Carving Graves: A Dark Mafia Romance (The KORT Series Book 2)

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CELESTE

His spicy cedarwood scent clings to me like a wetsuit, dragging me under to depths I’m not prepared to endure. Weightless. Senses heightened. Everything in sharp focus. I can’t shake him off. I’m immersed in all he is even though he’s far above the surface.

He’s with me.

I can smell him. Feel him. Taste him.

I’ve gone scuba diving countless times—an adventurous pastime my father and brother introduced me to. But no dive has been as exhilarating as the one in Egypt when I was on my six-continent adrenaline-junkie tour—the one orchestrated by Wells to get me out of the way when he took Ivy.

I was depressed as all get-out, worried sick about Ivy lying helpless in a coma. Terrified I was going to be left. Again. As angry as I was that Natasha said I wouldn’t be permitted visitation if I came home, I was grateful for the constant rushes surging through my veins from the stunts.

And the Red Sea dive in Egypt did not disappoint. The SS Thistlegorm was a British transport ship that sank in 1941. The site is the most explored wreck dive in the world. For good reason. It’s truly magnificent.Preserved destruction.

Trucks and armored vehicles. Rifles and motorcycles.

Symbols of strength.

Most dives shower the senses with vibrant life. This one dulls the perception of power into muted ruins. The dichotomy alone was striking.

Death has felt like fire since Ben left this world. A burning that I never truly escape. But there, it was present and lurking. Commemorated in the salty sea.

A beautiful wreckage of fallen strength for generations to gawk at.

Fragility exposed in the formidable.

Submerged with that eerie relic of abandoned resilience, I felt a twinge of belonging—or maybe the wish to. While I was surveying the carnage, there was a moment when I envied that ship because I knew if Ivy didn’t survive, I’d be expected to don the same armor I had after Ben died, when all I would want to do is sink.

Much like how the Dodge Viper exploding—its clouds of fire piercing the midnight sky with my shrieking sobs—is emblazoned on my makeup, so is my experience with the drowning SS Thistlegorm.

As is my one night with the golden god. He’s formidable for sure, and yet the hint of fragility captivates me. A fallen angel who has wrapped his dark wings around me. They linger with a flutter of freedom. And a forceful threat. Much like the other two encounters, I’m lost inside him, but I can’t allow myself to bask there.

Sinking and smoke both promise choking.

It’s been days since Liam pursued me. Nine. That’s what I wanted, what I asked for. And yet the space does nothing to erase the mark he left.

One fucking night.

And a few stolen moments.

“You’re in me now, Ace.”

My heart thrashes and thrums. Breaths crashing to the tune of the fan whirring. The cacophony of my mental decline. I smack the bed, kick my legs, and ruffle the covers. It’s three in the morning, and I’m lying awake. Panting from the new prison I find myself in.

God, he’s a spectacular shackling though.

Sweat-beaded abs. Inked and sculpted pecs. His rasp against my ear. Possessive grip on my hips. Tongue lashing me with pleasure.

Warmth and fire.

Drowning and rising.

Coming home.

A high-pitched screech startles me into the present. Felicity’s cries. She’s about two weeks old, and her days and nights are still mixed up. Since I’m awake, I crawl out of bed so I can relieve whichever exhausted volunteer is on shift.

Careful to not wake anyone else, I creep silently through the hallway toward the delicate wailing, anxious to hold the tiny darling. Even her screams are precious.

When I round the corner to the catwalk overlooking the family room, I halt my strides. My vision drifts below to the four men of the house, all fussing over their miniature princess, a crackling fire in the grand hearth lending an amber Hallmark glow to the scene. Not wanting to interrupt, I drop down, curling up in the shadows against the railing.

Gage cradles Felicity in his massive arms, his thick thighs bouncing in a rhythm that could rival a ballerina’s. My hand smacks against my mouth to stifle my giggles. He’s so determined to soothe her while Ty and Liam lounge on the couches in utter depletion, and Wells oversees with the scrutiny of both a doting father and a commanding leader.

“I could watch you sway like that all night, Big Guy,” Liam teases. “So graceful.”

“He’s got rhythm,” Wells quips with a yawn that eclipses his smile before Gage pauses briefly for him to kiss his daughter. He strokes his palm over her thick raven-black hair. “Daddy loves you so much, precious girl.”

Gage resumes his swaying cadence. “Rest, Wells. No sense in all of us being exhausted.”

Wells hesitates with a frown but relents and lies down on the empty couch.

