My Every Breath

by Brittney Sahin

  He stares at me for a long moment but finally settles back onto the couch.

  “No lies. Just the truth. You owe me that much after chaining me to a life of death and fear.” I head to the window before swiveling around to face my dad. But all I see is a pair of dull, lifeless green eyes looking back at me.

  His shoulders sag, and for some reason, he doesn’t look like the boogeyman anymore.

  “I’ve always been honest. I just didn’t tell you everything.” He starts to walk toward me.

  His hands slide into the pockets of his slacks, and he angles his head but keeps his eyes on me. “Your mother’s name won’t be on that USB drive.”

  I swallow, knowing exactly what he’s going to say next—understanding why Cade looked at my tattoo, but still, I refuse to believe it. “No.” My hands ball into fists at my sides, and I bury my fingertips into my palms as tight as possible until my own nails cause me pain.

  “I’m the one who buried her,” he says in a low, throaty voice.

  “You’re lying.” I take short, quick breaths.

  He steps closer, and I can’t move anymore with the window to my back. My emotions catch in my throat, a bubble of pain ready to explode.

  “Your mother was a fighter. And as soon as those pigs bought her, she fought so hard against them they ended up killing her.” Pain edges through his voice, sadness overtaking his face. “She was willing to die, rather than let those bastards near her body. You need to understand. You need to know that what she did took courage. She refused to be a prisoner.”

  “No. Fighting to live—to see me again—would have been courageous.” But that’s not fair . . . and I hate myself almost immediately for what I said.

  She was in an impossible situation. There’s only one person who was weak. The man who took her.

  My hands tremble as they cover my face, and my dad wraps his arms around me and pulls me against his chest, and I don’t even have the energy to fight him. I sob into his chest until there’s nothing left inside of me.

  When he lets go, I wipe away the rest of my tears and look over at Mya and Cade. His palm is to his forehead, his eyes shut, and Mya’s softly crying.

  I turn away from everyone and plant a palm to the window, lowering my head against the glass. “I’m being selfish,” I whisper. “I wanted her to still be alive so I could have my mother again.”

  The truth grips hold of me, and I want to let it go. I want to go back to being naïve, to being hopeful she’s out there. “I want you to take me to her.”

  “I told Cade where she’s buried. After all of this is over, he can take you.”

  “This doesn’t change the fact I still don’t trust you.” My voice quavers, emotion threading heavier than normal through each of my words. “Why do you want Rory here?”

  “So I can bury him, too.”

  When I face him, I see the slight twitch in his jaw. It’s obvious that he’s angry. He hates Rory. How could I have not known this until now?

  Cade’s on his feet, and he’s working at the tension in his neck, his eyes cast down at the floor. I’m not used to his silence, but I guess he’s decided to give my father the driver’s seat in all of this insanity.

  My shoulders hunch forward, my body aching to rest and let go of today. But that’s not possible.

  “Why now? Why do you want to stop him now?” If I’m going to trust him, he needs to prove he’s worthy of it.

  “We don’t have much time,” Mya says from behind.

  “I know, but I won’t agree to any plan if I don’t know what the hell is going on.”

  “You don’t need to. This is on me. None of you are leaving this room, not until it’s over.” Dad turns to face Cade. “That includes you.”

  Cade nods, his eyes meeting mine for a moment, and I can tell it’s hard for him to take orders, but it doesn’t look like he has much choice right now.

  “I never wanted you in this life, and I’m sorry.” My father clears his throat and forces his gaze to mine. “I’m not a good person, and I don’t deserve your forgiveness, but I was trying to make things right for you . . . but you expedited things by running.” He fakes a laugh. “You’re definitely your mother’s daughter, all right.”

  I fidget with the bottom of my shirt, twisting it around my finger as if I’m that little girl again, looking out the window, wondering if my dad will ever show . . .

  And here he is, and it’s as if I’m actually seeing him for the first time.

