by Nora Flite
“Deep Shots.” I snorted. “More like the Deep Shits. How could they even slip inside?” The Deep Shots were an old gang, but they hadn’t been on our radar until they’d changed leadership about a year ago. After that, they’d been starting trouble all over our city. It had always been small stuff before; having the guts to call a cop raid on us was new.
Thorne lifted one of his eyebrows. It was as dark as the rest of his thick hair. When I was younger, I used to think Hawthorne was full of shadows, that they peeked out of him wherever they could. “Frannie invited so many people. We were too cocky, Brother. Anyone could have gotten inside and dug around, told the cops where to look.”
“But why?” That was bothering me the most. We didn’t have a great history with the Deep Shots, but why try and fuck us over, was it just for kicks?
Hawthorne sank deeper into the couch, his knees spreading. He looked for all the world like a king on a throne. It was a heavy reminder of who we were . . . what ran in our blood. “Dad has some ideas.”
“He told you but not me?” I bristled, fingers digging into the couch.
“If you had been here an hour ago,” he said bluntly, “he would have told you himself. Talk to him tonight. I’m not going to cross him by spilling his thoughts.”
My mood was already sour, this just tipped me over. Pushing myself to my feet, I hooked my thumbs into my belt loops. “Anything else, Brother?”
Those inky eyes fixed on me. He had a deadly stare, and even after years of seeing it, I still felt a twinge of unease. “Watch that girl.”
“I—what?”
“You’re into her anyway. If you really think she’s not the mole, not connected to the Deep Shots or anyone after us, then keep an eye on her. Find out for sure.”
My tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth. I wished I’d asked for a drink from Scotch. “All right. If you think it’s best.”
He gave me a knowing smirk. “As if you wouldn’t have done it anyway. You act like you aren’t incredibly obvious, Kain.”
“Isn’t that what makes me so likable?” Reaching down, I gripped his hand and gave a firm shake. “Be safe, Thorne.”
“Look around,” he said, grinning. “I’m surrounded by soft things. What’s safer?”
Weaving back through the growing crowd—it always got busier as night came on—I nodded at the bouncers as I exited. The cool air ate away the stripper-ass smell, but it would take a few minutes for the music to leave my ears.
She told me to leave her alone. I couldn’t. I didn’t want to anyway, but . . .
Now I had no choice.
Will she understand? There was a good chance this would push a bigger wall between Sammy and me. I’d have to take that chance, because the other option meant I’d never talk to her again. Never hold her . . . and never kiss her.
My bike was waiting for me.
On one side of the handlebars, her shoes sparkled.
- CHAPTER SEVEN -
SAMMY
Though I knocked first, my key was already clicking in the lock. “Mom?” Pushing into the tiny apartment, I looked around. “It’s me!”
I would have lived with her if she’d allowed me. Her place was too small for the both of us, but I’d have done it. As weak as my mom was, though, she was eternally proud.
“Samantha!” she said, leaning her head around the corner of the bathroom. “You’re finally here!” Her attention went to my bare feet and my frazzled hair and dress. “What happened? Are you okay?”
“Me? Are you okay?” Dropping my purse, I hurried toward her. I’d come as fast as I could, not even bothering to change clothes. Opening the door, I saw that she was sitting naked in the tub. “Did you fall?”
“Oh, it’s nothing.” Chuckling in her throat, she covered herself. “Just a little slip during my shower. I turned the water off.”
“How long have you been stuck in here?” Her eyes met mine, then moved away. “Oh, Mom. I’m so sorry.” Yanking down a towel, I wrapped her in it, then helped her stand, guiding her over the lip of the tub.
She put her weight on me just as long as she had to. Then she let go, hugging the towel tight. “Did you go to a wedding or something?”
“I . . . did, actually. It’s a long story. Did you eat?” I didn’t let her answer, I just headed into the kitchen while she walked into her room to get clothed. Shouting, I said, “You must have missed your medicine this afternoon, too. I’ll get it all set for you.”
