I shut my eyes and breathe. Cinnamon, creosote, and salt mingle and clash, waves roaring in to break into tiny droplets. Nick’s strong and warm beside me, his arm anchoring me to the sand. “How do you do it?” I ask. “How do you keep it from breaking you?”
He shifts around so I’m between his legs, and when my back comes into contact with his chest, I sag against him. “Didn’t figure this would be a problem for you.” His breath tickles my ear. “You’d gone cold. I figured you were fine.” He takes my hands and wraps his around them, tucking them close to my stomach for warmth. The brush of his thumb along my knuckles sends a prickle of awareness up my spine.
“It’s conditioned into us,” he says. “You demonstrate a certain aptitude early on, so the old guard starts working on the new guard to take over. Con and I started sitting in on those meetings and summits when we were sixteen, and at the point, we’d known for a while what our family was into. We wanted it. We knew we’d get it once we’d proven ourselves.
“That guy got off easy tonight. He shot at you. Tried to destroy months of work that could have cost us millions of dollars. He bled, but not enough. We were raised on power,” he says quietly. “We were told from the time we could walk that we could have whatever we wanted if we proved ourselves worthy.
“And part of that is recognizing an innocent when we see one.” His thumb stills, and I half-twist to look at him, see the anger on his face. “You fooled me back there, Cass. I should have known better. That’s not your game. You need the quick and easy out, the ability to walk away without the conversation lingering in your ears. I knew that, and I didn’t make you leave.”
Nick knows me better than I thought. He’s right. I shouldn’t have been in that room tonight. I should have left it to Nick who knew what he was doing, had been trained to chain it down and tighten the screws. I sink deeper into his arms and rest my head on his shoulder. The moon’s out. The cold, clean glow has never been all that appealing to me until now. I like the sterility. It makes me think I can brush tonight aside as an anomaly.
“Tell me about your relationship with Turner.”
I snap my head up. “What?”
He lets go of my hand and grips my chin, turning my face toward his. “You have this tendency to dodge the question whenever he’s the subject. You don’t get along.” I shake my head, the movement truncated by his hold. “So why do you do what he wants anyway?” he asks.
I jerk my chin free of his fingers. “Isn’t it obvious?” The bitterness in my voice should be a big freakin’ clue.
“Not gonna fly this time. Talk.”
I chew on my lower lip, staring out at the water. The moonlight ripples over it, turning the ocean a glimmering white. “We had a great relationship until I was about seven or eight. Typical dad and daughter relationship. Something happened right around then, and he became…well, the guy he is now. Only shows affection for my mother, and rarely in public. I didn’t understand what had happened. All I wanted was my dad back. By the time I was thirteen, I found a way to get it, or some of it. He’d never made it a secret he practiced jujitsu and tae kwon do. I told him I wanted to, too. It became a pattern. I noticed something new, and I’d ask to tag along, ask him to show me how to do it.”
He’ll get it. I won’t have to say it. Nick’s a smart guy. Picks up on a lot of things without a word from me, and I’ve just drawn him a map.
“How long has it been?”
Too long, I suspect. “I was sixteen when I completed my first hit.” A wave rolls in, dangerously close to our feet. “We should move, or we’ll end up soaked.”
We stand and brush sand from our clothes, avoiding each other’s eyes. Not hard to do, really, since Nick seems to have no interest in actually looking at me. He takes my hand, and we start up the beach, following the water, tripping away as the tide creeps in. “I don’t think I’ll ever get back what I lost.” I kept my voice quiet, so I’m not sure if he hears me over the noise of the ocean. “But I can’t seem to stop myself from trying.”
He stops and turns into me, wrapping his hand around my hair and tugging my head back. The kiss he gives me is quiet and soothing. “You know where I stand.” His gaze is hard and intent on mine. “You want out, I won’t force you into taking a job. People will come at you as long as you’re with me. With Isaiah after you, it’s getting around who you are. As long as you’re with me, though, I’ll do whatever I can to let you be a college student. Maybe a teacher.”