Unable to resist the changing-of-the-guards opportunity, only three seconds pass before Ty bounds up to shadow Gage in lieu of the Chief’s supervision, addressing Liam like a grumbling kid. “He’s doing it wrong. That’s why she’s still fussing.”

“She’s perfect,” Gage coos. Bounce one, two, sway. Bounce one, two, sway. “We’re just finding our way. They all need to shut the fuck up, don’t they? That’s why the angel isn’t settling, huh?”

Felicity squawks with zeal, and Liam chuckles. “The pint-sized princess is aghast at your distasteful language. Ty’s right. You’re doing it all wrong.”

“I thought her mother would be the death of me, but it’s my very own spawn,” Wells laments, coiling himself into the fetal position around a pillow.

I’ve never seen the man appear anything but in absolute control, let alone wiped out. I wish I had my camera to document the event for Ivy.

Liam cackles, flicking his Zippo open and closed. “We finally found the chink in Chief’s armor. Who knew it would come in such an adorable package?”

“Ivy is a force, but tornadoes, war camps, and malicious hit men can’t touch the fierceness in this little one’s pinkie.” Gage lifts Felicity in the air, smothering her cheeks with kisses. “She’s gonna conquer the world.”

God, that wrecks me.

“Can we let her be spoiled for a few years before she tackles world domination? She’s not even ten goddamn pounds,” Ty counters. He pushes his way through Gage’s arms to get his own grip on the baby.

“Jesus Christ,” Wells roars. “She’s not a fucking ragdoll. Get her head.”

“They’ve got her, Chief,” Liam mollifies with a warning glower directed at the other two.

He might not realize it, but in instances like this one, his deep love and admiration for Wells is so loud that it’s impossible to miss. The thought of his hero in any type of real distress stains his face with instant concern. There’s something about tender devotion among rough men that is immensely touching. One more sight to decimate me tonight.

Gage snarls but releases her and flops onto the couch Ty was occupying with a resounding swoosh.

Ty ignores the whole exchange, places Felicity against his chest, douses her head with his own adoring kisses, and begins swinging her from side to side. “You do wield a lot of power, don’t you, sweet girl? I should call you F-bomb.”

“Oh, fuck me.” Liam claps as Wells and Gage chuckle with him. “Please do. Jesus, but let me be there when Ivy hears it.” His voice is so thick with amusement; it quavers through every word.

“Like a metal umbrella,” Wells murmurs sleepily. “She’s worn out. The Little Storm will strike, Tytan.”

Those words alone could be taken to mean he’s concerned with Ivy’s crazy emotions or maybe even irritated. She’s been more off-kilter than normal. But he says them with such admiration, like even in her struggles, he’s overwhelmed with pride, and he simply wants to remind Ty not to underestimate her. He closes his eyes, unable to fight the respite his body so desperately needs.

“I think she’d laugh,” Ty contends. “We’ll try it out, won’t we, F-bomb?”

“Dipshit,” Gage chokes out, fighting off a yawn.

Liam straightens, taking in the three of them. “Give me my little doll,” he orders. “You two get some rest. Ivy will need you both tomorrow. I’ll stay up with Felicity until her morning feeding and look after the Chief.”

It’s fascinating how the three of them rotate into that second-in-command position. Ty and Gage don’t even consider arguing with him, yielding to Liam and his direction. It all just works. Even in the chaos of flippant gibes and stupid arguments that transpire quite often, they know when to step up, when to defer, when to comfort.

Ty bathes the baby in more kisses before handing her over to Liam, whose whole face alights the second she’s snug in his arms. He pecks her forehead, and she quiets. A silent conversation between them that has everything to do with belonging to one another.

I’ve never wanted to be a part of a moment more in my life.

As if my wish takes flight and floats down from my second-story perch to plunder the magical happenings below, Liam’s eyes rise to mine. Perhaps he knew I was here all along. It’s like I’m eight and I’ve been caught peeking in on my parents’ grand Christmas provisions. I can’t help but stare, to allow him to hold me hostage with his simple gaze—a gaze that suddenly seems melancholy and troubled. The corners of his lips pull up in a declaration he often extends.

“I see you, Carver.”

And everything freezes—the house stills, my mind quiets, the firelight drenches him in a butterscotch intimacy, and I’m seen by the only person I’ve ever truly needed to see me.

In a woeful blink, tromping footsteps demolish our invisible tethering, so I scatter for my room as quickly as I can, knowing a broken heart and a sleepless night await me. It’s not only Liam clinging to me. He’ll be the wound I cart around, but they’ll all be the ghost of the family I crave. I suppose I’ll visit a lot. They just won’t be mine. And I already know, that will never be enough.