She came out in a long white shirt and loose tan pants. “Honey, I can do all that.”
I’d learned every smidge of pride I had from her. It was hard for her to stand by as I served her up a ham sandwich, her pills rolling in a tiny cup. “It’s nothing. Sit, eat, relax. I’m really sorry I didn’t come by this morning.”
Settling onto her tiny excuse for a couch, she took a bite of food. Her mouthful—her silence—told me more about how hungry she was than she’d wanted to say. Guilt burned through my veins.
Swallowing the pills, she chased it all with water. “Your long story. Go on.”
“Uh . . . oh.” I can’t tell her I got arrested. She’d be mortified, and her poor heart . . . “An old friend called me up last minute. She needed me to stand in at her wedding, it just took longer than I expected. Again, sorry.”
“Stop apologizing.” Waving her skinny fingers, she smiled in a way that made her look younger. “Weddings are fun. And a good way to meet boys,” she said, winking.
Laughing, I shook my head furiously. “Last thing I need is a ‘boy’ in my life.” Kain is no boy. He’s almost more than a man. Shifting where I stood, I looked at the floor.
“Oh-ho,” she said slyly. “You met someone. Was he hot?”
“Mom!”
Grinning, she nibbled her sandwich. “That’s a yes.”
“Give me a break.”
“Give me details.”
Covering my burning face, I said, “I can’t. I won’t. It doesn’t matter anyway, he wasn’t right for me.”
“No?”
“No.” I meant it to come out firm, but the edge of the word wavered.
My mother heard, but bless her, she changed the subject. “How’s work been?”
I started to smile—I almost said good and meant it, too. The checks. Right. I’d never gotten to cash all that money. I was out a wedding dress and worse off than ever.
Lifting my chin, I leaned closer. “It’s wonderful. Everything is good.”
My mom studied me for a long minute. “I’m glad. I’d hate for you to regret moving back here and—”
“Mom, no. Stop.” I was hugging her before I could think it over. In my arms she felt like a set of sticks in a cloth bag. Sickness had ravaged her, a fact I didn’t like to dwell on. I couldn’t tell how much was her depression over losing my dad or what was from her weak body. “I love being back. I get to see you all the time. Plus I don’t miss the noise and pollution of New York at all.”
Patting my back, she squeezed, then pulled back. There was warmth in her eyes. “I’m glad to hear that. My mother used to say that coming home brought good luck.”
“Luck,” I said, tracing the word with my tongue. Cleaning up the mess as my mom chatted at my wandering mind, I had a funny little oddly comforting thought.
This has to be rock bottom.
From here, I could only go up.
Right?
I ached all over when I crossed the threshold into my own home. The floor creaked, only slightly louder than my overworked joints. Clicking on the light above my stove, I used the flickering illumination to pour myself a cup of water.
What a fucking day.
Leaning over the sink, I stared at my warped reflection in the metal faucet. It was all stretched out; it was exactly how I felt. Every bit of me had that too-tall, too-strained sensation. In the sink, my stallion mug sat collecting water. It was hard to accept that it had only been waiting there for a day and a half.
Heading up the stairs, I kept expectin
g my bones to disconnect on every step.
I debated taking a shower—I definitely needed one—but sleep clawed at me until I couldn’t fight back. In my bedroom, I reached back to strip the dress off. I struggled with the zipper, tugging at it side to side. “Come on, you piece of—urgh.”
Breathing in desperately, I fought a wave of cresting anger. I was beyond drained, I just wanted to drop into my bed and forget this whole day, and now this torture of a dress was resisting me.
“Get the fuck . . . off!” Grunting, I felt the threading give way. The zipper tore, it was enough to wriggle the dress down to my ankles. I’d been wrong earlier when I’d thought the zipper was real gold. Poor craftsmanship, I noted, kicking the garment aside. My dresses never ripped like that.
I enjoyed my nakedness briefly. Rocking side to side, my arms overhead, I groaned. There were marks along the undersides of my breasts from the support wire. Rubbing at them tenderly, I pawed through my dresser for pajamas.
