Game of Lies

by Amanda K. Byrne

  “Seems kind of dumb to box them up and move them. They’ll probably just end up under sinks again.” She picks up a bottle, opens it, and sniffs the contents. “Oh, ick. Not to mention some of it’s probably really nasty by now too.”

  “Probably.” I shift from my knees to my butt, my energy and drive to get everything cleaned gone. “Can we throw everything else in the dumpster and call it good?”

  “In the bathroom, or the apartment in general?” She extends a hand, and I take it, letting her pull me to my feet.

  In general. The thought of packing away what’s left in here is daunting, bordering on overwhelming. Who gets the pictures on the walls? Do we keep the battered posters that have moved from place to place? She leads me to the couch, and I collapse in a heap, ready for a nap.

  “I don’t know how I’m going to get through classes next week,” I admit.

  She curls up next to me. “You were okay yesterday. What’s changed?”

  No tears, thank God, but grief flattens me against the couch, and I tip my head back and shut my eyes. “The other shoe dropped.” Bit by bit, I tell her everything: the incredible, debilitating sadness, the crying, the screaming, how even Nick’s presence didn’t help. “We spent so much time at odds with each other. We’ll never get a chance to fix it.” On cue, tears sting the backs of my eyes, and I sniff hard. “I can’t stop crying, either, which is really annoying.”

  She pulls her lips down in an exaggerated frown. “Oh, yes, it’s really annoying to have a perfectly normal reaction.” I flip her off with a snort, but the tears recede.

  “I know your relationship with your dad wasn’t the greatest, but you’re allowed to cry for him, Cass.”

  Stupid that I need to be reassured my reactions are okay even if they’re out of character for me, but it helps. Neese has been with me through all the ups and downs of my relationship with Turner. Leaning on her feels right. So when she curls an arm around my shoulders, that’s exactly what I do.

  The lobby buzzer going off jolts us both out of our thoughts, and I rub a fist over my chest to calm my racing heart. “That’ll be the movers.”

  “Where’s your new place?” She pushes off the couch and walks to the intercom. “Hello?”

  “Rory with Crane Movers. We’re here for the furniture?”

  “Come on up.” She presses the button that releases the front door, then opens the apartment door an inch. “How’d you find movers so quickly again?”

  “Last minute cancellation. New place is on the south side of campus.” The faint ding of the elevator arriving drifts into the apartment, followed by heavy tread in the hallway. “You said I can take the TV, yeah?”

  “Yeah.”

  A knock on the door, and it swings open, revealing three scruffy, broad-shouldered men in the hall. “Cass Turner?” the one in front asks.

  I lift a hand. “Me.”

  They work fast. Denise and I are forced to move around the apartment constantly to stay out of their way, and after a while we give up on trying to pack anything else and huddle in a corner of the kitchen. We watch as they cart first the boxes, then the couch, coffee table, and my bed down to the truck blocking the street.

  Denise and I crowd into the elevator with one of the men holding the last of the boxes from the kitchen. I turn to her. “Do you want to see the new apartment?”

  She grins. “Thought you’d never ask.”

  The truck’s already parked, the back door open by the time Denise and I walk up to my new building. But the movers aren’t the only ones waiting for us to arrive.

  Andreas stands off to the right of the front entrance, his expression cool and blank, phone in one hand. He’s dressed casually in well-worn jeans and a dark blue sweater, but there’s no mistaking his power and importance. It practically radiates off him, ensnaring everything in its path.

  Denise leans in. “Who is that?” A tremor of something, fear or worry or awe, punctuates her question.

  I bite off a sigh. “Andreas Kosta. Nick’s dad.” My keys clink against one another as I hold them out. “Would you mind letting the movers in? Fourth floor, apartment twenty-two.”

  A car rolls past, loud hip-hop blasting through the windows. The driver zooms to the end of the street, and we follow its progress until the car turns right. “Classy neighbors you got there, Cass.” Denise takes the keys. “Which one opens the front door, and which one opens the apartment?”

  I show her, and she waves to the movers to follow her while I continue past the truck to deal with Andreas. “Mr. Kosta.”

