Where the Sun Hides (Seasons of Betrayal #1)

by Bethany-Kris

  This time was not the same.

  She knew what happened, and she couldn’t forget it.

  No matter what she did, it was there.

  Violet scrubbed a hand down over her face, careful not to mess up the makeup she had taken an hour to apply that morning before school. Her first class was the test, and for the hour after, she had a free study period. Which was why she had met the girls at a cafe on campus for a quick coffee and some study time.

  She couldn’t even be bothered to bring out her textbook or laptop.

  It was no wonder she was failing miserably in school.

  Hoping her face was unreadable, Violet said, “Maybe you could talk to your dad, Amelia.”

  Amelia openly scowled. “Yes, because he’s so happy with me right now.”

  Ouch.

  While Violet knew how shitty it was to have your father disappointed in you, she didn’t think she had warranted Amelia’s attitude. It wasn’t her who had lied and gotten them all in trouble. It wasn’t her who had put Franco in the situation where he found himself. It wasn’t her who did any of that.

  “I was just trying to say—”

  “Well, I don’t want to fucking hear it,” Amelia interrupted sharply, standing from her chair abruptly. “It’s not like you tried to help at that breakfast, anyway.”

  Violet blinked, stunned at her friend’s sudden change in demeanor. “Hey!”

  Even Nicole seemed too surprised to speak.

  “I didn’t tell you to lie to Franco,” Violet said, her gaze narrowing. “You did that all on your own, Amelia.”

  Her friend just glared, slammed the chair into the table, and stalked off. Violet wished she understood what had just happened, but she really couldn’t even begin to comprehend it all.

  “Cut her some slack,” Nicole finally said after a moment.

  “I didn’t do anything,” Violet replied.

  “Well …”

  Violet crossed her arms over her chest. “Well, what?”

  Nicole shrugged, refusing to meet Violet’s eyes. “I mean, this did all start because you wanted to party down in Coney and—”

  “Whoa,” Violet snapped, leaning forward. “Stop right there. We all wanted to do that, not just me. And while I was willing to accept the bullshit my father threw at me for getting us all mixed up in trouble that night, I am not going to take shit from you, too. You wanted to be there. Amelia wanted to go. And now, just because we’re all suffering the consequences of being caught, don’t think I’ll sit here and let you throw it on me, Nicole. That’s not how this is going to work.”

  “I was just saying.”

  “A bunch of crap.”

  Nicole frowned. “You could have a bit of sympathy for Amelia, that’s all I’m trying to say.”

  Violet did.

  She had remorse and sadness in the bucketfuls for her friend, but this wasn’t her fault.

  “You don’t know how I feel,” Violet said quietly. “You can’t possibly understand how I feel right now.”

  Because Nicole didn’t know.

  No one did.

  And Violet couldn’t tell her.

  “Whatever,” Nicole muttered, slamming her laptop closed and shoving it into her bag.

  “Where are you going?” Violet softened her posture as her friend stood. “I thought we were going to study or something.”

  “I just … need to take a break.”

  What?

  “A break,” Violet echoed.

  “Yeah,” Nicole replied. “From all of this. Carmine has been acting strange lately. You’re being weird. And I just have better things to do.”

  Violet’s jaw fell slack.

  Oddly, as she watched Nicole pack up the rest of her things and sling her bag around her shoulder, Violet just knew … this was the end of something. Or maybe it was just the beginning of an end.

  A friendship that had started when they were just kids was running its course. And for what?

  Because no one really understood.

  Violet watched her friend leave the cafe without a backward glance; she felt more alone than ever.

  She didn’t want to feel this way at all.

  Placing a bundled stack of twenty-dollar bills on the corner of his desk, Kaz stuck his hand back in the duffel bag at his side, pulling out more and laying them out to count. He had been at it for little more than an hour, but counting money was almost like therapy for him—it helped clear his mind, even as he concentrated on the numbers in his head.

