Shadowed Lover

by Lauren Dawes

  “Yeah, you did,” Phil replied, beaming. “And you know what that means, don’t you?”

  Her heart leapt into her throat. Talking about a hypothetical date and then discussing the possibility of an actual one made her so freaking nervous, but also strangely curious. What would it be like to kiss him? As she stared at him, horror no doubt written all over her face, his cocky grin faded. Reaching out, he touched her hand briefly.

  “Hey, it’s all right. I’m not going to hold you to the bet.” He looked away, getting busy staring at the pile of bones in front of him.

  God, she was such a bitch. Staring at his face in profile, she followed the almost sharp lines of his face, his Roman nose, his square jaw. He truly was a very attractive man, and a small part of her did wonder what it would be like. Scooting over, she placed a small kiss on his cheek, inhaling the scent of his cologne still lingering on his skin despite the ten-hour day he’d pulled at the paper.

  He turned to face her as she leaned back. “What was that for?”

  “For being a genuinely nice guy.” Pulling out her purse, she put her share of the meal and drinks onto the table and got up.

  “You don’t have to pay half,” he said.

  “I also said it wasn’t a date, so I do have to pay half.” She stared at him for a beat before adding, “I’m glad I have you in my life, Phil.”

  She headed toward the entrance, aware of his gaze on her back until she stepped out into the cool night air. Yes, Phil Cross was a decent man, and she was a horrible person for playing around with his feelings for her. With a sigh, she started toward the closest MAX Light Rail station, suddenly desperate to get home.

  4

  Jett tipped back his head and emptied the contents of the glass into his mouth. The tequila burned on the way down, and he chased the bitterness away with a lemon wedge jammed between his teeth. He and Mateo had given up on the Xbox an hour ago, choosing to switch out their entertainment to one of the Fast & Furious movies.

  Mateo refilled Jett’s glass before taking a swig directly from the bottle.

  “You’re an animal,” Jett told him, tossing back his drink.

  Mateo laughed and flipped him off. “That’s because I am. You are too, dick.”

  Jett eyed the red tattoos on the other male’s right arm, his golden skin warming the ink and turning it a deep shade of sienna.

  “Fuck, what time is it?” He picked up his phone, focusing his eyes on the digital numbers at the top of the screen. It was a little after midnight. He dropped his phone back onto the couch, only to have it beep at him like it was bitching him out for the rough treatment.

  “Are you going to get that?” Mateo asked, his voice sounding like he hadn’t been drinking for the past six hours.

  “How are you still sober?” Jett asked sourly. Mateo only laughed and pointed to the tattoos snaking along every inch of the skin on his arm. The symbols were all the same—healing, protection, health. Over and over again. The guy was a walking health retreat, able to heal himself passively. The ability was great when it came to healing his own injuries—including flushing all the alcohol from his system when he drank. The only drawback was if he wanted to get really polluted, he had to drink triple the amount of alcohol in a fifth of the time. Maintaining the buzz was just as difficult.

  Picking up his phone again, Jett squinted at the screen, trying to focus on the small writing. His eyes widened when he saw who had sent him the message—Luce. Standing up, he left Mateo to slam back the tequila by himself and climbed the stairs, weaving in the direction of his room.

  Collapsing onto the edge of the bed, he stared at the screen before sliding his finger over it to read the whole message. When he was done, he took in a deep breath, let it out, then hit call.

  “Jett,” Luce whispered, keeping her voice low.

  “Hey, Luce,” he said, his voice softening. Luce was fifteen years his junior, a sweet-faced, softly-spoken little girl who loved the color pink and drawing fat rainbow-farting unicorns on any flat surface she could find. “What’s going on?”

  In the background, the sound of the TV blaring told him their mom’s boyfriend was there. The fucker had gone deaf from working in construction for his entire life.

  “Luce?” he asked when she was quiet. He made himself loosen his grip on the phone. “Come on, baby, tell me what’s going on.”

  “It’s Mom.”

  “What about Mom?” he coaxed gently. Her message had been cryptic at best, so he had no idea what was actually going on. “What about Mom, huh?”