  “How will killing Rory protect me? Won’t his people want revenge? Won’t I be in even more danger?”

  “Not with the plan Jessica and I came up with,” Cade says.

  “The one we talked about?” I think about the conversation we had with Jessica, and it feels like an eternity ago. “Is your friend dirty, or is Rory a snitch?” My forehead tightens as I look back and forth between Cade and my father, waiting for clarity.

  “My friend is dirty.” A film of unease shadows his face, the reality of the truth unsettling for him. “But that doesn’t mean Rory’s people have to know that.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  My dad reaches out for my shoulder, resting a palm there, and I don’t flinch, which is surprising. “I’m the one who turned the McCullens in. Richard is in prison because of me.”

  My eyes widen, and my stomach falls.

  “Rory should have been locked up, too.” His brows pull together. “I anonymously provided the Feds with everything they could ever need to imprison both Rory and his father, and yet, Rory never got sentenced.”

  “You’re the snitch?” My thoughts are growing fuzzy, and nothing in my world makes sense right now.

  “I was trying to get you a way out of this life, but when Rory took over, I realized I had to come up with a new plan.” Dad turns his back and retrieves his gun.

  It’s big and black, and I have no idea what kind it is, but if it’s meant to kill Rory, I don’t even care. I’m okay with murder. In this case, I’m okay.

  “We think Rory made a deal in exchange for his freedom,” Mya says. Apparently, my father caught her up on everything while Cade and I were rolling around beneath the sheets last night.

  It’s like a punch in the gut, being the last one to figure everything out.

  “So what do we do?” I ask.

  Cade looks at his watch. “Jessica will be forcing Jerry to phone Rory’s main crew a few minutes after Rory’s arrival. He’ll be letting them know Rory’s working with the Feds.”

  “But you said Jerry’s dirty.”

  “Which is why I don’t feel guilty about having Jessica hold a gun to his head to make the call.”

  My fingers fan against my breastbone, taking this all in.

  “Nobody likes Rory. His own people can’t stand him, and you know that. They won’t be too shocked to learn of his betrayal. They loved Richard, and they’ll turn on Rory with even the slightest doubt planted.” Dad twists a black cylinder to the end of his gun.

  “So, why do you need to kill him?” Not that I’m against it.

  “To protect you,” Dad says. “To prevent anyone from bothering you after all of this is over, his crew needs to think Rory’s an informant—which he is. But to keep you safe, Rory needs to die.”

  “What if something happens to you in there?” My stomach lurches at the thought of losing another parent, which is crazy, because I’ve spent ten years trying to get away from this man. Ten years hating him.

  “There’s a chance I’ll get caught in the crossfire if Rory or his guys start shooting at each other. Rory might try and do something stupid.”

  “Tell her the truth. She deserves that.” Cade’s words have my attention switching to him.

  “What?” I mouth the question while looking back at my dad.

  He lowers the fully assembled gun to his side and cocks his head, eyeing me.

  “I should go. They’ll be expecting me.”

  Realization barrels at me like I’ve been shot. “You
want to die, don’t you? You don’t plan on coming back, do you?” My lower lip trembles, and I rush to him and throw my arms around his neck.

  He’s a killer.

  And he belongs in hell.

  But he’s my dad.

  “I love you,” I whisper into his ear, even if it doesn’t make sense.

  He holds me tight against him with one strong arm. “I’m so proud of you. Your mother would be so proud of you, too,” he says with a strained voice. “Bury me next to her, will ya?”

  A quick kiss on my cheek, and then he pulls back and starts for the door.

  “No!” I rush toward him, but he doesn’t look back.

  “Gia, stop,” Mya calls out, trying to reach for my arm as I go past her.

  The door slams shut, and Cade wraps his arms around me, holding on to me as I fight to break free.

  I drop my weight into his arms, sliding to the ground, and he goes down with me.

  “He has to do it. Let him do it,” he says into my ear as new tears flood my face.

