Fall (Fair’s Fair #2)

Chapter 1

1

Will you let us in to play?

The words echo inside my head as I stand there, blocking my door as I look over the faces of the men who fucked me to within an inch of my life last night, and came close to murdering me. In fact, there were several moments I was sure they were going to murder me, all things considered.

I should tell them to leave.

I should call the cops and spill my guts about what they’d done.

What I absolutely shouldn’t be doing is trying to remember if I picked up my dirty laundry from my bedroom floor so they won’t think I’m a mess of a person.

“I…” With no idea what to say, I take a step back in the small entryway to my apartment, my back hitting the closet behind me. “Y-you want to come in?” God, I wish my brain was working correctly this morning. But I’ll blame the chloroform soaked rag for that, even if it’s long dissipated from my system.

Ravage smiles almost sweetly, arms folded over his chest and ankles crossed on my porch. “Are you telling us no?”

That has me shaking my head, and I gesture with flicks of my fingers, trying to communicate in spontaneously made up sign language that they’re allowed to enter.

Though it isn’t until Harrow closes the door behind them that I question my decision. They’re murderers. And while I’m not sure what the minimum body count is to be considered serial killers, I’m starting to wonder if they’d qualify for that as well.

Fuck, maybe this is an awful idea.

But I only get to have a few more seconds of internal crisis, because Ravage is suddenly right in front of me. His eyes search my face as he reaches out to press a hand to the closet door beside my head and leans his weight against it. “Well?” he asks.

He doesn’t say anything else, and my mind races while I try to figure out if I’m missing some important context clue or maybe blacked out for the first part of his question. Based on the last twelve hours of my life, I wouldn’t put it past my brain to have some oxygen-deprivation induced trauma. Belatedly, I realize Harrow closed and locked the door, which does absolutely nothing for my panicking heart.

“Well…?” My brows climb toward my bangs as I wait for Ravage to give me something else to go on. My fingers press to the closet door behind me, and from the corner of my eye, I watch Harrow stride up the stairs like he owns my damn apartment.

Ravage snorts and leans closer. “You were willing to risk your life to see my face last night,” he purrs, face inches from mine. “So tell me, princess. Was it worth it?”

Oh.

Oh…

Tentatively, I reach up and drag my fingers down his jaw, toward his full lips. He’s almost sweetly handsome, as opposed to Harrow’s sharp, model-like looks. They’re a perfectly opposite pair, like two ends of the attractive murderer spectrum.

“You’re a little full of yourself, aren’t you?” I murmur while trying to sound braver than I feel. “And it wasn’t like a conscious choice last night to try to pull your mask off. I didn’t mean to.”

“You didn’t seem to mind the consequences very much.” He turns to brush his lips along my palm, and I jerk slightly in surprise. That only makes him chuckle, then Ravage pulls away to jog up the stairs after Harrow.

It leaves me staring at my apartment door from the inside, alone, and wondering why the hell I let them in. I stand there for too long, eyes fixed on the faux-wood grain until I swear I start seeing patterns in it.

A sudden knock jolts me out of my thoughts, and for one brief, stupid moment I wonder if the last couple of minutes had all been a figment of my overactive imagination. I push off the closet door, reach for the doorknob, and turn it with no idea of what or who I’ll find on the other side.

When my eyes land on two uniformed officers, my heart drops immediately. I glance up the stairs, suddenly sure there’s some kind of manhunt going on for Harrow and Ravage, and that they’re here to lie low like high-ranking members of the mob.

“Noa Torrance?” the shorter, friendlier looking officer asks. There’s an indulgent, almost condescending smile on his face as he looks me over. “Is that you?”

“Yeah?” I croak. I’m sure I look petrified, but I’m not sure how to fix that. “Can I help you?”

“We’re just here to check on you.” The man gives me a nod. “Could we step inside?”

Oh, right. My shoulders fall in relief as I remember Sierra called the officers here to make sure I wasn’t dead, dying, or approaching that point. It makes sense, after my lack of communication last night, but it’s not as if I can tell her the truth about what happened.

“Yes, absolutely. I’m so sorry. Sierra called you, right?” I beckon them inside, refusing to look around like I’m expecting the two guys to pop up. There’s no way for them to know I’m not alone, and even if they did, there’s no reason for them to suspect Harrow and Ravage of committing a crime or twenty.

“Your friend is pretty worried about you,” the taller, dark-eyed officer tells me. “She said she couldn’t get a hold of you all night and that you were acting a little weird on the phone. She’s a pretty good friend in my book, since she wasn’t willing to just let it go.” He looks at his partner, then back at me. “She let us know you have a bit of a history of dropping contact with people when you’re struggling.”