Man, it’s seriously cold in here. Wasn’t it summertime? This state was plain unpredictable. Shivering, I pulled a long shirt over my head, then tugged on some thick black sweatpants. The wind cuts right through the walls of these old houses that landlords love turning into cheap apartments.
I shouldn’t complain; cheap meant I got to live here.
Turning, I jumped at the sight of my own shadow on the bedroom wall. “Jeez,” I laughed nervously. “Calm down.” The outside streetlights made every corner appear darker, richer, and bleaker than ever.
Streetlights?
For a while, I stared at my window. The glass stared back at me. Something about that was wrong—but what?
The blinds. They broke yesterday morning and . . .
I’d covered the whole window with a big piece of cardboard. Now it was sitting on the floor against the wall, propped up exactly like someone had taken it down and set it aside carefully. But I hadn’t done that, so who—
In the hall, I heard my stairs squeak.
Someone is inside my home!
Whoever it was, they’d broken in through my bedroom window. Good people didn’t do that shit. Panic gripped me, smothering any chance I had to scream. Shooting my eyes all around the room, I made myself focus. Fear swirled up, my mouth tasting like the inside of an aluminum can.
I need my phone. Shit, my purse was downstairs. A weapon. I need a weapon! Twisting, my eyes bulged and throbbed—everything in my skull was pressurizing. I’d never imagined I’d be in a situation like this. Was it a robber, a murderer?
I caught motion in the hall just outside my open door. I froze, and whoever was standing there froze, too. I couldn’t see their face—it was too dark—so to me, this intruder could have been the devil himself.
We stood so still that I began to hope maybe he’d just go away.
Maybe . . . maybe everything would be okay.
He stepped forward, moving into the light. He was big—and I could have sworn I knew that face somehow.
His hands came up, as threatening as any weapon. In that second everything shattered. Filling my lungs, I screamed. My ears rattled, and the man rushed forward to silence me. He never got that far; the pile of dress on the floor caught around his ankles.
He slammed onto his chest, giving me the chance I needed to run past. I hadn’t stopped screaming, my voice echoing through the stairwell. A thousand bees stung my throat, and still I just pulled in more air and began again.
Get your phone—no, get to the door!
The stairs behind me stormed with the thudding of heavy boots. He was following me, and the only advantage I had was that I knew my home in the dark better than he did. Or did I? Had he been waiting in here for me? Had he wandered my home for hours?
Had he seen me getting naked minutes ago?
The idea made me want to throw up. I felt violated, and that made me bristle with rage. Who the hell was this person to break into my home?
Don’t do anything stupid! I cautioned, taking the corner of the stairs so hard I bounced off the kitchen wall. Get to the door, just—
Fingers dug into my hair, yanking at me. Somehow I slid away, creating a distance between us that I wished was a mile wide. Vertigo conquered my world as I spun; I stumbled against something cold. My sink.
The attacker hadn’t said a word, but his heavy, rasping breath filled the nearby blackness. He didn’t know my home as well as I did. He didn’t need to.
He just had to be faster.
Lifting my eyes, I saw the shiny faucet. My face looked back, the figure moving over my shoulder. He was coming for me, and whatever he had planned, it was going to happen. If I did nothing else . . . this would be it.
The only item in the sink looked back at me with the familiarity of a prized possession.
In the metal, I saw him waver closer. He was on top of me. This was it.
When had I stopped screaming?
Whirling around, I lifted the horse-shaped coffee mug high. It connected with a satisfying crunch against my attacker’s skull. He flew back, cradling his face and yelling louder than I even had. “You bitch!” he shouted. I didn’t stay to listen to what he would say next. The mug fell, shattering; the noise was soft in my blood-throbbing ears. Every noise had become a faint buzz, my focus on running for my front door. My other senses were shutting down.