  “No,” is all I can say.

  I can’t lose two parents in one night.

  “You’ll never be safe with him alive. He doesn’t want someone using you against him,” he says in a rush to try and get me to understand, to calm me down. But it’s not working.

  “He’s going to die because of me, just like my mom did.” I close my eyes, but finally, stop resisting.

  “He wants you to be free to live your life.”

  I tuck my knees to my chest and rock in place, trying to maintain my sanity, but I think I’ve lost it.

  “I’ve got you,” he murmurs. “Always.”

  “Shit,” Mya says, and I look up to see her hurrying to the door. “Did you hear that?”

  A few minutes later, the fire alarms sound, and the hallways grow loud with commotion.

  “We gotta get out of here.” Cade stands and reaches down to help me to my feet.

  Mya opens the door and people are running down the hall. “Wait,” I rasp, my voice hoarse.

  “I’ll get it,” Cade says before I can move, reading my thoughts.

  “Thank you,” I say once he retrieves my sketchpad.

  I clutch it to my chest and join the frenzied people in the hall, but we walk slowly. We move cautiously.

  We know there’s no fire.

  We can only hope Rory is dead.

  But my dad just might be, too.

  24

  Gia

  “They’re beautiful. She’d love them.”

  I set the bouquet of flowers down before the tombstone and remain squatting. “Sara Cardona.” I smooth my hand over the carved name.

  My life has been made up of so many half-truths that I need to figure out who I even am.

  I’ve gone my entire life thinking I’m Brazilian and Irish, only to find out my mother was Columbian. If my father didn’t tell Cade everything in that short span of time they were forced together, almost two weeks ago, I could’ve died thinking I was someone else.

  “It makes sense.”

  I look over my shoulder at him, my eyes welling with tears.

  “If your dad wanted to keep you and your mom hidden twenty-five years ago, of course he’d change her last name and have you guys live somewhere that’s not a predominantly Spanish-speaking country.” He holds a palm up. “I know, I know. They could’ve clued you in on the fact you’re Columbian, at least.”

  My stomach twists and I push to my feet and look over at the two graves on the left side of my mom’s. Her parents. Grandparents I never knew.

  “They died when she was so young,” I mumble under my breath, wondering how I could have been so clueless.

  “I guess they figured you’d be safer living the lie than risking what could happen if someone discovered the truth.”

  My lips roll inward, the emotions still fresh, even if some part of me came to terms with losing her a long time ago. The moment I’d burned the ink onto my skin, I had known the truth. But right after, I slipped into the quicksand of denial.

  “He wasn’t a good man,” I say when I look at Dad’s gravestone, next to my mom’s. “But I guess he loved us.”

  My father had given Cade a combination that unlocked a safe in New York. Cade had his brother open it since we haven’t returned yet. Corbin said it looked like a safe of memoirs: pictures, baby items, and so forth.

  I’m not sure why he kept them from me. Maybe he thought I wouldn’t ever be able to let go if I was reminded of Mom. Instead, it created an emptiness inside me.

  I back up a few steps and let out a breath. It’s been a long two weeks.

  Rory is dead.

  I’m no longer wanted by the mob.

  Cade’s family is back in New York—and they’re all safe, including him.

  But both of my parents are buried in front of me.

  “You want to come back again tomorrow?” He reaches for my hand and squeezes it.

  A slight breeze rustles the tree branches in the distance, but the warmth of the sun washes over us, warming me. It’s as if the sun is cleansing us both of our sins.

  “No. They’re not beneath the ground.” I sniffle. “They’re in my heart.”

  25

  Gia

  He’s been on his computer all night. I’m pretty sure he snuck out of bed after I fell asleep. I can always tell when he’s not next to me. I don’t sleep as well.

  “Are you almost caught up?” I clasp my hands together behind my back, stretching.

