by Nora Flite
But not once in all those years had the Badds ever allowed the public through their doors. I’d only seen the place from outside the intimidating iron gates.
Today that would change.
The bakery van rumbled loudly, I could hear it before I rolled the window down. The speaker next to the gate blinked; I pushed the button, clearing my throat. “Hello?” I said, wondering how to make this happen.
“Delivery?” a voice crackled back.
Staring around the inside of the van, I bit back a laugh. “Uh, sure. Delivery.”
I clung to the air inside my lungs until the gates split apart. Breathing out, I drove the van into the lot, then parked it on the smooth cement circle. Clutching the keys and wishing they were a gun, I gathered myself . . . reminded myself why I was here . . . and climbed from the vehicle.
The crisp air tasted vaguely like roses. I didn’t know how, considering it was winter. Wouldn’t all the flowers be dead? Don’t think about that word. Ugh. It was hard to convince myself I was really standing in front of the Badd family mansion.
My teeth chattered as the time of year caught up to me. I hopped up the steps and stood between the pearly pillars that propped up the dark roof. A big wreath crafted from holly and poinsettias hung over the front door’s window, like this was any home ready for the holidays.
Gently I knocked on the smooth white wood. When no one answered, I noticed the brass knocker and tried that, wincing at the sharp sounds. On the verge of feeling lost, I was relieved when the door swung inward.
A woman in a long mouse-gray dress and white apron peered at me. “Hello?” she asked.
Is she a servant? She sort of looked like one, but outside of TV shows, I’d never seen one. Squinting, I saw she had a little tag sewn onto her shirt that read BADD MAIDS. I had to bite my tongue so I wouldn’t laugh. “Hi, I’m here to see Maverick.” The stranger narrowed her eyes, so I added, “He invited me.”
Leaning around me, she stared at the bakery van. “I thought you were bringing a delivery.”
“Not exactly. Look, please just take me to Maverick. He’ll understand.”
Reluctantly she stepped back and waved for me to enter. Unsure what I’d find, I stepped into Costello’s home. The warm apple-pie scent did not fit the dangerous and dark vibe I’d expected from the Badds’ territory.
She took me down a hallway, and I pulled up short when she stopped outside a wide doorway. “Sir,” the maid said, “you have a visitor.”
Maverick was settled in a plush chair. Tiny glasses sat on his nose; he’d been reading a book, but when he looked up, he dropped it onto the floor. “You.” I wanted to bottle that shocked expression so I could keep it for myself, to enjoy in private. Because right now, as confident as I was acting, I was too terrified to thrill at surprising this man.
The den was warm, a fireplace crackling to one side. Red-and-gold rugs covered the floors, crawling over each inch. As a kid I would have loved this room with its variety of chairs and coffee tables; it was a perfect place to play don’t touch the floor.
It might as well have been real lava. I walked into it and prepared to burn.
Maverick didn’t rise, that was my first hint that he didn’t fear me. He didn’t think I’d slipped into his home to hurt him. Was I that transparent? He nodded at the woman beside me. “Leave us.”
The second we were alone, I lifted my chin. “We need to talk.”
He looked me up and down. “I can’t believe I let you walk right past me that night at the hotel. When Rush called to tell me what had happened at Costello’s place, and I realized you were the waitress Darien was after . . .” Maverick slid his glasses off. After rubbing the lenses, he set them aside and considered me with fresh eyes. It was just like our first meeting at Kain’s wedding, only this time I was more than some stranger his son was dating.
I was something else entirely, and both of us knew it.
He whispered, “I’ve rarely felt so foolish, dear girl. I didn’t enjoy it.”
Stepping closer, I eyeballed the room. “It’s quiet. Is no one home but your servants?”
“I don’t think that matters.” His black eyes glinted like a tiger’s. “Where’s Costello?”
“Like you said, I don’t think that matters.”
“Looks like he’s decided to take the coward’s route and abandon us both.”
Acid washed up the back of my throat. “He’s not a coward. Do you even know him?”