Fumbling with the knob, I exploded out into the night. “Help!” I choked, falling onto my elbows in the street. “Please, help me! Call the police!” I had the awful premonition that no one would step up. I lived in a bad area, people heard gunshots the way other neighborhoods heard the laughter of children.
Tires screeched, headlights blinding me. “Sammy!” a familiar voice yelled, his firm hands lifting me to my feet.
In disbelief, I gazed on the man I’d never wanted to see again. “Kain?”
Impossible. Why was he here?
His warm eyes fixed on me, imploring—concerned. “Are you okay?”
Realization hit me in the stomach. Shoving forward, I climbed onto the back of his motorcycle. “Go, drive! I need to get out of here!”
Kain didn’t ask me to explain. I liked him so much more for that.
He kicked the bike forward, my fingers digging into his perfect stomach. We tore down the street, my head twisting so I could stare through my wind-whipped hair at my apartment.
No one was looking back.
My savior—fuck, he was, wasn’t he?—drove until I gave him a hard tap on the shoulder. We were miles from my house. That, plus the well-lit and busy city streets, made me feel better.
He pulled up beside a convenience store, parking the bike but not shutting it off. “What happened back there? Are you okay?”
“Give me your phone. I need to call the cops.”
“The cops?” His gorgeous face turned ugly. “Sammy, what happened?”
Throwing my arms up, I became aware of my situation. I was in my pajamas, no phone, no wallet, sitting astride the growling metal bike belonging to an apparently dangerous man. Who was I? This stuff had never happened to me before!
Taking my face, he spoke with a precise calmness that soothed the terror in my heart. “Sammy. Tell me what happened.”
I swallowed loudly. “Someone broke into my house and attacked me.”
Releasing me, he bent over his bike and revved it. “We’re going back there.”
“What? No!” I grabbed at him, shaking his arm. “Kain! The last thing I want is to go back there, it’s dangerous!”
“Not with me it isn’t.”
“I want to call the cops!”
“Someone attacked you!” Fury unlike anything I’d faced burned in front of me. Kain could be a jerk, but he’d never actually scared me. Sitting inches from him, our legs brushing, I warred between being flattered . . . and being afraid.
He must have seen it, because his eyes melted. “Sammy, if someone hurt you, I’d never forgive myself.”
The thudding in my chest became unbearable. “Come on. It’
s not like it’s your fault.” His silence stirred the embers of terror that had hardly started to die in my gut. “Kain. Tell me that this had nothing to do with you.”
“I can’t say.” Wincing, he faced away from me. “But just in case, we can’t call the cops. And if you don’t want me to go back there—”
“I don’t.”
“Then we have one other option.” He turned enough for me to see how serious he was. “I need to take you back to my estate. It’s the only place you’ll be safe for sure until we can figure this out.”
“We? I’m not a detective!”
“‘We’ as in my family. If someone went after you because of us, we need to know. Sammy, my family can keep you safer than any cop ever could.” He faced me fully, his leather jacket the only source of any sound. It whispered like a boat on the sea, daring me to break the tranquility . . . the confidence . . . that emanated from him.
If it had just been some act of dominance, I could have rolled my eyes and told him to take a hike. If he wouldn’t call the police, I’d walk barefoot into the gas station and ask them to do it instead.
But Kain wasn’t acting tough. He didn’t posture. The low boil of his stare was helping me forget that I was sitting, unsheltered, on top of a motorcycle in my pajamas. I’d even stopped shaking with fear over the realization that I’d been attacked just minutes ago.
My home wasn’t safe.
Being with Kain felt like it was.
What other conclusion could I come to than to stay with him?
“All right,” I said. “I’ll go with you.”
Kain tilted his head up so imperceptibly higher I would have missed it if I wasn’t already close enough to count his eyelashes. “Thank fucking goodness.”
“But,” I added quickly, “if things feel fishy, I am going to talk to the police.”
Peeling his jacket off, he draped it on me, not giving me a chance to turn his kind offer down. Gripping the collar of it, he tugged it into place, staring straight into my face. “Let me do it my way, then you can call the cops.”