.
A second later, she circles around him, slipping out of his line of sight just as he turns back to the shore, nearly giving me a heart attack in the process.
Nico stiffens as he sees the empty bench beside the water, and Red springs into action. Lunging forward, her palms slam into Nico’s shoulders, sending him tumbling into the lake beside the paddleboats.
The moment his head goes under the water, I sprint out from behind the boathouse, shouting, “Run, Cat! Run! Now!”
“Aidan?” She spins toward the sound of my voice, the sudden movement sending her tripping over her own feet. She weaves unsteadily to the side, crashing into the swan’s neck, sending the raccoons leaping back to the floor of the boat. Normally, she would have recovered her balance in a second, but now she bounces off the fiberglass and falls to the dock just as her ex-boyfriend breaks the surface of the lake.
“You should have told me you wanted to fight, cara,” he says, laughter in his voice as he pulls himself onto the dock beside her. “You know I live to please you.”
“Stop!” She rolls onto her hands and knees and crawls back toward shore. His hand whips out, barely missing her ankle. “Leave me alone, Nico. Just leave me alone!”
With a growl, I run faster, determined to make sure Nico the Nutjob never lays a hand on Cat again. I’m still several feet away when I drop the rifle and hurl myself at the crazy fuck, tackling him before he can stand or get an inch closer to Cat.
He hits the dock first, grunting as we slide across the boards, the water from his clothes soaking through my shirt as I lock an arm around his throat and reach for his elbow with my free hand. I’m planning to wrench his arm behind his back and pin the motherfucker to the dock, but before I can get a good grip on his wrist, the air between our bodies and the deck explodes.
Despite the ringing in my ears, it takes me a moment to realize the sound was a gunshot, and a beat longer to feel the burning sensation coursing through my forearm. I cry out, cursing as the burning becomes fire surging in scalding waves from my arm into my shoulder, but I don’t let go. I tighten my grip on Nico, dropping my full weight on top of him, pinning him to the ground.
As long as I’ve got the bastard clutched tight to my chest and trapped between my body and the dock, it will be harder for him to shoot me again. And even if he manages to get off another shot, he won’t be able to hit anything vital without sending the bullet through himself first.
“You’re bleeding,” he grunts, straining to throw off my hold. “You’re pissing blood all over my shirt.”
“If you were so worried about your shirt, you shouldn’t have shot me, you piece of shit.” I force the words through a clenched jaw as sweat breaks out on my forehead.
The agony of the bullet buried in my arm is unlike anything I’ve felt before, but I know a thing or two about how to deal with pain. I have tattoos in all the most excruciating places—the back of my neck, top of my foot, and the elbow ditch where thin skin made the mermaid I got in Thailand hurt like a son of a bitch. That stubborn, sustained, six on the pain scale suffering is nothing compared to the sharp misery throbbing deep in my forearm now, but it’s taught me how to ignore the primitive part of my brain that’s screaming for me to let Nico go and run from the thing that hurt me.
“If she gets away because of you, I’ll kill you.” Nico’s fingers bite into the wrist of my good arm, digging deep into the tendons. “Let me go and I won’t cut your dick off before I put a bullet between your eyes.”
“You’re not in a position to be cutting anyone’s—” I break off with a scream as he bites my hand hard enough to send fresh suffering blossoming through my thumb.
My fingers spasm and my grip loosens on his neck. Before I can get a better hold on him—one that would prevent his fucking teeth from making contact with my skin—he’s grabbed my arm and flipped me over his head to land flat on my back on the dock. I hit hard enough to knock the air from my lungs, but manage to kick my leg toward his weapon, knocking the gun into the lake.
I gasp for air, making big plans to jackknife to my feet and slam my bloodied fist into Nico’s face as soon as I can breathe. But before I can do so much as roll over, his boot connects with my ribs. I groan and roll away, but he keeps coming, kicking the shit out of me again and again until lightning bolts of pain electrify my torso.
I curse myself ten different ways to Sunday, wishing I were less of a lover and more of a fighter. I’m quickly realizing that my lift-heavy-things-and-run-fast muscles are no match for men who are accustomed to using their strength to hurt other people. It doesn’t matter that I’m bigger and stronger, I’m unskilled at kicking ass, and at this rate I’m not going to live to log time in the sparring ring
.