“Better than you do, girl. I raised that boy to be powerful, brave, and to dedicate himself to this family. I should have realized when he fractured us the first time that he wasn’t worthy of so much effort.”
It was pure disdain that made me move until I was standing over Maverick. Even sitting down, the man reminded me of an avalanche. But I was too stunned to be scared. “Costello didn’t fracture this family. You did.”
His laugh came from his belly. “Excuse me?”
“It’s the truth!” My voice was carrying, echoing in the den. I needed this man to hear me, to understand where my anger came from. “I know what happened years ago. How you blamed Costello for the attack on your daughter. But it wasn’t his fault! He risked his life to save her, and he did it all because he thought it was how you wanted him to act.”
Costello’s words boomed around in my skull. Kings have to make the hard choices, and every choice they make, especially when it comes to family, falls on them.
Flaring his nostrils, Maverick dug his hands into the arms of his chair. “You’ve got a mouth on you. Are you trying to blame me for his decisions? Costello was a fool to go to the police.”
“But he didn’t. It wasn’t him.” Telling Costello’s secret hadn’t been my intention. But facing off with his father, hearing him call his son a fool, it was too much.
He was grim in his silence. Then he said, “He really told you everything.”
I lowered my arms to my sides. “Why aren’t you shocked?” This news was huge; it should have made it clear that Maverick had treated his son terribly without cause. Any normal person would hang their head in shame. At least they’d look sick . . . or surprised. The big man watched me closely. He didn’t move or blink.
And then I understood.
“You knew,” I whispered. “You knew all along that Lulabelle was the one who went to the cops.”
He studied me and tasted my words. “And if I did, what does that change? A man must make hard decisions to ensure his family remains safe and whole. I’ve always done that. Always.”
“But . . . then why allow Costello to think you believed him?”
His jaw swayed from side to side; he suddenly looked very tired. “It doesn’t matter why I did anything. What matters is what you’re going to do. You came here for a reason, and I assume it was about more than chastising me.”
There was a wildfire in my guts. Clenching my fists, I said, “Costello loves you and this whole family. Even after being treated like scum for something he took the blame for, he kept on loving you. I can’t bear the idea of him being hurt anymore. Especially not because of me.”
Maverick had started to lean forward. It was a minor movement, but I noticed.
“The handoff,” I said slowly. “I know about it. And I’m here to tell you I’ll do it. Just give me the location, the time, and this will be over with.”
A log popped in the fire, red embers dancing in Maverick’s stare. His tone was low and full of poison. “Why would I tell you, when I can drag you there myself? I’ve got no reason to trust you’ll go on your own.”
“Yes, you do. Think about it.” My arms folded tight over my chest. “Why would I come here and tell you directly? You asked me where Costello was. Remember?”
His eyebrows shifted an inch higher. “He has no idea you’re here, does he? You don’t want him to know.”
Barbs of guilt burrowed deeper in my core. I ignored them, I had to. “He’d never let me do this.” He wouldn’t entertain the idea of me meeting wit
h Darien at all. “But I know it’s the only way. The deal is, you can’t tell Costello. He’ll try to stop me.”
He’ll get himself killed.
For me.
Maverick stood up, and when he did, I locked my knees to keep myself from sprinting away. He extended his palm with its thick fingers that could crush my bones. “You’re interesting,” he said. “I’m sorry you’re caught in the middle of this. I truly am.”
Considering his hand, I grabbed it and squeezed. “Love can be a real bitch.”
He laughed heartily as he shook my fingers; I really did think he would snap my joints, but he let go before it went too far. “Scotch is known to burn. Your parents named you well.”
“Yeah.” I didn’t correct him. I’d never tell this man a thing about my family.
His lips spread into a flat line. “The handoff is tonight, ten o’clock at the Havenport Warehouse in Boston.”
It figured it would be on Darien’s home turf, but so soon? “Tonight?” I asked. “Why so little heads-up?”