  He dips his head in acknowledgement. “Cassidy. Moving day?”

  “Sure.” I tuck my hands into my pockets. “Can I help you with something?” A gust of wind blows up the sidewalk, sneaking through the thick fabric of my sweatshirt, and I shiver.

  “I’ve come to ask you one last time to reconsider. I understand you and Dominic have already signed the lease, and there may be some financial strain for you if you were to break it now. I’m willing to compensate you for the expense.”

  He’s willing to compensate me. Anger, at once familiar and foreign, burns through my veins. “Why is it so difficult for you to accept that Nick loves me, and that he loves me enough he’s not going to leave me just because you think it’s for the best?” I suck in a breath, striving for calm. “He’s a grown man. It’s not like he’s going to be living here anyway. Besides, he’s been making his own choices and his own mistakes for years now.”

  The first hint of anger gleams in his eyes. “When his mistakes have the potential to ripple through what I’ve built, when there’s the possibility those choices could severely damage everything I’ve worked for, it’s my responsibility to ensure that doesn’t happen.”

  I am not a mistake. I fist my hands, nails digging into my palms. “Isaiah is dead. His death was my one and only goal. I may have failed to achieve it, but that doesn’t change the fact that Isaiah is no longer a threat.”

  “You killed a police officer without thinking.”

  I give him a baleful look. “You have no proof of that. Though if they were to run a ballistics report on the bullet pulled from Nick’s leg, they’d find it’s a match for the gun fired by Tris. The only reason the police know about Tris is because they arrived on the scene first. You can’t control everything, Mr. Kosta.” And I’ll bet that chaps his ass like nothing else.

  “Cass?”

  I turn around. One of the movers stands next to the truck, and he waves me over. “Yeah?”

  “Which bedroom did you want the bed in?”

  The apartment’s a corner unit with the doors to the bedrooms and the bathroom on the right side of the living room. One bedroom is right on the corner with two windows, and the other has a single window. “The room with one window.” I really ought to go up and show him exactly where I want it, but I need to get rid of Andreas first. “Can you put it on the wall across from the closet? I’ll be up in a minute.”

  His gaze darts past me, over my shoulder, and he shrugs. “Sure.”

  Why does Andreas think that being the head of LA’s underworld entitles him to be, well, rude and pompous? Stifling another sigh, I turn my attention to Andreas. “Short of you inflicting bodily harm on me, I’m not leaving Nick. I wouldn’t leave him even if you did hurt me, and you and I both know that will only serve to push him closer to me.” Current troubles aside, every word I said is true. “I am sorry I’ve caused so much of a disturbance in your organization. But if I were you, I’d be more concerned with whoever tried to kill us last night.”

  He narrows his eyes. “What are you talking about?”

  I narrow mine right back. I assumed Nick told his dad when they spoke last night. “Someone snuck into the backyard of my parents’ house with a gun. Nick killed him. Nick is also fairly certain you want me alive so you can turn me over to the police. Is he wrong?” Andreas shakes his head. I wave my hand at the front door. “Okay. Good. Can I go tell th
e movers where to put things now?”

  He rakes a coldly assessing gaze over me. “I will discuss this with Dominic. Immediately.”

  Oh, goody.

  Chapter 17

  Get your ass over here.

  I check the text from Nick one more time as I push open the door to the ninth floor of his building. He didn’t respond when I told him I couldn’t leave until the movers were done. Dealing with them only took another half hour, since there was so little stuff and they were incredibly organized, but the time added to the drive meant over an hour passed before I arrived at the office. The chances of Andreas still being here are small.

  I hope.

  Constantine’s office door is open, but as I walk by, I see the room is empty. Nick’s door, however, is closed, and there’s a low rumble of voices coming from inside. Gathering my faltering courage, I knock and turn the knob at the muffled “come in.”

  Of course I didn’t get lucky. Of course Andreas is perfectly at ease, sitting in one of the visitor chairs on the near side of the desk. Of course Nick’s expression is the same cold, blank one he uses whenever he’s about to kill someone.