I’ve got to get the fuck away from Nico’s boots and back on my feet.
I stop rolling and scuttle across the dock in this weird ass sideways crab squirm that allows me to bat the bastard’s leg away with my good arm. The entire process is incredibly painful, but not as painful as the psychopath screaming bloody murder while he does his best to kick my ribs into my lungs.
“You never should have touched her,” he shouts, spit flying from his lips. “I’m going to cut your hands off, and then your dick, and then watch you bleed out with a smile on my face.” He goes for my throat with clawed hands, clearly intending to strangle what breath I have left out of me.
I ball my wounded hand into a fist to defend myself—the arm with the bullet in it has decided to stop listening to my brain’s helpful suggestions and is pulsing miserably on the ground, begging for a time out—when Nico’s features freeze in an almost comical grimace. His eyes bulge, his nostrils flare, and the middle of his tongue lurches out from between his lips just before he slumps to the dock, barely missing my legs.
“He needs his hands, you psycho piece of shit,” Cat says, her voice slurred. “And his dick.”
I look up to see her holding my shotgun by the barrel with both hands, weaving slightly back and forth. In the moonlight, the blood on the walnut stock, Nico’s blood, looks black.
As black as the masks of the raccoons that leap from the swan paddleboat and make a break for the woods, clearly deciding it’s past time to leave this party.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
I turn back to Nico, making sure he isn’t getting back up, but his eyes are closed, his mouth slack, and his spine slumped in an uncomfortable-looking position that suggests he’s truly down for the count.
“Are you okay?” I groan softly as I push into a seated position and lift a hand to Cat. “Did he hurt you?”
“I don’t think so.” She sits down hard beside me, the shotgun still clutched tight in her fingers. “But I can’t feel my legs or feet. He injected me with something that made my whole body go numb for a while.” She blinks hard, making a visible effort to focus on my face. “But there was a gun shot, right? I didn’t imagine that? Are you okay?”
“I’ll be fine.” I reach for her with my bullet-free arm and pull her into an awkward hug, wincing as the movement sends pain ricocheting through my bones. Now that the immediate danger has passed, my nerve endings are doing their best to make sure I understand how fucked up I am, but I need her close too much to pay attention. “He shot me in the forearm, but I’ll be fine.”
“Oh my God.” Cat pulls away, laying a gentle hand on my shoulder. “We have to get help, Aidan, I have to—”
“It’s okay,” I insist. “The bleeding is already slowing, and the police should be on their way. I texted my dad on the way down the trail and told him I was pretty sure the man who’d taken you was headed for the lake.”
“Then we have to hurry.” Cat shifts onto her knees, swaying hard as she moves. She braces herself with a hand on the dock, managing to stay upright as she says, “We need to push Nico into the water before the police get here. That way he’ll drown, and no one will know we had anything to do with it.”
“No.” I straighten my leg, blocking her path as she tries to crawl across the dock to Nico.
“But I need him to drown, Aidan,” she insists, voice rising. “I need him to drown so he can never hurt you or me or anyone else ever again. I can’t live the rest of my life wondering if a crazy person is hiding behind a door waiting to kidnap me or cut off the dick of someone I care about.”
“He’s going to jail for a long, long time, Red,” I say gently, very grateful to be alive and someone she cares about. “Give me the gun. As long as he stays put until the police get here, he gets to live. If he tries to run, I’ll shoot him, I promise.”
Cat shakes her head blearily, holding tighter to the weapon. “No, Aidan. He’s crazy. He won’t stop until he hurts you.”
“I’m more worried about you,” I say, wishing my damned arm didn’t hurt so much. I would really like to hold her properly right now. “I went crazy when I realized he’d taken you from the cottage. I don’t want to lose you, Red, especially not like this.”
“I don’t want to lose you, either.” Her shoulders relax away from her ears, making me think she’s starting to come down from her adrenaline high.
“I’m sorry,” I repeat for the dozenth time, meaning it more than ever. “I’m sorry I was an idiot who didn’t realize he’s been in love with you forever until it was almost too late.”
Cat sniffs, and her mouth turns down hard at the edges. “You haven’t been in love with me forever.”