  This was his happy place, at least it usually was until Abram had walked into his office, dropping down on his couch like the weight of the world was on his shoulders. He didn’t usually mind when it was Abram—but at the moment, he would have rather been alone.

  “Can I help you with something?” Kaz asked, not taking his gaze from the money in his hands.

  “I think I fucked up, Cap.”

  It wouldn’t be the first time someone in the Bratva did—they all did shit that wouldn’t necessarily be considered good. But they normally kept it to themselves. Abram had always been the sharing type though.

  “What’d you do this time? Lost a shipment? Cut off the wrong thumb? What?” Kaz finally looked up when Abram didn’t immediately answer, then he noticed the legitimate fear in the man’s eyes. “What the fuck did you do?”

  “Do you remember Stacey?”

  Kaz turned the name over in his head. “The bird over in Hell’s Kitchen? I thought you stopped seeing her when she tried to set your fucking car on fire the first time …”

  Abram waved those words away as though they meant nothing. “She was just mad. You know how it is?”

  No, Kaz didn’t, and he really didn’t want to find out either. “That still doesn’t answer my question.”

  Like he had to force the words out or he wouldn’t be able to say them, Abram answered, “She’s pregnant.”

  Setting the money he’d been counting on his desk, Kaz sat back. “Yeah, you fucked up.”

  There were rules in place for a reason. In most cases, no one gave a shit where you stuck your dick, unless you were forcing it on someone, but with sukas like Stacey, who would happily fuck shit up just because they were in a mood, it mattered.

  Kaz’s phone chimed with a new message, but he ignored it for the moment, his attention on Abram. “What are you going to do?”

  Abram shrugged, scrubbing a hand down his face. “I don’t know.”

  “You need to figure that shit out,” Kaz said, plucking his phone off the desk when it chimed again. He read the name, a beat of confusion hitting him as he tried to figure out why he would have saved someone’s number under “Converse”.

  Then he remembered, and all thoughts of Abram and his newest problem were out of his mind.

  How long had it been? A week? Maybe longer? He had kept himself from reaching out to her, fighting the urge, wanting her to come to him this time. He had made his interest in her clear, even if he hadn’t outright said it, and while he knew she felt the connection, felt the spark that ignited between them when they were together, that was no guarantee that she would have been willing to risk it.

  Apparently, he had underestimated the Gallucci girl.

  Abram was still talking, rambling on about what he planned to do, but Kaz was too busy opening up the message to actually hear what the man was saying.

  I’m at the border.

  No one else could have known what that message meant, but Kaz did, and before he even realized he was doing it, he was texting her back to let her know he was on the way.

  “Finish up in here,” Kaz said gesturing around them to the money on the desk and the rest in the bag. “Have it done by morning.”

  He was heading for the door when Abram called back, “But what about my problem?”

  Kaz paused. “Marry the girl. Take care of the kid, if that’s what she wants. Just hope the suka doesn’t get you killed.”

  Leaving the warehouse parking lot, Kaz tapped his thumb
against the steering wheel as he drove toward the bridge that led out of Coney Island. He was nearly there, his headlights cutting through the darkness of the night when he saw her. She looked up in his direction the moment he got close, then grabbed the messenger bag that was sitting on the ground next to her feet, and hurried over, sliding into his car with ease, like they had done this a dozen times over.

  Turning his body in her direction, he looked her over, taking in her appearance, and the almost sad expression on her face. There was a reason she had sought him out, Kaz knew, he just wondered if she was going to share.

  “Where to?”

  There was no hesitation as she said, “Your place.”

  Violet watched familiar streets pass her window by. Strange, she thought, how only one trip to Little Odessa before this one could make the drive to Kaz’s place familiar.

  “Why so quiet?”

  She didn’t turn away from the window. “Tired, maybe.”

  “But maybe not,” Kaz pressed.

  Violet didn’t reply, but she relaxed a little more in the seat when his hand found her thigh and squeezed just under the hem of her dress.