Yesterday, I felt like a zombie, having not slept at all the night before. But the entire house seems to be operating that way, so no one noticed. Last night was mildly better, although no less lonely. My exhaustion simply won out and forced me into slumber.

Tonight is my date with Scott Filmore, so I’m currently mourning my tragic outing with the super-suave, handsome political trailblazer. It’s ludicrous, but there’s only one person I can think of who would truly understand. I wrangle my phone off the nightstand and swipe a text.

Me: I have a secret.

She answers within seconds, an image of her ringed fingers gripping a steaming coffee accompanying her answer.

Rena: Yes, please.

Me: I feel terrible not sharing it with Ivy, but it’s too fresh. And too tangled. So, you have to swear.

Rena: I know nothing. That’s pretty much the Noire motto. You’re in good hands. And I’m salivating over this tangled secret. Spill, girl.

Me: I like someone I shouldn’t.

Rena: Forbidden. Always a plus. More, please.

Me: Not just forbidden. He’s kind of an ass. Sometimes. Only he isn’t anymore.

Me: Unless he is, but I don’t want him to be. Skewed vision maybe.

Jesus, I’m confusing, even to myself. But nothing fazes Rena.

Rena: Possible. I’ve suffered similar fates. In the three and a half seconds of getting to know a guy without my brothers’ interference. So, to be fair, misconceptions are a given when you lightning-speed date. But what you’re describing is far too cryptic. Name names.

I take a deep breath, knowing I need to talk this through with someone who is unbiased in all regards. My teeth sink into my lip with a sting as I peck out my answer.

Me: Liam.

Rena: I knew it. He’s only got eyes for you.

Me: You think?

Rena: Know it, girl. Men don’t look at just anyone the way he looks at you. Sex?

Me: Best night of my life.

Rena: Fuck.

And that’s how I know Rena gets it because someone else might think that’s worth celebrating. She knows it’s like a trip to the gallows.

Me: Yeah.

Rena: So, your politicians?

Me: Still the plan.

Rena: Then, I guess enjoy him while you can.

Me: I have a date tonight—aka a hearing to determine my sentencing for political eye-candy incarceration—so I think that ship has sailed.

Or sunk. My beautiful wreckage.

Rena: I’m so sorry, girl. I wish I had some advice, but sadly, we’re both fucked.

Me: Yep.

My phone rings, interrupting our texting. It’s my mom, so I answer, knowing she’s going to want the lowdown on my date prep.

“Hi, Mom.”

“Hi, honey. How’s my girl? How’s Ivanna and the baby?”

I jump right into the latter, happy to avoid the inevitable for as long as possible. “Felicity is the sweetest and so feisty. But Ivy is as strong as ever, handling motherhood like a champ.”

“That petite little thing probably already has her figure back, doesn’t she?” My mother adores all things Ivy, but anyone who invests in knowing her does. She has a way of invading people.

I laugh, thinking about how incredible she looks already. “She’s not far.”

“And how about you? Are you ready for your big night?”

I shimmy up against my headboard, shoulders pulling back. “I am.”

“Did you pick your dress?” she asks.

“Yes. The red one.”

“A bold choice,” she praises. “It will certainly make you unforgettable, which is the goal.”

“Right.” Just unforgettable to the wrong person. I pushed the one I can’t stop thinking about away. And it seems he’s moved on. Like I asked him to.

“Cee … give this a real shot, please.” My mother always hears what isn’t said. “I know you’re having fun, playing house with Ivy’s … men.”

This again. This is the nonsense that had me questioning Liam about Ivy when I knew the answer already. I see how they are together, how he looks at her and how he looks at me, but my mother’s input made me doubt. Not that it matters.

“She has one man—Wells,” I correct. “The rest are her family.”

“Regardless, it’s not the place for you.” Her voice chills with irritation. Here we go. “Hanging around with those thugs is dangerous.”

“They aren’t thugs,” I balk, unable to do this again. It’s like she forgets who she is. “No more than Dad is, and you married him. They’re sweet and smart. Wells treats Ivy like a queen. Any woman should be so fortunate. Gage bakes with her all the time and loves period drama. Ty has a way of tapping into the heart of a person, like he’s rescuing the world one battered soul at a time. And Liam … Liam is so many things. He’s a genius for one. Devoted. And funny. And much deeper than anyone would expect. And all of them are phenomenal with that little girl.”