He remembered. Something mentioned once or twice in passing conversation, and he remembered.
Can I stay with you forever?
Instead of asking the question, I nod and shut my eyes. I don’t know about forever with him.
Forever looks like a prize I’m not sure I deserve.
Chapter 24
The light in the guest room is bright and full when I wake the next morning. I roll over to peer at the clock. It’s after ten. I blink, uncertain I’m reading the clock right. It’s definitely after ten, and the other side of the bed is empty and cold.
Nick should have woken me. He always wakes me. Brain still mostly asleep, I push my hair away from my face and kick away the blankets. While I’m hunting for the sleep tank and boxers Nick stripped off me last night, I listen for any indication Nick or Constantine are still in the condo.
Nothing. Nothing aside from the usual faint noises of the street below.
The silence puts me on edge, and I palm one of my knives. Nick’s been reluctant to leave me alone since the stabbing, so it doesn’t make sense he’d do so today. The click of the door is ear-shatteringly loud, making me wince. The hallway is empty. The door across the hall, Constantine’s office, is open. I duck inside and do a thorough scan and find nothing.
The living room and kitchen are both empty. Constantine’s bedroom door is shut, and I stand in the middle of the living room, knife balanced in my hand, staring at the door. It sounds like the condo is empty. It sounds like Nick and his cousin left me to sleep while they went into work.
Assumption is also the mother of all fuckups.
I tiptoe across the living room and place my hand on the doorknob. Aside from the day I swiped his car keys, I’ve stayed out of Constantine’s room. I nudge aside the vague itch of guilt over invading his space and turn the knob.
My cell rings from somewhere else in the condo, and I jump away from the door. When it doesn’t fly open, I walk backward into the kitchen and retrieve my phone. It’s stopped ringing by the time I pick it up, and I see the caller was Nick.
I call him back. “Why didn’t you wake me?”
“Good morning to you too,” he says dryly. “You were exhausted. You don’t remember slapping me earlier?”
“No,” I mutter. “Are you going to come pick me up, or should I find my own way there?”
“Stay. You need a break, Cass.”
“I don’t need you making decisions for me. I’m fine.”
He sighs, and there’s rustling and muted conversation before I hear the distinct noise of him shutting a door. “You need a break.” His tone says don’t argue, but I prepare one anyway. It dies on his next words. “You almost fell apart last night because I wasn’t smart enough to pull you out. Take the time off. I’ll be home in a few hours. We’ll go see a movie or something.”
A movie? In the dark where anyone could sneak up behind us? “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”
“Maybe not a movie,” he concedes. “But I’ll be home in a few hours, and we’ll go out.”
“Like on a date.”
“I believe that’s what young people still call it these days, yes.”
“Did you just make an age joke?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about. Finish checking the condo and go back to bed or something.”
I stick my tongue out even though he can’t see me. “How’d you know I was checking the condo?”
“Because it’s what I’d do in your
situation. Go. I’ll see you soon.” He tells me he loves me, and the words send a thrill up my spine. Part of me hasn’t quite accepted that he loves me. Eleven year age gap and all, Nick loves me.
I set the phone aside, flex my fingers on the knife, and check Constantine’s bedroom before making my way to the guest room. I lock the door behind me and head for the shower. I’m too awake to fall back asleep, but an extravagantly long shower is enticing.
Warm water slides over my skin, the heat in my face growing the longer I stare at the tiled wall of the shower. Last night replays in flashes. I don’t think I’ve ever abandoned myself like that. We’ve been sweet and tender and greedy and teetering on the edge of violence, and he’s right—I’ve been open to whatever he wants to try. We’ve come so far in a few short weeks, and he’s given me things I didn’t even know I wanted. He’s broken me out, shown me how powerful sex is. How powerful love is. But sometimes, like last night, the way I just throw myself into it without any thought other than gimme gimme gimme shocks me. Eventually I’ll stop being embarrassed by what he does to me. Today is clearly not that day.