  “Tell me,” he said, “are we going to get another phone call where I have to rush you back to Manhattan?”

  “Probably not.”

  “Probably is not a no, Violet.”

  She shivered just a little at the way her name rolled off his lips. Like he’d been thinking about saying it for days, but keeping it to himself. And when he was finally able to say it, the word spilled out like a prayer.

  It was too much.

  For her, she liked it too much.

  “It’s a most likely not,” Violet said, shrugging. “My father had some sort of thing in New Jersey he was going to, and he’ll be there until tomorrow night when he drives back. My mother doesn’t give a shit what I do or where I am, as long as I’m not within five feet of her. My brother has holed himself inside his apartment, which is where my mother has been for the last week, much to my father’s dismay. And my friends …”

  She trailed off, scowling at her reflection in the passenger window.

  “The girls from the club, yes?”

  Violet sighed. “Yeah.”

  His hand tightened around her thigh again, making Violet swallow hard.

  “Keep going,” Kaz urged.

  “I suppose it doesn’t matter. All things have a course to run, and it eventually comes to an end, right?”

  “Unless you’re purposely being vague, I need more to go on.”

  Violet shook her head. “It’s nothing. Just drive.”

  Kaz’s hand left her thigh, and she felt the loss instantly. But just as quickly as it had gone, two of his fingers were stroking the side of her neck.

  “You’re sad,” he murmured.

  “A little,” she admitted.

  “Is that why you came down here looking for me?”

  “Partly.”

  “And the other part?” he asked.

  Violet finally spun in her seat to face him, slowly. His hand moved with her, fingers skipping down her jaw and under her chin.

  “Well?” Kaz asked, still stroking her skin.

  That was some of it, too. She thought about him a lot. Too much, really. She remembered his hands on her and how that felt, so maybe she wanted a little more.

  But that wasn’t all of it.

  “I don’t really know,” Violet said.

  Kaz nodded. “Yeah, me either.”

  It wasn’t supposed to be this way.

  At the very least, Kaz figured there would still be a little awkwardness between them as they entered his apartment. She had only been to his place once, but she moved around the space as though she had been there hundreds of times—like she belonged there—and as he tossed his keys on the table, shrugging out of his jacket, he found that he didn’t mind it.

  Kaz liked his space, his privacy away from the world, but with Violet around, he didn’t mind not being alone.

  Heading into the kitchen, he grabbed a bottle of vodka, and a bottle of wine Vera had given him as a housewarming present, holding them up for Violet to see. “What kind of night are we having?”

  She pointed to the vodka.

  Fair enough.

  Grabbing two glasses out of the cabinet above his head, Kaz carried them and the bottle into the living room, his eyes on Violet as she got comfortable on the couch, kicking her shoes off and tucking her legs beneath her. He dropped down beside her, pouring them both a drink, then passed her a glass.

  “Tell me,” he said picking up his own drink.

  He was sure she would deny him again, just as she’d done in the car as they drove over, but he was willingly to ask again. And even if she didn’t give him an answer, he would just do it again until she did. He didn’t like seeing her upset. Already, he missed her smile.

  Violet hesitated, then tossed back a healthy amount of vodka without a single cough. “My friends are upset with me. They’re blaming me—at least Amelia is—for getting in trouble with her father when we came to the club that night. Then there’s the fact that she hasn’t seen F-Franco.”

  She stumbled over the word, but Kaz didn’t think much of it as he tried to hide his own reaction at hearing that name. He didn’t doubt that the girl hadn’t heard from him, especially when they still had the man’s heart. Vasily still had it in a cooler in the freezer of the warehouse—he was sick in that way.

  “But they were here too, no? You didn’t force them.”

  “Of course not, but they don’t care about that.”

  “Sounds like your friends are selfish,” Kaz said, finishing off his drink, then pouring another. “Are you sure those two are your friends?”

