by Hazel Grace
“You shouldn’t have been there alone in the first place,” he snaps. “What were you thinking, Emmy? You said you’d let me be there as backup when you made your move.”
“I go on missions all the time by myself,” I counter back. “What makes him any different?”
“Because he’s smart, and now he knows that we’re onto his ass. It might not be in the capacity that he thinks, but he’s aware we’re not going to go down lightly.”
“If something happens in two weeks where I can’t get into the lab, and the DNA tests come out, we’ll leave the country. You said you wouldn’t mind picking out a new name. It’ll all—.” I hear a deep groan, and that’s definitely not coming from Mills. “Was that him?”
“Yeah. I’ll call you later.” He hangs up, leaving me to think about all the factors I have to do to ensure everyone’s safety.
Not just my babies and Mills, but now Bishop is doing precisely what I didn’t want him to do.
He couldn’t just accept that I was dead, but he had to poke his nose into things I don’t have time to devise.
For example, an actual car accident.
When I get home to my shabby apartment on the second floor, I double-lock the door. Cracking open my laptop, I link my phone to my computer so that I can check in on Alexander’s phone and penthouse.
He’s not there anymore.
Rewinding the tapes, all three men appear on the screen with pacing and a clearly pissed-off Alexander. He’s rubbing his head and not able to walk in a straight line very well. The side effects of the tranquilizer.
“Where the fuck did he go?!” he screams at his men as I pull up my hidden cameras in his complex. “How in the hell did paid security let him disappear in thin air?”
“We were all down, sir,” the big one drones. “We were all shot with something.”
Perceptive man.
However, I plucked all the darts out of their unconscious bodies.
“I want him dead,” Alexander seizes out, pacing the floor in front of the men like he’s a general and them his soldiers. “I want it done ASAP.”
“Yes, sir,” the younger one replies. “But do you mean like, dead-dead?” Alexander slowly turns as if the poor guy said he didn’t believe in UFOs after Alexander spent his whole life studying them.
“Are you slow?” He snarls into his face. “I want his blood every-fucking-where.”
“That’s going to cause a lot of questions by a lot of cops,” the big one retorts. “It’d be easier if—“
“That’s what I want!” my ex storms out like a petulant child. “Forty-eight hours, I want his ass wiped off the face of this Earth.”
The men nod and leave while Alexander strides angrily to his kitchen. I can’t see him, but I can still hear the anger in his voice as he speaks to someone on his cell phone.
“I need the security footage pulled up on my building,” he orders. “I had a break-in.”
Oh, shit.
Quickly, I scan through malware and security walls to get past the complex’s software and into their surveillance system. The time stamp on the hidden camera states that Alexander placed this call over forty minutes ago. I might be too late and my cover already blown, but I don’t have the courtesy to take a chance that it may not have.
“About…I don’t know, tonight,” Alexander explains. “I need everything surrounding this building.”
Now that’s going to take some time.
Alexander shows up in the frame, his cell not attached to his ear as he walks to his bedroom. I continue deleting footage and hay-wiring the cameras at the coffee shop and jewelry store across the street.
My ex leaves his apartment a few minutes later, still dressed in his suit and slamming the door behind him.
I don’t know where he’s going, obviously, but I activate the device that links both of our phones together. Any call he gets moving forward will come to me. Any text he produces does the same.
Any move he makes, I’ll be watching him.
Mills plays his rescue of me like I would a rendition of us holding hands and skipping down the street— it’s utter and complete bullshit.
I was knocked out cold by something without five knuckles or made of wood, steel, or hard plastic.
No, I was hit with something with enough speed to knock me on my ass.
I think.
Honestly, it’s blurry. I just remember the fuzzy feeling and then blackness within a split second of a blink.
The next minute, I’m in the backseat of Mill’s expensive ass car with DNA by Kendrick Lamar playing off his speakers as he ponders on how I’m doing and if I want something to eat.
Minus the massive bump at the back of my head from what I’m assuming was from the floor, I’m fine.
However, I didn’t get all the answers I was hoping for from Alexander.
And he’s not off the hook yet.
Even if I have to strangle and torture that motherfucker, I want to know what the hell happened to Emmy.
Nothing he said or didn’t say changes how I feel about him being behind her death.
“Watch him, Scar,” Mills cautions my sister, leaned up on my kitchen counter as he gazes at Scarlett chopping green peppers. “He might get an aneurysm or somethin’. He’s already messed up.”
“Leave her alone,” I chide, taking another sip of my beer. “I’m fine.”
“And this to the guy who saved him almost hitting the floor at the bar,” my so-called buddy mutters in a loud whisper.
Yeah, that’s the story we’re going with, I suppose.
Drunk brother at the bar who can’t hold down his liquor.
“I guess if he started acting nice, then I’d really be scared.”
Scarlett chuckles at him. “Stop, you act like he’s a total jerk.”
No, just a guy who wakes up with violent nightmares, snaps at his niece, and hits his brother when he awakens.
“You don’t work with him,” Mills quips, plucking a slice of green peppers from her cutting board. “And I got no problem beating his ass if he’s mean to you.”