I dry off and wrap myself in a towel, then spend far too long pawing through my clothes in an attempt to find something to wear. A date. An actual date. When I start debating which top is more date-like, I groan. This is Nick. He’s seen me with blood in my hair. I could wear a paper bag, and it wouldn’t matter.
I’m nervous. There’s no doubt in my mind we’re in a relationship. We’ve been out in public together, holding hands, kissing, all the things normal couples do. We’ve just never gone on an actual date. The one time I accompanied him as his date, the restaurant exploded in gunfire and screaming. I pull on a cranberry three-quarter sleeve sweater and a pair of skinny jeans. There. Date attire.
Pushing my hair behind my ears, I grab my boots and head for the living room. There’s got to be some awful daytime TV to distract me from these ridiculous thoughts.
That’s where Nick finds me two hours later, curled up on the couch and thoroughly engrossed in a completely unrealistic yet strangely captivating soap opera. “Cass? What the hell are you doing?”
I hold up a hand and lean forward, intent on the screen. When the show cuts to a commercial break without following through on a promised payoff, I blow out a frustrated breath. “Now I know why these shows are addicting. Seriously. That guy, that evil guy? I know he’s about to screw the blond chick, and she’s totally going to be into it, but she’s already suspicious of him, and I have to see her face when she finds out what he’s been up to!”
Nick pries the remote from my hand and shuts off the TV. “Obviously, I never should have left you alone. Watching soap operas? You? Who are you and what have you done with Cass?”
I peer around him at the blank screen. “But—”
He grabs me around the waist and tosses me over his shoulder, scaring a yelp from me. “No ‘buts.’ We’re leaving.”
Despite the great view of his ass as he carries me out of the condo, I keep up a string of protests, going so far as to smack him in the middle of the back, demanding he put me down. He finally does when we reach the stairwell, trapping me against the wall with a fierce kiss.
For once, he doesn’t try to lose an unseen tail as we drive out of the parking garage. I slip on the Oakleys Nick insisted on buying me and settle back in my seat. “Where are we going?”
“Thought I’d take you to one of my favorite places since you’ve shown me one of yours.” He reaches for my hand and laces our fingers together. “Quiet, good food. There’s a back patio. I called ahead and reserved a table.”
Not just a date, but a semi-fancy one. I fight the urge to squirm in my seat, softening when he brushes his lips over my knuckles. “I’m tired of hiding,” he says quietly.
The statement could mean a few things. We’ve been hiding from people in his own organization. In some ways, we’ve been hiding our relationship. By taking a direct route instead of our usual circuitous one and sitting in plain view of everyone and their uncle, we’re killing two birds with one stone.
I tighten my fingers around his, the nerves in my chest fluttering harder.
The restaurant is on a quiet, unassuming side street in Hollywood, the one place I never would have expected quiet or unassuming. The worn brick building has huge windows in the front, a small, dark green awning hanging over the door, and the name of the restaurant, Fiddleheads, in gold script across the front.
The reception area is small, holding only a few hardback chairs and a dark wood podium. “Dominic! So glad to see you!” The host, a short, slender man with dark red hair slicked away from his face, hurries forward with a hand outstretched. “Your usual table is ready.” He gives me a discreet once-over that’s mostly concealed by his warm, friendly smile. “Welcome to Fiddleheads. I’m Gary.”
“Cass.”
Gary grabs a couple of menus and leads us through the restaurant to a set of French doors, flung open to the unseasonably warm day. We’re seated at a small table in the far corner of the patio, a bottle of champagne nestled in a silver bucket of ice.
I study the wine. “Are you trying to make this the best date ever?”
Nick pulls it free of the ice and pops the cork. “Consider it a continuation of your birthday. Got you something.” He shifts around and digs into his pants pocket. He drops a key on the table in front of me.
I pick it up. It’s an ordinary house key, the silver shiny and new. “What’s this go to? Did you find a place already?” We’ve been too busy for Nick to go house hunting, but maybe he squeezed it in somehow. Disappointment tugs at me that I didn’t get to go with him. It might have been fun.