  Which means I probably should stop Nick from doing exactly that.

  Instead of greeting either of them, I round the desk and stop beside Nick. He doesn’t hesitate to band his arm around my waist and pull me into him. Andreas will see the move for what it is—Nick’s choosing me, and fuck whatever the family wants. I probably ought to feel guilty about causing even more discord between father and son, but I need Nick more than his father does at the moment, even with the distrust and hurt between us. I don’t know if I would have made it through the last forty-eight hours with at least some of my sanity intact if it hadn’t been for him.

  Andreas doesn’t need to know about our problems, though. I can put on a show for him, just like Nick. “Someone want to fill me in?” I trail my fingers up the side of his neck. The muscles are like stone.

  “Dominic showed me the photo he took of the man he shot last night. His name is Rafe Moreno. He’s not a member of the organization, though he is loyal. He’s used for jobs too delicate for outsiders but too close for the family.” Andreas doesn’t move a millimeter. His control is amazing and a little scary.

  The explanation doesn’t quite make sense. Nick hisses softly when I accidentally dig my fingers into the side of his neck. “Sorry,” I murmur. He squeezes my hip in response.

  “I don’t understand what Rafe does. Did,” I correct. “Was he like Josef?” Josef was sent by Isaiah to kill me. The fight ended with Josef bleeding out on the floor of my bedroom.

  Except…

  Nick told me Josef wouldn’t have taken orders from Isaiah because he wasn’t placed highly enough. After Isaiah attacked me in the parking garage, we assumed Josef’s loyalty had been bought. With my misgivings about Constantine rearing their ugly heads, though, I want to take another look at that. Later. First I need to know what Rafe did.

  “Josef was a member of the organization, and his skills were much narrower.” Nick loosens his hold, and I ease away as he tips his head back, his dark eyes intent on mine. “You familiar with gangs? Or at least fictional depictions?” I nod, and his lips quirk in a smile. “Instead of a company with different departments, think of the organization as a gang. You’re going to have some people who aren’t part of it but want to be, and then others who will claim an affiliation and do work for them when it suits, but may deny involvement at other times. Rafe fell into the latter category. When he did do a job, it wasn’t always bloody or physical. It was something Dad or Uncle Anton didn’t trust to someone in the family and was too sensitive for someone like your dad to handle.”

  A heavy weight forms in my chest at the thought of my dad, and I struggle to breathe through it. “So he’s like Luca Brasi.”

  Nick’s quick grin helps lift some of the weight. “Yeah. He’s also more of a ‘need to know’ associate, and Dad didn’t think I needed to know about him yet.”

  When Andreas clears his throat softly, I pull my gaze from Nick’s.

  “I did not send Rafe to your house last night, Cassidy.”

  His surprise when I told him about the attempt seemed genuine, but I didn’t have much contact with him, either. “How do I know if you’re telling the truth?”

  “You don’t.”

  Honesty. I can appreciate honesty. Suddenly tired, I lean into Nick’s side. “Look, this is ridiculous. Your organization’s already got a giant rift in it from Isaiah and his need for revenge. You know what’s going to happen if you keep pursuing your desire to take me from Nick? That rift’s going to get bigger. So let’s pretend for a moment that I believe you, and Rafe wasn’t there last night on your orders. And let’s also pretend that you want to see me led away in handcuffs and not in a body bag.” Nick’s hand flexes on my hip, and I stroke my own over his fingers. I’m not going to die on him. Not if I can help it. “That means Isaiah wasn’t working alone, and someone still wants your son out of the picture. What are you going to do about it?”

  Andreas regards me coolly. The look is like so many Turner gave me over the years it hurts. Sad, pathetic even, that I’d give anything for my dad to look at me that way again. Nick shifts in his chair and pulls me onto his lap, my weight balanced on his good leg.

  Something flits across Andreas’s face. Surprise? Resignation? Did he really not believe that Nick would choose me?