  “She won’t wake up.”

  As those words were spoken, Jett’s whole body began to shake. Not from fear—rather, it was rage. This was an emotion that was always simmering in the background of his life, and all of it was firmly directed at his mother and whichever dickwad male she was dating at the time. He’d like to say this was the first time he’d had to field a call like this from his innocent little sister, but it wasn’t.

  He suspected it wouldn’t be the last time either.

  Drawing in a deep breath through his nose, he let it out and asked, “Where’s Richard?”

  “Lying beside her. On the bed.” She added that last bit in a squeak.

  Jett licked his lips, indecision playing him like a fiddle. “Is she still breathing?” He kept his voice low, soothing. He shouldn’t have even been talking to her. The cut from his family was supposed to have been a clean one when he joined the Shadows. The past was no longer his past—the future was the Shadows.

  “I don’t know.”

  Fuck. “Where are Katya and Mila?”

  “Katya had a shift at the cinema. Mila is with her boyfriend.”

  He sucked back a hiss. Katya had to work to keep the damn household above water, but Mila didn’t need to leave Luce in that goddamn trailer with her and the male she put above her own family. Katya would be home soon—the last showing would have been at around eleven, but she had to lock up afterward. Jett wasn’t willing to leave Luce alone for that long, though.

  “I’m coming home,” he told her, making sure to keep the hot, crawling rage out of his voice. It scorched his veins, emanating from his fingers. As he unclenched one hand, his palm glowed red, heating up yet not burning. “Go and hide under the bed, Luce.” He paused, the rustle of her moving around followed by the dull thump as the phone was placed on the floor. There was a hush then her breathing over the line.

  “Are you there now?” he asked, needing to focus less on destruction and more on Luce’s safety while he traveled to get there.

  “Yes,” she whispered. He could just picture her hugging her favorite stuffed unicorn to her chest, her big blue eyes wide and guileless. She was too young to see such ugliness.

  “Good. I’m going to hang up now, but I’m coming to get you, Luce. Promise me you’ll stay where you are.”

  “I will.”

  He was suddenly exhausted. He was sobering up now too, but probably not sober enough to drive just yet. Picking up the leather jacket hanging on the back of the wing chair in the corner, he slid his arms in and yanked open the door. Grayson was standing there, his hand raised as if he was about to knock.

  Jett was careful to arrange his expression into cool indifference, although he didn’t think he’d fooled the other male.

  “Hey, man,” Jett said, staring hard at his boots. “Can I ask you a favor?”

  “Yeah. Anything.” Grayson’s voice was calm, like a trickle of a stream over rocks. But that was Grayson. Rock-steady and always cool in a crisis.

  “Could you take me somewhere?”

  “I’ll take you anywhere you need to go,” he replied. “Let me go and get my keys. I’ll see you downstairs in a few.”

  Jett exhaled loudly, suddenly aware he’d been holding his breath.

  “Thanks, man. I appreciate it.” He took a moment to collect himself, ready to accept that his mother could actually be dead this time. He wasn’t quite sure how he’d feel about it if it was true. She
hadn’t been the role model he’d looked up to for so long now. Drugs were such a defining part of her life that he really couldn’t have one without the other—they were a package deal.

  He made his feet move and walked down the stairs, the knot in his stomach getting tighter and tighter as he went. What if she was dead? Luce would have to deal with that shit for the rest of her life. It wasn’t fair to her, and it sure as shit wasn’t fair to him. He’d gotten out of there at sixteen, the lifeline of training with the Trinity taken with both hands, even though he hated leaving his sisters behind. He would’ve taken them with him if he could, but training had been mandatory, the cutting of family ties absolute.

  But still, he hadn’t been able to sever the bonds, even if that broke one of the Trinity’s cardinal rules. Now he just had to make sure he kept it secret.

  Outside in the courtyard, Grayson slammed the door of his cherry red Mustang GT and started the engine. It came to life with a growl, and Jett slid into the passenger seat, bracing himself for the questions he didn’t want to answer.