I scoff as my sister continues a conversation with this fool. The asshole who’s always talking. The motherfucker who fucked the woman I loved more than anyone.
Languidly, I turn my neck to focus on said asshole.
Just weeks ago, I almost killed him.
I still want to kill him.
However, some hidden and soft piece of me broke off somewhere when I held Atlas, my girl’s daughter.
Could I really take out her father?
The monster on my right says hell yes. That angel that I didn’t know hanging out with me says, nice try, give it up.
“You know what,” Mills ventures. “Give me your number in case you need me and—“
“Stop macking on my sister, Mills,” I growl out.
“Kace!” Scarlett scolds, followed by a piece of pepper flying by my face. “He’s worried about you.” I roll my eyes and keep my next comment to myself.
Mills is as concerned about me as I am about being concerned about him running out of hair products. He has the balls of someone screwy because a man the size of me, who’s protective over his baby sister, could plummet him into the ground like a spike if he doesn’t stop flirting with her.
He flipped your ass a few weeks ago. Remember that, asshole.
Inhaling, Madelyn shows up in the kitchen at warped speed. The pads of her naked feet hitting the hardwood floors as her dark curls fly around her face until she abruptly stops in front of me. “Uncle Kacie, you’re hurt!”
I place my beer down and shake my head. “No, I’m alright.”
She wedges her little body between my torso and the table and sits in my lap. “But daddy said you needed a bandaid.” A white piece of paper is then shoved in my face. “And I drew you a picture.”
Plucking it from her tiny fingers, I glance down at the red, purple, and yellow crayon lines that askew all over the white canvas. “I like it.”
Shit, no clue.
I couldn’t make out a piece of art if I tried. I don’t have an eye for it.
“I see your Uncle Mills,” I say loud enough for him to hear. “He likes being painted in red.”
He chuckles, and Scarlett tosses another piece of green pepper, this time hitting me in the side of the head.
“Noooo,” Madelyn whines, her finger pointing at her artwork. “It’s me and you.”
Damn. Is it possible for your heart to melt a little to words from a little human?
“No, shit,” I reply, tilting my head to the side like it’s going to pop from the page.
“Uncle Kacieeee, bad word.”
“I know, kid, your uncle is working on it.” I wave the picture. “Do I get to keep it?” She bobs her head before I mindlessly kiss the top of it. “Thank you. I’ll hang it up.”
“Time for bed, Maddy,” my sister coos coming to help her off my lap. “Then you can draw tomorrow.”
“I want something,” Mills chimes in. “Can you draw me a dog?”
Madelyn looks him up and down. “No.”
Then she runs to the back of the house towards her bedroom, and I belt out a string of laughter so hard that my stomach hurts by the end of it.
* * *
With the lights off, all I can see is the outline of my brother as he waits for me to give him the signal to move. Two minutes ago, my alarm tripped up during our poker game in the kitchen, and following that, my security cameras pinned on the driveway picked up two pick-up trucks.
It’s one in the morning.
“I’ll take the left,” I mutter on one side of the front door. “You take the right. You sure that—“
“I got it,” Hardy quips. “Just don’t get hurt.”
I should be telling him that, but okay. It’s about time I let someone worry about me. He’s family, my blood, and I’m not alone anymore. I had B723, but I have the people that were there before them right here in my house.
With intruders outside.
“Don’t ask questions,” I relay. “Just shoot. I’ll take care of the rest.”
I wait for the whine of my front porch to give, but nothing does. I cautiously move to the back of the house, looking for moving shadows out the windows but come up empty.
What the fuck?
“We open the door on three,” I order with my finger on the trigger of my silenced Glock. “One…two…three.”
Whipping open the door, a body is already standing there in the light of the porch and smiling from ear to ear like a fucking asshole.
Blue.
“What in the actual fuck are you doing?” I snarl, removing my index finger from the trigger. “I could’ve killed you.”
She perks a brow. “Would’ve been hard if my weapon was already aimed at your forehead when you opened that door.”
My nostrils flare, adrenaline still coursing through my body as I study the scenery behind her. “You’re getting on my nerves.”
She ignores me and glances at Hardy. “Hey, baby Bishop. How’s it going?”
“Good,” he replies calmly before stepping past me and onto the porch. “You’re one person, so what’s up with the two trucks?”
“I took care of your little problem.”
I follow my brother’s lead and move on the other side of Blue as Hardy and I go down the deck steps. Within ten feet lies our first dead body.
“Fuck,” I mutter. “Go check and see if Scarlett is up. We need to move these ASAP.”
I don’t know how I’m going to do this, but I need to start half-ass explaining to my brother what it is I do and how the hell dead people keep landing around me.
He heads off and back into the house when Blue comes faithfully to my side. “You’re welcome.”
“How did you do it?”
“Do it?” She crosses her arms and twists her frame to look at me. “What do you mean?”
“I’m counting five guys, and that’s not even me looking behind the trucks. I heard no gunshots, and you’re not that quick of a shot.” I flick my more than curious gaze at her. “So what gives?”