“Celeste,” she hisses. “I’m sure they’re wonderful in many ways. Natasha has said as much. But Natasha also recognizes the other side of it, which is that Ivy’s life and the life of her precious baby hang in the balance every single day because of them. So, forgive me if I am unwilling to lose another child.”

“Your other child died in an accident,” I snap, hopping off the bed to pace. “What’s to prevent that from being my fate? You can’t encase me in a bubble.”

“I’ve never believed for a second that your brother’s death was an accident, Cee. If you’re looking at that world as an option, then wake up. Because choosing it means inescapable pain. Death surrounds them in all they do. When I got married, I didn’t understand. I want you as far from it as possible.”

So much about that knocks me disoriented. I stumble over to the shortbread-yellow chair. “What do you mean, it wasn’t an accident? I don’t understand. The car was out of control—”

“Please just go tonight and give Scott a chance.” She adopts a syrupy film in her tone, completely disregarding my questions, which is how my mother typically instructs me to drop a subject she’s finished discussing—no matter the impact of the bomb detonated. “If he’s not for you, we’ll find someone else. But this is your ticket out, and I need you to take it.”

My ticket out.Not just out of Ivy’s world. Out of my mother and father’s world. A life she didn’t realize she was signing up for.

We end the call without our typical frivolous talk regarding my nails, shoes, and hair choice. Only that ominous revelation, ensnaring me in a fit of rage. She thinks someone killed Ben. If they believe that, then why didn’t someone pay for it? Or did they? No. She said she always believed,as though it was never proven. And now, it’s a cold case.

Her incessant pushing for me to fulfill my grandfather’s wishes makes even more sense now. I thought it was a shallow desire to brag, to replace her identity as the one who mourns a son, but it’s paralyzing fear.

Jesus, this guilt only gets more crippling with time.

There’s nothing quite like a parent losing a child. Ashes to ashes. Dust to dust. We aren’t meant to be there for the whole process. It’s unnatural—a darkness that never leaves. A shadow cloaking every experience. One so powerful, so heavy, that the withering soul can’t help but beg others to lug it around with them.

And anyone with a heart will find it impossible to refuse.

That’s the essence of my life. Watching my hero burst into flames and sink six feet under, the lifeblood draining from my parents’ and grandparents’ faces, and resolving to rise. To be the flicker that keeps them going, all the while feeling dead inside.

Although, up until now, I convinced myself that I wasn’t giving much up. Only the whisper of something. No guarantee the whisper would ever be spoken into existence. I’ve lived for the all-consuming risky thrills instead, denying the gravity of the still picture I don’t want. A snippet that will never truly be mine.

But now, that whisper will perish when I walk into this life. Maybe it died long ago in that fiery crash with my brother, and it was only ever a phantom hope. Liam revived it during that night we spent together though. He banished the numbness, which means that inescapable pain my mother spoke of is already mine to harbor.

I brush it off and jump into the shower, imploring the steam to purge my angst and reservations so I can be who I need to be, which starts with primping. I shave and lotion, curl and line, paint and buff.

Play their game.

I’d like to say it was solely with my date in mind that I chose my dress. He’s a bit of a playboy, and he enjoys the wild side—not a black mark in my book. I’m hoping he’s more entertaining than some of the dull men I’ve been set up with before. In that spirit, I slip into my high-low gown. The bodice is a fitted corset with a strapless sweetheart neckline. It’s sophisticated with a flare. There are even pockets in the skirt.

But the truth behind the dress is that the candy-apple color caught my attention due to a different wild-side gentleman who may have suggested I taste that way. I’m trying not to lose myself in that reverie though. As I’m hooking the clasp on my thin ruby-and-diamond choker beneath my hair, a soft knock raps on my door. Knowing it’s Ivy, I call her inside while I finish with my necklace.

“You look stunning, Lettie.” She bites her lip and stares at me. “Wow.”

I spin to face her. “Thank you. I’ve had my eye on this cocktail dress for a while. Seemed as good excuse as any to snag it.”

She nods. “Well, you’ll certainly turn heads in that. He won’t know what hit him.”

“That’s the goal,” I murmur, parroting my mother’s earlier sentiment while gathering my lipstick and mascara to store in my clutch.

“You slept with him,” she states behind me. It doesn’t sound like a question, but she must mean it as one.

I glance at her in my mirror as I spritz some perfume. “No. This is our first date.” She knows that, but I’m sure she’s got far more important things on her mind, so I add, “We’ve only talked on the phone.”