Of course she told them that. But I can’t really blame her when she’s right. It dawns on me then that this probably resembles a few other incidents of me going off the reservation mentally that she’s dealt with over the course of our friendship.

“That’s a nice way of putting it.” I sigh, giving them both a guilty, apologetic smile as I lean against the closet again. “She’s right. I have a history of some mental illness issues and, umm, she needed to call a wellness check on me once before that went a little not-great.”

Not great is an understatement, but I’m sure they already know that from looking at my file. I smooth my hair back over my ear, still forcing myself to keep my relaxed and casual facade. “But luckily, this isn’t that kind of thing. I was at a haunted house last night and I met, uh…” I trail off and give them the look, figuring that partial honesty is my best policy. “I met a new friend.”

Both of them grin, sharing in my little inside joke. “I wouldn’t have thought a haunted house on Halloween was a good time to make new friends.” The shorter one chuckles. “But do your friend a favor and keep her informed, would you? She was pretty worried about you.”

“I am so sorry.” I have the grace to look mortified, and I give them both another apologetic smile. “Seriously, I didn’t mean to make you waste your time. I know you have better places to be. But yeah, I’m all good. Just uh, pretty tired, you know?” I tilt my head to the side and bite my lip, still going for the same facade that I’m pretty sure will get me out of this.

“All good,” the nicer, shorter man assures me.

The taller police officer looks like he disagrees with his partner’s words and glances flatly at me with a sigh. “Just try to keep better communication in the future,” he grumbles, turning and opening the door. I can tell he’d rather be anywhere but here, listening to me allude to the sex I had last night. But it was a pretty solid tactic, judging by how fast I’m able to get the two officers out of my apartment.

“Thank you!” I call, leaning on the door. “Sorry, again!” The shorter man waves back at me, but his partner just stomps to the car and gets in, slamming the door behind him hard enough that I wince in sympathy for the car.

Well, at least that was easy to deal with. If they would’ve pushed the wellness check, then today would’ve been significantly worse. And I don’t feel like having the shoelaces yanked out of my sneakers or the drawstring cut out of my waistband today.

Especially not with two murderers in my apartment who may or may not have ransacked the place by now. Though I’d like to think that if that were the case, I would’ve heard them doing it. A huff leaves me as I close my door, and I take a few moments to rest my forehead against the fake wood as I listen for any sound and try to figure out what to expect when I walk up the stairs.

Unfortunately, I can’t hear anything, and my brain is unhelpfully blank. I trudge up my stairs, eyes fixed on the top, where I can see my orange and white cat sitting and washing a paw. Bagheera, my sleek black cat, is probably under the biggest piece of furniture he can find, while Clearwater clearly doesn’t mind the intrusion of strangers in our home.

In fact, when I get to the top of the stairs and see Harrow on my sofa, I’m pretty unsurprised to find Finn stretched out on his lap and purring while the man strokes his ears. I stop at the landing, next to the half-wall dividing the stairs from the small kitchen, and stand there.

I just…stand there.

Because what am I really supposed to do with the two of them in my apartment? I feel like I’m stuck on buffering, so why not stand in place and let Clearwater use my legs to rub against? At least then I’m being useful to someone.

“So…” My heart races a little, reminding me of all the things that happened at the haunt last night. It’s hard to look at Harrow and not think of his hands, his boots, his voice , but I manage to just look at him.

Because I hadn’t been able to last night.

“Do you guys, uh, have names?” He looks at me halfway through the question, causing me to stumble over the end of it. I know I look like an absolute idiot, but I can’t help the nervousness, the anxiety.

The anticipation.

“You don’t think our parents named us Ravage and Harrow?” His voice is soft as he looks at me with dark, almost black eyes.

I rise to the balls of my feet and drop back to my heels. “Not at all.”

A small smile twitches at his lips, never fully forming and definitely never meeting his eyes. His fingers don’t stop moving on Finn’s ears, and I can see the cat plotting to keep him here until he says otherwise, clearly. “Kieran,” he answers, drawing my attention back to his face. “Nice to meet you, Noa. I’m Kieran.”

“I'm Val.” Ravage strides out of my bedroom, an arrogant grin slashing over his lips. “Well, if you want my full name, it’s Valentin.” There’s a bit of an accent in his words as he says it, though it’s not present in his everyday speech. “Just don’t look me up because that’s also not my legal name.”

“Yeah, let me just…hack into some government database and hunt you guys down with first names only.” Finally, I force myself to walk to the kitchen, and I move to the counter to hop up on it, my heels tapping lightly against the cabinets under me with every twitch of my legs. I can’t sit still, and keeping my distance feels like the safest option.

As safe as I can be with both of them here, in my apartment, with me.

Alone.