“After word got out about the condo attack, the Valentines think we’re all hiding you. They no longer believe I’m trying to work with them to prevent more bloodshed. At this very moment, everyone at my disposal is out desperately searching for you and my son.”
So that’s why this place is so quiet. “Can I ask what your plan was if you couldn’t make the handoff happen?”
He angled his head higher. “War.”
The word came easily, but it filled the room with a heavy weight. War. He didn’t sound afraid. Maverick spoke as if he’d always known a day like this would come. Briefly I stared at him and saw him for what he truly was: a king.
This man and his intensity . . . he was why Costello was so hard.
Insect legs crept around my heart. If love was easier, I could have reached inside and torn those itchy bits away from my soul. I could have called Costello, told him my plan, and fought for another way out of this dead end.
I could have done so many other things than shake Maverick’s hand . . . turn . . . and leave the room.
Love isn’t easy. No matter how much my parents make it look like it is.
As I rounded the corner into the hallway, I felt eyes on me. Peering back, I swear I saw long hair and heels scuttling into the den. Was it the maid, or someone else who had been spying on us?
I didn’t have time to investigate. There was a ton of work to do in only a few hours.
- CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE -
COSTELLO
My sister’s car almost vanished in the landscape. Snow coated the white hood, most of it sticking even after I’d been driving it around mindlessly for hours.
That bastard.
Detective Stapler had made his opinion of me clear. He hated me, he hated my family, and that was just fine. I didn’t like him or how he operated, either. The guy had been chasing after my family’s shadows for years.
We had only one thing in common.
Both of us cared for Scotch.
Knotting my eyebrows up so tight it hurt, I remembered how he’d sat me down in Margie’s small kitchen. His words haunted me, clinging like cobwebs.
“Eight years,” he muttered. Margie was gone, we were alone; he lit up a cigarette and I didn’t stop him. “I never got involved. I should have.”
“She had her reasons,” I began.
His eyes flew at me like hawks. “Do you know how her father got hurt?”
I didn’t. I’d seen him limping, had drawn my own conclusions, but that was all.
Stapler said, “Years ago. Big shoot-out. You’ve been on the Hill, don’t tell me you don’t know how it gets.”
“If you’re expecting me to incriminate myself . . .”
He took a deep puff and blew smoke. “I expect you to have some fucking empathy. That girl’s whole life has been surrounded by men in blue. Men like me, that your family would happily see in the ground.” I stayed silent, but under the table, I squeezed my knees. “Heather’s father was hurt, he was forced to retire. Now I find out she’s been working at one of your family’s dirty clubs.”
My eyes narrowed. “The clubs are clean.”
“Bullshit.” He tapped ash into his empty soda can. “You love her, don’t you?”
“Excuse me?” I snapped, trying to get a bead on where he was going with this. Stapler folded his hands on the table. He watched me closely. I’d been interrogated by him before, I didn’t plan to squirm. But I was close.
He said, “You love her. I can tell. So here’s how this is going to go. I’m going to help Heather get out of this situation, and you’ll do whatever you can to help. But when this is over with . . . you’re out of her life.”
“Is that a threat?”
“Please. I don’t threaten.” The tip of the cigarette was cherry red. Then it died out. “Were you listening to me? You and your family bring death. Your lifestyle brings pain. If you love her . . . you’ll realize the best thing you can do is stay as far from her as possible.”
Slamming the car door, I began to walk. Everything Stapler had said to me had been right. I’d always known it. But running with Scotch had allowed me to stay near her . . . it had given me a reason to keep us close.
Once Darien was gone, what then?
And her plan . . . it’s insane. Just hearing Scotch mention going near Darien was maddening. Reasoning with him? If she got close, he’d kill her. End of story.
I hadn’t wanted to entertain more of her ideas. With her uncle there, eyeing me and knowing our secret agreement, I’d hit my breaking point. None of this was going to work. But I didn’t know what would.