“No. Liam.”

All the air whooshes from my lungs as I turn, smoothing the satin fabric of my dress down in an instinctual act of composure. Something that rarely occurs with Ivy. I’m not sure what to say because she doesn’t look happy about it. Her eyes are squinting in accusation.

Finally, I assert a firm, “I did.”

“I knew you did.” She scoffs, flinging her hand out as her skin flushes—Ivy’s enraged tell. “Everyone around here thinks I’m blind. All of you are keeping secrets from me. I’m not sure what Wells is hiding yet, but you and Liam—I thought maybe one of you might tell me. But it wasn’t my business, so I stayed quiet. Until now.”

“Now?” I ask, wondering why she’s suddenly upset when nothing is happening at all anymore.

She gestures her hand at my gown like one of those game-show girls who points to stuff for a living. “Yes. Now.”

Oh, me going out?

“Ivy, I think you’ve got it all wrong. This setup was in the works before Liam and I … he knew. I was up-front.”

Her blue eyes brim with disappointment. “So, you’ve been sneaking around with him and then dolling up for the men who have a real chance?”

I walk toward her, grabbing both of her hands as my fractured heart plummets into my stomach with more guilt—for what I’m not even sure anymore. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think you’d be this upset, and you were so busy with the baby. I should have told you.”

“It’s not about you telling me.” She grunts, letting go of one of my hands to fist her hair. “I love you so much. So, I need you to hear everything I’m saying. You belong here. I want you here. You’re my family, just like everyone else in this house. And I wouldn’t let any of them hurt you.”

My chest tightens. I love those words but hate the emotion behind them. “I know you wouldn’t. I’m not hurt, Ivy. It’s fine.”

She shakes her head in frustration. “That’s not … I can excuse just about anything, but Liam is not the guy you use until you find the right one. He’s not a dirty secret. He’s a choice. He needs to know he’s a choice. And I can’t stand by—”

“He’s not a choice I can make, and you know it. He knows it. I was clear. It was just one night. Weeks ago.” God, that tastes like a sour lie, burning my throat. “He’s not even interested anymore. How is this my fault?”

“You don’t see it,” she whispers.

“See what?”

Her hand rubs over her chest like it hurts. “I know you’ve got this weight of expectation on you. But I also know it’s rooted in Ben, and this … this isn’t what Ben would want.”

“What isn’t? Me having a one-night stand?”

“No, Lettie,” she scorns. “You behaving like that’s all it was.”

A throat clears in the doorway, slicing through our tension. We both snap our heads that way to find Wells looming there.

“Rex is waiting.”

“Of course.” I dip my chin, trying to steady my breathing. “I’m ready.”

He steps into the room, his gaze flitting to his exasperated wife before coming back to me. “You’re a knockout in that dress, Celeste. Make sure your guards keep a tight rein on you.”

“They always do,” I reassure.

“Your father insisted that we not accompany your crew.” He swipes a hand through his hair. “I don’t like that, so say the word, and one of us will come anyway.”

Recalling the absurdity that became my last date when Liam was an added guard, I promptly reply, “No thank you. My team can handle it.”

Wells seems to deliberate on that for a beat before eventually conceding with a heavy exhale. “I’ll walk you out.”

He steps into the hallway, arching a brow at Ivy in a silent rebuke.

She puffs out her jaw and glares in return until finally huffing. “Have a good time, Lettie.”

I curl my arms around her, knowing she can’t stay mad at me through a hug. “I’ll do my best. Love you.”

I wish I could explain it all to her. How I feel trapped and confused. How I want things I can’t have, but have no intention of hurting anyone other than myself. How I’m always disappointing someone. How her family feels more like home than anywhere has since Ben left this world, and leaving it behind will only fan the flames that ignited that day. But it will have to wait, no matter how much it hurts to bear her reproach.

Wells escorts me to Rex, who tucks me in the back of the SUV between Keith and Dante. And off we go.

“No Liam?” Rex muses from the front seat. “Left the poor guy behind, Cee?”

I keep my chin high, unwilling to let anything else penetrate my psyche tonight. “It’s what my father wanted and the only way I can do what needs done.”

“Seems like giving up,” Keith mutters beside me. His words are rare, so they hook my curiosity.

“Giving up?” I question.

“Yeah,” Dante says from my other side, shoulders uncharacteristically rigid. “Throwing in the fucking towel.”

How many people’s opinions do I need to contend with for one damn outing?