  The silence drags out to the point of awkwardness, until Andreas finally nods once. “You make a valid point. Additional security, to begin with. He will have a driver. I would ask that you remain at your house until I can arrange for the apartment next to yours to be rented and some of my men to move in. Your father’s security is excellent, and there’s space for additional men in the house.”

  Nick shakes his head. “Classes start Monday, and I’m not going to inconvenience her any more than I have. Cass will be at the apartment beginning tonight. What time’s your first class?” he asks me.

  “Nine.” He’s doing it. He’s really going to give me the space I asked for. We’re going to live apart. I don’t know if I want to kiss him or yell at him. “I’ll give you the codes to the security system.”

  “It’s settled.” Andreas stands and waits like he’s expecting Nick to do the same.

  “I’d like a minute with Cass.” Something in his tone makes me wary, though he strokes a hand up my back. Andreas shoots me a look and steps outside before shutting the door behind him.

  “How’d the move go?”

  Seriously? He wants to have a normal conversation? “You mean before or after your dad showed up? They took everything that was packed. Furniture is more or less in the places I want it. I figured if you were working tomorrow I’d go over and put away the dishes and other kitchen things so I can use them. Were you fighting with your dad for the last hour?”

  “About, yeah.” He releases me, and I get to my feet. “But not before he ordered us to come to dinner.”

  I can’t help it. I groan. Loudly. “It just gets better and better.” I cover my face with my hands. “Your dad really has it in for me.” When he doesn’t disagree, I peek at him through my fingers. “What?”

  He tugs my hand away. “I don’t want to leave you by yourself.”

  Then he should have thought of that before he doped my coffee. Going home to an empty apartment and knowing Nick won’t be sneaking into my bed in the middle of the night makes my chest seize. “I’ll be fine,” I say. “We need to fix this, Nick. I want the time you said I could have. More, I won’t be the reason you split with your family.”

  He kisses me. “Don’t worry,” he murmurs against my lips. “They’re doing that all on their own.” He snags his crutches. “Come on. I made the mistake of telling Dad the server tests were delaying everything else, so we’re having dinner with my parents.”

  Andreas stands outside Constantine’s office, hands loose at his sides, chin up. I doub
t the man knows the meaning of the word “fidget.” I certainly can’t see him pacing or idly playing Words With Friends on his phone. His dark gaze is direct and neutral. “Ready?”

  In deference to Nick’s injury, we take the elevator to the lobby. “Your parents are in Woodland Hills, correct?” Andreas asks as we exit the building.

  “Yeah, near—”

  Crackcrackcrackcrack.

  There’s screaming.

  Crackcrackcrackcrack.

  Tires squealing.

  I’m on the sidewalk, pavement scraping my cheek, Nick half on top of me.

  Shot. We were shot at.

  Panic roars through me, the world fading to white. Shot. Nick’s been shot. I’m being smothered. I buck hard, banging my knees into the sidewalk. Warm hands cradle my head, and someone’s shouting my name from very far away.

  “Cass. Cassidy. Stop moving. Stop moving, love.”

  Love. Nick. He’s okay enough to talk. I do as he asks, but I can’t breathe. My breath comes in short, shallow pants, lungs spasming and shoving the air right back out. “Can’t breathe,” I gasp.

  His mouth is right next to my ear. “Can you feel me?” When he takes a breath, his chest expands against my back. Is that what he means? I hope so. I’m starting to see spots. I nod. “C’mon. In and out.” He draws in air, and so do I, then let it out when he does. In and out, in and out, our breaths synchronizing. His lips graze my ear. “You okay? Were you hit?”

  The screaming hasn’t stopped. People are shouting, someone’s crying, and way off in the distance, there’s sirens. I close my eyes and try to shut out the noise as I take inventory of my body. Cheek scraped from hitting the sidewalk. Palms feel a little raw too. Solid warmth where Nick’s lying across me, pinning me to the ground. Knees throbbing. “I think I’m okay. Are you? Is the shooter gone?”

  “Think so. Let’s just stay down here to be safe.”

  Good idea. Fantastic idea. I work a hand under his, and he laces our fingers together. “You didn’t answer my other question. Did you get hit?”