He shakes his head and fills my glass, the bubbles rising in steady streams. “I’m not sure if I want to stay in Santa Monica any longer, and once I buy a house, then I’ve got to buy all the shit that goes in the house, and I don’t have time for it.” He points to the key. “It’s for your new apartment.”
My new— I stare at the key in my hand. I mentioned in passing I wasn’t sure I wanted to go back to the apartment I’d shared with Denise, and with Isaiah staying down the hall, it’s not even an option anymore. And I knew I needed to figure out the whole housing situation before the next term started.
But Nick went over my head, behind my back, and took care of it all by himself, without any input from me. “Oh,” I say quietly, placing the key on the table. Then I push it across to him and leave it. “Thanks, but no thanks.”
“Cass.”
I hold up a hand to silence him, willing my anger to recede enough I can speak without yelling at him. “I know I’ll need to find a place to live, and I’ll need to do it soon before the next semester starts, but I was going to do it. And I was going to ask you to come with me.”
Clenching my hands into fists, I draw in a breath, let it out, and lift my gaze. “I love you. I know you love me, and I know you’re worried about my safety. That does not give you the right to just…completely take me out of the equation when it comes to where I’m supposed to live.”
He pushes the key back toward me. “It’s a one bedroom on the fifth floor out of seven, stairwells on both ends of the hallway, no balcony, with a separate key for the front entry. It’s close enough to campus you can walk. Quiet street, opposite end of campus from your last place.”
“That’s nice, but I’m still not taking it.” I probably can’t afford it, and there’s no way in hell I’m going to let him pay my rent. I push the key away.
He ignores it. “You haven’t even seen it.”
“Would you feel better about me rejecting it if I see it first? Fine, we can go by after lunch.” I snatch up my champagne and drain the glass. I want to fling the key in his face. “Whenever you do something like this, I have to fight off the doubts. I am really, really tired of doing that.”
His brows draw together in a frown. “Doubts?”
For a thirty-two-year-old man, Nick can be prett
y clueless. “I wonder if you’re with me because you want to be or because you feel responsible for me.”
I pick up my menu. Nothing sounds appetizing, and I no longer feel like celebrating. Aside from those few hours at the spa last night, it’s been a waste of time.
A finger appears at the top of the menu, hooking on and tipping it down. His dark eyes are sober as he studies me. “If I didn’t want to be with you, you wouldn’t be here.”
“And I get that. It’s just hard to remember when you pull this kind of shit.”
He takes the menu out of my hands and lays it on the table; then he gets up and comes around to crouch next to my chair. Something about seeing him at my feet kicks my nerves into gear, and they rev higher as he clasps my hand. “Since we’ve hooked up, you’ve been shot at, assaulted, stabbed in the stomach, and died on me—twice,” he adds. “We’ve been chased, and someone set my house on fire while you were in it. You’ve also amazed me and surprised me and proven that you can handle almost anything thrown at you. The longer I’m with you, the more I love you. I am not going to lose you because I didn’t do enough to protect you.”
Some of my anger fades. “Then talk to me about it. I don’t want to worry you, and believe me, that’s a lot less likely to happen if you make me a part of this.” My free hand shakes as I lift it to push a lock of hair off his forehead. “You pull shit like this, it makes me want to go behind your back and put my own plans into place, and then not tell you until I’m acting on them.”
“For fuck’s sake, Cass, don’t do that. Then I’ll have to handcuff you to my desk.” Catching my hand, he presses a kiss to the thin skin of my inner wrist. He works his way toward my palm. “Actually, that’s not a bad idea,” he murmurs, and when he looks up, the worry’s been replaced by desire, warm and designed to make me melt. “I’ll make you a deal. You see this place, pick out a few others, and if one of those meets both your specifications and mine, I’ll get out of the lease on this one.”
As compromises go, it’s a good one. “Deal.” I kiss him to seal it, whimpering when he refuses to let me break it. One hand cupped at my nape, tongue flirting with the seam of my lips, he threatens to take a simple kiss to indecent territory until I remember we’re supposed to be having lunch.
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