A flurry of snowflakes scraped over my cheeks. Shuddering, I tucked my hands into my pockets. My fingers brushed something hard. In confusion, I lifted the tiny gem into the air. Scotch’s nose stud. What a strange thing to find. Strange and ridiculous, and it tore a hole in my heart.
I asked her to take it out, and she did. I asked her to pretend to be my girlfriend . . . and she did. She’d gone along with every bit of my plans. No matter what it was, she’d rolled with it.
And now she asks me to try it her way and I fall apart.
I slammed my fist against the nearest tree. I was wandering aimlessly. I hadn’t felt so lost in years. No, this is how I used to feel. Scotch had made me forget that. For the time we’d been together, my world had become more solid. More real. I’d found a purpose in keeping her safe, and then she’d filled the hollow parts inside me with her perfect existence.
Without her I was empty again. Had it always felt so awful?
Lumpy clouds hung overhead. I scanned them, wondering what time it was. Lifting my phone to check, I saw my text messages were still open. The last one from Scotch hung there, mocking me.
Scotch: Eat a doughnut, dummy.
Cramming the phone against the bridge of my nose, I felt my own scar and scowled. Fuck. Fucking fuck. Did I keep avoiding this woman? Was that really what my options boiled down to?
The cloud cover split enough for me to see the midnight black behind it. It was definitely late. I pictured Scotch snuggling down for bed, and I saw in my mind’s eye the empty couch I’d been crashing on.
It sounded much better to me than my fancy condo, or my parents’ lavish estate.
Suddenly I needed to hear her voice. I was an addict; if I had to split from her, I couldn’t do it cold turkey. I had to know she was safe and okay, even if it was from far away. After I dialed, the ringing cut off—voice mail. Confused, I tried again. Still no answer.
The silence was eerie, her lack of response terrifying. What’s wrong? My intuition might not be as good as hers, but it was crisp enough for me to know something was up.
Running through my options, I debated whom to call. The detective? No. I didn’t know his number anyway. My brothers? Kain is on his honeymoon. Thorne . . . he might know what’s going on.
I slammed my thumb onto the keys. The phone rang twice before he picked up. “What the hell are you
doing contacting me?” he hissed. There were voices in the background.
“Scotch,” I said breathlessly. “Where is she?”
The line was quiet. He whispered, “Shit.”
“Hawthorne. Where the hell is she?”
“Man, listen. It’s better if you don’t know.”
The veins swelled on the backs of my hands, snaking over my knuckles. “If you don’t tell me, I swear—”
“Costello.” My name cracked like saying it caused him pain. “I let you run the show before. Look where it got us. We’re going to go to war with the Valentines. And all because you won’t let her pay for what she did.”
“She didn’t do anything!” I howled in the street, no longer feeling the cold. White snow made my world look pure and clean when it was anything but. “Listen to yourself. You’re a dog for our father, crawling at his feet because you’re scared.”
He burned with black anger. “Of course I’m scared!” The voices in the background were gone; had he walked away or were they listening in? “You’re dragging all of us down. You’re making it so I have to be the one making all the hard choices. This was never meant for me. I’m no leader, never was, it’s you who . . . fuck. Fuck!” He said it again, then he laughed with genuine sorrow muddling the heart of it. “I don’t care if she shot him or not anymore. But I do care that our mother, our sisters, Kain and Sammy, and everyone else are going to be running from a family with a vendetta if she doesn’t hand herself over.”
My insides roiled like dying snakes. “Where is it happening?”
“Just stay low, brother. Just until the morning.” He hesitated. “Darien might not kill her. There’s always a chance.”
“Thorne! Hawthorne, talk to me! Thorne! Thorne! Fuck, Thorne!” I kept screaming long after I knew he’d ended the call. I shouted until my throat was raw. Until I was kneeling in the slush, a broken man about to lose everything.
If Thorne wouldn’t tell me where Scotch was meeting Darien, then my father wouldn’t, either. I still tried, though; when I called, he didn’t answer. Not my text messages, either, which increased along with my manic desperation.