“You wound me.” Her palm flies to her chest. “I came by to check in on you after Mills told me about what happened.”
“At one in the morning?”
“At one in the morning,” she confirms firmly, then jerks her head back. “There are eight guys, by the way.”
“Eight?” She nods. “That’s even worse for your story.”
Blue shrugs, unaffected by my interrogation. “Don’t know what to tell ya, Bish. I’m the only one here.”
Marching to the back of the first truck and away from Blue studying me, I look around for anyone else.
None of this makes sense.
Mills suddenly showing up at Alexander’s place when I told no one where I was going. He claims he located me on GPS to make sure I wasn’t within a hundred feet of his condo to attempt and kill him again.
Now Blue just took out eight dudes in two minutes?
Red running lights catch my attention at least a mile down the road from my remote house as it continues slowly down the gravel. Two square lights that look to be on something as big as an SVU.
A fucking Jeep.
Thankfully all my scheming worked for once because I caught Alexander’s master plan of finding Bishop’s home and having him killed tonight.
It gave me enough time to call Blue and meet up with her. Enough time to set up and wait. Enough time for me to build a net of knots in my stomach for this all being my fault.
Yes, I had every right to move on from Bishop and try to live a full life with someone else. However, I should’ve kept B723 in the mix and took care of this right after he stabbed me. I should’ve shoved my pride aside for my kids and not have been so naive.
Bishop has always been a pain in my ass, except I didn’t expect him to still care about me after he found out that Mills was the so-called father of my twins. I fully intended to see him loathe our friend and go off into his usual and broody self.
Shoot, I expected him to even go and piss on my grave for what I kinda and half-ass put him through.
I would reap the consequences for my sins but that would be after Alexander was killed and my kids free of any danger.
When Blue and I took out the eight assholes who drove up on Bishop’s property, I walked back to my car that was parked way up the street. Blue forced herself into hugging me before I took off and it’s left a weird feeling on me ever since. I guess it’s because I’m just not used to it.
At home, I crack open my laptop after locking the deadbolts on my door and making myself some coffee. Alexander has already sent a text message to an unknown number, looking for an update on his “cupcake delivery” AKA Bishop’s murder.
I should’ve taken one of the phones and fucked with him.
Anyway, since he’ll be sitting on obtaining a response all night, I work on my next plan of getting Alexander alone so that I can take him out for good this time.
My phone rings a few minutes later, displaying Mill’s name and I smile at the prospect of seeing my babies.
“Hey,” I greet. “Are you—“
“Emmy, gonna need you here right now.”
My heart accelerates and I’m already standing from my chair to move to the door. “What’s wrong now? What happened?”
“Marty…” A loud rapping of bangs comes next and I whip open my door to get outside to my car. “He’s fucking here to kill me.”
“The hell are you talking about?” I snap. “For what?”
“Geezus Christ,” he mutters, then raises his voice. “He’s taunting me to open the door, Ems. He won’t fucking leave. He’s gonna—“
“Hold on—“ The door to the front of my complex slams against the brick wall, and I’m sprinting to my car. “—why is he there?
Why is he trying to hurt you?”
“Mills!” I hear the distinct rumble of Marty’s voice in the background, and I’m all sorts of fucking confused and worried and about to lose my entire shit.
“Mills,” I seize out. “What’s happening? Did you fight?”
“I haven’t seen the motherfucker,” Mills storms out. “He kept saying he wants the truth.”
The truth.
Me.
My death.
What we’ve been doing.
But how in the fuck did he know?
Blue?
My nostrils flare just thinking about her betraying me for her own sick amusement. I will kill that bitch and bury her with Alexander if she ratted me out.
But Kyson would already be calling.
Maybe, I don’t know.
“Open the door,” I profess to Mills. “Give him the phone. I’ll talk to—“ A loud bang fills the back and I jump the curb with my Jeep to get out onto the main road. “Tell me what’s happening!”
“Marty, chill!” Mills demands sternly. “The kids are sleeping.”
“Fuck you, asshole,” Marty leers, sounding way too fucking close.
“Phone,” I remind Mills. “Give him the—“ I hear a click, causing me to glance down at the call ending.
I call Mills four more times before I’m in a full-blown panic attack at what Marty could be doing to Mills right now with my kids in the house.
Again, all this is my fault.
I tried to handle my own shit like a big girl and I just threw Mills to the wolves to have a massive target on his back.
It takes me twenty minutes to get to his condo.
Thirty seconds to park my car and another minute to run up the stairs to the third floor. I make a hard right around the corner to get to Mills’s door when I’m suddenly rammed into from behind.
My knees slam into the solid cement floors covered in gray carpet before my palms follow. I seethe pain through my teeth, and before I can even right myself to spin around to thrust my fist into someone’s face, my attacker’s fingers lace through my hair.
I’m flipped around and on my ass by the next second then my back as weight falls onto my torso.
My knee comes up to jab into my opponent’s spine but it halts when a large hand wraps around my jaw and squeezes, pressing the pads of rough fingers painfully into my teeth and gums.