“Do you all think that?” I snipe, to which I am met with silence. “Cut the bullshit and just answer.”

Rex twists to me as Arnold’s sympathetic eyes dart to mine in the rearview mirror. These men aren’t paid for judgments. Still, even in their statuesque presence, they know me better than most.

“You’ve always been a fighter, Cee,” Rex says with a glint of pride that lands heavy on my chest. “Makes our job fucking difficult sometimes, but it’s what makes you, you.”

“This is different,” I argue, feeling squeezed from every angle. Ready to combust.

“Seems like if you were going to pick a time to fight, it’d be when the stakes were the highest,” Keith counters, wrapping his arm around my shoulders for a brief hug. “Your dreams are worth it too.”

I don’t respond. I close my stinging eyes, attempting to expunge every unbidden point of view from my head and meditate on a visual of the evening—making the best of the godawful mess my life has become.

It seems like only seconds have passed when I’m informed of our arrival. Rex insisted upon the same location as the date with Dustin Barclay because they had already scouted it. Scott was fine with that and booked a room in the attached hotel, so there isn’t much new to consider. Only the man I’ll be dining with.

My team guides me inside, and Scott is waiting at the same booth where I ate last time. I ignore the swirl of emotions that brews. He’s as dreamy as his pictures. Standing to greet me, he buttons his suit jacket. Sparkling blue eyes latch on to me as his large hand slips into mine. He’s eloquent, well bred, dapper, and charming. He says all the right things in his deep voice, regards me in all the right ways.

But I feel nothing. No spark. No tingle. No heat. No prickle licking up my spine when our skin grazes against one another.

He’ll be numbness, adorned in a gorgeous package.

We converse with ease, witty banter, and a repartee that could certainly stave off boredom. That’s something. Maybe I’ll feel an ember in time. Like those arranged marriages where they meet at the wedding and fall in love years later. It’s not a terrible fate. The poor guy is practically perfect—only lacking one quality.

He’s not Liam.

The room starts to pulsate with the racket of chatter and clanking dishes, much like it did the last time I was here, except then, even in my dismay, I had Liam to lean on. He was unhinged, out of line, jealous. But mine.

Mine.

My phone dings inside my purse, but I ignore it because Scott is finishing a story that I should be engrossed in. It goes off again.

“You know what?” he says with his gleaming pearly whites. “Get that, or it will drive us both mad with distraction. I have an email to address anyway.”

My mother would be aghast at the sight of us both on our phones during dinner. But the plates have been cleared, and we’re only drinking now, so I squash the insecurity over ill manners and check the message. It’s an encrypted link from Liam, requiring me to go through a few quick steps in order to finally see it.

Liam: I have a confession. Want to hear it?

That makes me smile more than it should. I glance up to see Scott is indeed busy, so I respond.

Me: On a date right now, but sure.

Liam: I thought about you long before the poolside night. Long before our barnyard kiss.

My heart thrashes like a pinball. Ribs. Sternum. Throat. Chest. Stomach.

Me: Is that so?

Liam: Yes. Even before last July and maybe once or twice before Paris when you accused me of faking my own death.

Me: Not my finest moment, I admit.

Liam: You looked fine as hell, but your mouth … I digress.

I bite back a giggle, not wanting to call Scott away from his work.

Me: Clearly. Your point?

Liam: It always infuriated me that I thought about you, but you never seemed to be thinking about me.

That couldn’t be further from the truth. I’ve thought about him since Ivy painted him. He was so beautiful. And dead. But then he wasn’t.

Always keep them guessing.

Me: You’ll never know for sure.

Liam: That’s not entirely true.

Me: Meaning?

Liam: I did something for your safety and may have reaped a personal benefit recently.

Dread oozes over me like an egg being cracked on my head.

Me: What the hell are you talking about?

Liam: Deep breaths. Try not to get too angry, Ace. I’ll have you panting within the hour.

Me: You’re not making any sense. No promises. What did you do?

Liam: I’ve been monitoring your location and communication since July.

My entire body surges with heat as I comprehend all that could entail.

Me: That’s completely fucked, Graves.

Liam: Maybe. But safety first. Even if you don’t choose me, I’ll always protect you.

Ivy’s words blast into me. “He’s a choice.He needs to know he’s a choice.”

Does he still want me to choose him?

Me: Why are you telling me this now, while I’m on a date?

Liam: Is that what we’re calling it? I prefer to label it as a hearing to determine your sentencing for political eye-candy incarceration.

My texts with Rena. Oh, fuck no.