  “Where are we going?” Grayson asked softly, playing with the dials on the radio rather than looking at him.

  “Head toward Thayne,” he replied in a hollow voice. “I’ll tell you where to go from there.”

  Grayson moved the car slowly down the drive, going through each of the security checkpoints carefully. The GT prowled down the small country lanes until they reached Highway 89 where Grayson opened up the engine, giving his baby her head. They shot down the quiet road, farms and fields passing them by in a blur. They turned off just before they hit the town proper, and if it had been daytime, Jett would’ve seen the Wyomings in the background, all snow-capped and postcard perfect. As it was, all he could see was black, and it totally fit with his mood.

  “Take the next left,” he croaked a few miles down the road.

  As the car slowed and turned into the lot of the Flat Creek RV park, Jett directed him to the last trailer on the left.

  “What is this place?” Grayson asked.

  He turned to his fellow Shadow. “My childhood home.”

  If Grayson was shocked by the admission that Jett still had contact with his family, it didn’t show. He peered out at the structure, his cat’s vision taking over as the small light on the mobile home he’d grown up in came on. There was trash littering the front along with a pink bike lying forgotten in the dirt.

  Grayson turned off the engine, and they both sat there until only the tick, tick, ticking of the cooling engine could be heard.

  “Want me to—”

  “No,” Jett replied. “Thank you, but no. Stay here. This won’t take long.”

  The warmth rushed out as he opened his door. He took in the double-length home with beige siding and cinder block supports. How in the hell it was still standing? Rust red shutters had been added to the windows, probably to give it a homier look, but the flaking paint and rotting wood failed. Glancing up, he saw the low-pitched roof had sustained some damage last winter and would need to be repaired before this season’s dumping of snow came.

  Taking the two steps up to the door, he looked in through the diamond-shaped window, but couldn’t make out anything other than a beat-to-shit couch and a TV that had been new back when he was a kid.

  Turning the knob, he eased the door open, then stepped inside. His nose crinkled at the instantaneous and unrelenting assault on his senses. It smelled like a dump. In the kitchen, he found the reason why. Stacks of dirty plates filled not just the belly of the sink, but also on either side of the counter. Cupboard doors hung at strange angles, like they’d been ripped off and reattached with Silly String. The trash can overflowed with refuse, roaches and ants swarming the all-you-can-eat smorgasbord.

  Down the hall, he went into the first bedroom on the left and got down on his hands and knees to look under the bed. Luce’s deep blue eyes seemed to fill the space, her fear taking up the rest of the room.

  “Jett,” she breathed, clutching that unicorn of hers closer. “You came.”

  “I said I would.” Scooting back a little, he said, “Why don’t you come out of there, baby?”

  She darted her eyes from side to side, terror filling them.

  “Hey, it’s okay. I’m here. I’m not going to let anything hurt you.”

  Slowly, she shuffled out from under the bed frame. She had dirt on her face and little clean tracks where the tears had slid down. Wrapping her in his arms, he buried his nose in her hair and thanked whatever god was up there that she was okay. This time.

  “What are we going to do?” she asked softly.

  “How about you come and visit me for the weekend? Would you like that?” He had no right to invite her, of course, but there was no way he was leaving her here.

  Her eyes lit up, just as he’d hoped they would. “Really?”

  “Of course, Luce,” he replied softly. He looked around her tiny room. “Have you got a backpack?” At her nod, he said, “Pack enough clothes for three nights, okay?”

  “What about Mom?”

  “I’m going to go and ask if it’s okay now. You pack, and I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

  She nodded, placing her unicorn down onto the stained and ripped comforter, and got to work pulling clothes from her drawers. Leaving her to her work, he ducked back into the hall and stared at the closed door at the end of it. He inhaled deeply, trying to sift through all the scents already bombarding him. He didn’t smell death, but it didn’t mean it hadn’t just happened.

  He stalked to the door and shoved his way inside. His steps faltered at the sight of his mom lying still on top of the comforter. Her mousy brown hair was fanned out around her shoulders. She’d almost look ethereal if it wasn’t for the track marks up her arms and the syringe still stuck in her vein.