  He pushes away from the kitchen table and closes his laptop. “I’ve been away for weeks.” Laughter rolls from his lips as he spins around and grabs me by the hips. “It’s going to take me a while to get caught up on the emails, let alone everything else.”

  “Well, it was your idea to come here. You could be back in that big tower office of yours, barking out orders and making your employees quake with fear.”

  His chin lifts and a pair of stormy blues settles on my face. He raises the hem of my tank top and presses his mouth to my stomach. His thumbs smooth over my skin alongside his lips. “Is that how you picture me at work? A dictator?”

  “I know how you are in bed, so I can only imagine what you’re like there.” My teeth sink into my bottom lip when his hand travels up to my breast and palms it, his mouth still making my stomach flutter as his four-day-old beard rubs against my flesh.

  “You don’t like when I’m in charge in bed?” His fingers pinch my nipple, and I arch my hips forward, giving in to the pressure that pulses between my legs.

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “I’d be happy to let you take control tonight.” A huskiness moves through his voice, and a shiver licks up my spine and splinters out through my veins.

  “You’re such a liar.”

  I can feel his smile against my skin, his mouth still planting kisses all over my abdomen.

  He drops his hand to my hip bone and pulls back to look at me. “What can I say? I’m a changed man. Maybe it’s the air here.”

  “Rio can do that.” I grin.

  We’ve been in Rio de Janeiro for five days now. We came after a week in Columbia, where I spent time learning more about my mother’s true roots.

  He had his brother ship his laptop and work to him. He seems hesitant to go back, and I’m sure it’s because of me.

  Even though Rory’s dead and most of his crew are in county jail, thanks to the exposé Mya wrote last week, he probably assumes I’m not ready to face the city.

  “What are you afraid of?” I’m ruining the moment, but our time in Brazil has already been filled with so many moments that maybe it’s time to face reality.

  I just have no idea what my new life is supposed to look like.

  “I’m not afraid of anything,” he says.

  I shuffle back and out of his reach and head to the sink to fill a pot of water for coffee. He rented us a beautiful little house on the outskirts of the city, and it has a killer view of the Christ the Redeemer statue.
r />   Warm hands rest on each side of my ass cheeks. Maybe I should have put pants on before coming out here. I knew that only a tank and panties would distract Cade from having any real conversation.

  Maybe I didn’t realize I was ready to have it until now, though.

  My head falls back, my ear almost touching my shoulder when he slides his hands around to hold me. “I think you’re avoiding going home.”

  “No,” he says into my ear. “I can work from anywhere. Hell, you can sit on my lap while I’m on conference calls.”

  I chuckle. “Well, that wouldn’t end well. I’m pretty sure you’d be unable to focus with me grinding on you.”

  “What? You can’t be good and just straddle me?” His lips twist into a knowing smirk, his eyes turning robin’s egg blue, light and free.

  He’s right about one thing: he’s a changed man.

  We both changed.

  And I refuse to let the deaths of my parents become a perpetual shadow of darkness over me. My mom would want more for me, and my father—well, he might have been a bad man, but he died so I could live, so I should do exactly that.

  “Ahem.” I turn and drape my arms over his shoulders. “You’re the one who wouldn’t be able to stop yourself from behaving.”

  “Never.” His lips meet mine for a brief kiss. “I’m always in control, remember?” He smiles and touches his forehead to mine.

  “So then tell me why you don’t want to go back to New York.”

  He grumbles and backs up, releasing me. “We need a vacation.”

  I wave a hand at his laptop. “And you’ve barely slept on this so-called vacation. As soon as I’m asleep, you work. You’re going to burn yourself out. It’s not fair to you. I’ve messed up your life enough. You should head home.”

  He leans back against the kitchen island, studying me from a few feet away, and I copy his move but fold my arms. I’m not backing down on this.

  “First of all, you didn’t screw up my life. We’ve been through this. You brought me back to life.”

  He’s said these words to me before, and the honesty and almost poeticness of it gets me every time, especially from someone who claims to be carved from ice.