  Kaz knew all about fake friends that ultimately betrayed you. Shit, he knew family that was worse.

  “I think that’s something we all learn after a while,” he settled on saying.

  Violet tipped back her glass, emptying the rest of the vodka in one smooth pull. She tipped the glass in his direction, and he refilled it for her. “What’s that?”

  “Not to depend on anyone else.”

  “That’s … a little harsh, isn’t it?” she asked.

  Kaz chuckled. “No, it’s life. When you depend on others for too much, your happiness, acceptance, or even approval, then you’re already guaranteeing yourself unhappiness, rejection, and dissatisfaction from others and yourself. Better to go on seeking those things from yourself, than expecting others to hand them over to you.”

  Violet stared at him for a long while, saying nothing.

  “Not what you were expecting?” he asked.

  “I was … It makes sense,” Violet said.

  “Yeah, the hard lessons usually do.”

  “That must have been tough …”

  Kaz threw back another drink before facing her. “What’s that?”

  “Having to learn that lesson.”

  “Is that your way of asking about me?” he questioned, canting his head to the side as he regarded her.

  “Only if you’re willing to tell me.”

  “Let me tell you a story.” Kaz reached down, pulling her legs onto his lap, his fingers kneading at the muscles in her calves. If he was going to do this, he would need a distraction. “I had a friend once, my best friend I would say. Back when we were younger, he encouraged me to do reckless, outlandish things—he thrilled in the shit. I would be lying if I say I didn’t enjoy it, but not like him. He got off on it.”

  Violet was listening, her face turned in his direction and laying back against the couch. And it was clear as he met that curious, worried gaze of hers that she wasn’t just trying to placate him as he talked, but was actually listening. That encouraged him to go on, even if this was one story he refused to share.

  Not even Ruslan knew.

  “I was young at the time, sixteen thereabout, but we might as well have been men—we knew better—but I was a little shit and wanted the fuck away from Vasily, and if that m
eant doing bad shit—” He paused, smiling absently as his hands shifted to one of her feet and he pressed his thumbs into the arch. “—and not like the bad shit I’m a part of now. We smoked weed, drank heavily, and one night he even bought cocaine.

  “That night, I was fucking wired, like I felt nothing, despite how high I was. We were sitting in the car outside of my old space in broad daylight, mind, but who gave a fuck? I am who I am. But what my friend didn’t tell me was where he’d scored the stuff—and that he hadn’t bothered to pay. Even as young as we were, it was easy for us to get by on names alone—my family is fucking infamous around these parts.”

  Kaz took a breath, holding it for a moment, and then he let it go once her legs shifted in his lap as she drew closer.

  “Go on …”

  “So we’re sitting and laughing about nothing. It was all good. And maybe,” Kaz said with a shake of his head, “just maybe, if he hadn’t been ten fucking sheets to the wind, we might have noticed the men walking up. He might have noticed the guns in their hands. And maybe,” said Kaz, his tone softening as he remembered that day, “just maybe, he could have prevented that little girl walking down the street with her mother from taking a bullet that was meant for him.”

  He was yanked out of his memories in a flash as Violet straddled his lap, her hands lifting to cradle his face. She looked so concerned in that moment that he almost didn’t finish.

  Before he could, she said, “It wasn’t your fault, Kaz. Your friend, whoever it was, he should have been honest with you, or at least not have put you in that situation in the first place.

  Ah, that was what he was hoping she would say. “So do you think he was a bad friend?”

  She sat back. “Of course.”

  “You’re right. I was a terrible friend.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  Kaz sighed, resting his hands on her waist. “I was him. He was me. I went to the dealer, but didn’t bother paying because the Markovic name was enough to strike fear in any person, but not in him. I was naive on that front, thinking myself beyond reproach, and worse, I knew I was bringing him down with me. And worse than that, someone had to answer for that child—not just to the mother who lost her kid, but to the police as well.”