  On her other side was Richard, the cock-sucker who had introduced her to H. Jett personally blamed the asshole for his mom’s rapid decline as he always kept her supplied. He didn’t bother to check if said asshole was still breathing. As far as he was concerned, whether he lived or died was not his fucking problem.

  His mother, on the other hand…

  Holding his finger beneath her nose, he confirmed she was still breathing, and the weight of his own guilt lifted from his shoulders. Removing the needle, he bent the shaft over the hub so it couldn’t be used again and threw it into the corner of the room. Pulling out his phone, he dialed the number for the pride’s doctor and left a message. Help would come, but he had no plans to be there when it did.

  Turning around, he froze. Luce was standing in the doorway, her wide blue eyes taking in everything. Gently, he ushered her back into the hall.

  “Is Mommy going to be okay?”

  “Fine,” he replied, shutting the bedroom door behind him. “I just called the doctor to come and see her.” When she said nothing in reply, he added, “Hey, are you ready to go? Do you have everything? Mr. Unicorn?”

  As if by magic, she produced the stuffed toy and jammed it under her arm.

  Scooping up her backpack, he said, “Come on, Luce. Let’s go have an adventure.”

  As he walked her out to the car, he wondered what Grayson would say. He opened the door of the GT and flipped the seat forward so his sister could get in.

  “Hi,” Grayson said warmly. “What’s your name?”

  Luce remained quiet, her gaze darting between Grayson, him, and the still open door.

  “It’s okay, Luce. This is Grayson. He’s a very good friend of mine. He drove me out here tonight.”

  “Where’s your car?” she asked in a squeak.

  “I have a motorbike now, so you see, I wouldn’t have been able to bring your bag back with us,” he lied. There was no reason to tell his kid sister he was so fucking drunk he could barely see straight—or at least he had been. Being told your mom was out cold and maybe dead from using drugs by a ten-year-old had a way of sobering you up real quick.

  To Grayson’s credit, he didn’t push Luce with more
questions, nor did he glance in Jett’s direction as he got in and buckled up.

  “Home?” he asked, already turning the car around.

  “Home,” Jett replied, bone-weary and in so far over his fucking head, he didn’t know how he’d make it out the other side.

  5

  Drake rolled over, blinking at the drapes barely keeping the sun from his room. He hadn’t slept much, his dreams haunted by the ghosts of his past—ones he’d tried so hard to forget. Leaving the bed, he padded into the bathroom to relieve himself, before he splashed water onto his face, but the cold and wet stuff did nothing to wake up his brain and drag it from the nightmares still lapping inside his frontal lobe.

  Pulling the small towel from the rail, he dried his face and got moving. He didn’t need to look at his reflection to know he looked like shit. Christ, he wanted an assignment today. He needed to take the edge off on someone else’s ass.

  Shrugging into his leather shoulder holster, he checked over his forties before he slid them into place under each arm and then grabbed his phone from the nightstand on the way out. Sasha waited for him on the landing, and he bit back a curse. She lounged casually, but her mournful stare cut him to the bone.

  “What’s up, Sash?”

  “I have a message for you.”

  Oh, shit. He braced himself, both physically and mentally, crossing his arms over his chest. “Am I going to like it?”

  She shrugged her slender shoulders. “A sapling needs protection from the oak.”

  He frowned. “I hate the cryptic ones.” Before he could ask any more questions, she walked away, leaving him holding his proverbial dick. A sapling needs protection from the oak. What the hell did that mean? Whatever it was, Sasha had never been wrong. Ever.

  Still puzzling over the message, he walked down to the kitchen. The place was decked out for a gourmet chef, not that any of his team could cook. The extent of their culinary prowess was limited to steak and dialing out for takeout food, but Grayson was known for whipping up pancakes on occasion too. The one thing they did pride themselves on, though, was that the fridge was always stocked. The behemoth was a Wellkart double glass-door fridge that, when completely filled, held just enough food to get them through a couple of days.