“I have,” I insist, tipping the barrel of the gun between us so it points at Nico. The last time I checked, the safety was on, but if there’s an accidental discharge, I want to make sure it hits someone worthy of catching a stray bullet. “From the moment you won that first race, the second you jogged across the finish line looking ready to start a fight, I was a goner. I was just too stupid to realize it. But I don’t want to be an idiot anymore. ”
“You’re not an idiot,” she says, her expression still wary. “You’re one of the smartest people I know. And you don’t have to make some big declaration just because you’re shot and I was almost kidnapped by my crazy ex-boyfriend.”
“I know I don’t.” The mention of Nico makes me cast another glance his way. But the man is still down for the count, proving, yet again, that my girl doesn’t fuck around.
Which means, if I want her to truly be my girl, I can’t either.
“I just thought love had to be hard.” I scoot closer, inhaling the sweet, Cat smell of her. “My mom and dad made being married look miserably hard, and then Dad and Julie got together and made it look hard in a different way. When they first started dating, they fought constantly.”
“That’s hard to believe,” Cat says with another sniff. “They seem so good together.”
“Well, it’s true. Ask Julie.” I brush her hair over her shoulder, grateful that all that silky smoothness is still attached to her living, breathing body. “And by the time they figured out how to make things work, I was at college watching people even stupider than I was fall in and out of love every few days. I knew way before my friend nearly died of alcohol poisoning after a girl broke his heart that I wanted nothing to do with that kind of love.”
She frowns, but tips her head closer to mine. “But you dated. You dated a lot.”
“Yeah, a lot. But never seriously. I made sure to date girls who wanted to keep things casual, so there was never a risk of fun becoming anything more.” I curl my fingers around her waist, pulling her closer, even though the movement makes my injured thumb throb. “But I made a big mistake.”
“What’s that?” She tilts her head back, looking up at me, her face pale in the moonlight. Pale, but beautiful.
She’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen, and I want her to let me love her more than I’ve wanted anything in a long, long time. More than that second location of Ink Addicts, more than freedom from my father’s dreams for my life, more than the skills I honed to make my art and do my job.
I have a feeling loving Red will be its own kind of art, one that will never get old or frustrating or make me wish I understood more about perspective. She is my perspective. One look in her eyes and I know this is what matters—loving someone enough to put every piece of yourself on the line.
“I forgot to watch out for you,” I say softly. “By the time I realized you were way more than a friend, or a bratty little sister standin who I enjoyed giving a hard time, I couldn’t quit you.” Her lips curve, giving me the courage to lighten my tone as I add, “I had to keep writing you notes and texting you and bailing your ass out of trouble because I needed your ass in my life. And not just to stare at to get me through mile five.”
I’m hoping for a smartass remark, but instead her smile fades before it can fully form. “But you did quit m
e, Aidan. Eventually.”
“Only because I knew that if I stayed with you that summer I would never have left,” I say, bending my lips closer to hers. “And back then I was too stupid to realize that you’re way more exciting than studying tattooing in Asia.”
“Damn straight,” she says flatly, tipping her head to one side, her gaze fixed on my mouth. “Do you hear sirens?”
I listen, catching the high-pitched whine coming from the top of the hill. “I do. Looks like you only have a few minutes left to decide if you want to ride with me in the back of the ambulance.”
Her hand comes to my face, her fingers scratching gently at my beard. “Of course I’m coming with you in the ambulance. I love you,” she says, sending a wave of relief coursing through my chest.
“I love you, too,” I say, my voice rough. “So much.”
“I wasn’t finished,” she says with a smile. “I love you, but I also have to see if you cry when they dig the bullet out of your arm. If you cry, I’m going to make fun of you for years. I had a bullet pulled from my ass when I was twelve and didn’t shed a single tear. My dad was so proud he bought me a stuffed boa constrictor.”
I shake my head gently as flashlights sweep through the woods near the trailhead. “So is this when you finally tell me what went down in Kathmandu?”
She huffs, her laughter puffing against my chin. “Not a chance in hell. I’ve given away enough of my secrets for free, handsome. You’re going to have to work for the rest of them.”
“Gladly.” We’re so close now that my lips brush hers as I speak. “As long as you’ll remind me that you love me every once in a while. I like hearing those particular words from your particular lips.”
“I love you,” she whispers. “Now kiss me, please.”
“Any time, beautiful.” My fingers curl around the back of her neck. “Kissing you is my very favorite thing. Ever.”