29. Franki
twenty-nine
Henry sinks into the tub behind me, pulling me back to recline against him.
The hot water soothes, and his body anchors me. Henry’s muscular thighs extend to either side of mine, and his arms wrap around my torso, so that I’m effectively surrounded by the man I love.
Henry’s tension is palpable, and I try to lighten the mood. “I’m ready. Is it worse than carrying my underwear around like a weirdo?”
“Yes.” One firm word. No equivocation or teasing reply.
My heart lurches with a burst of anxiety.
“You’re aware I’m involved in certain activities that are outside of normal legal channels.” He runs a wet hand up my arm. “Would it surprise you to know that we investigated Dean?”
I sit forward, then turn to face him, resting on my knees. “Why? Is he . . . did Dean do something?”
Henry lifts a sardonic eyebrow. “We rarely know anyone is a criminal for certain until we start looking at evidence. But no. Dean is squeaky clean. We investigate anyone with direct access to our family. Anyone who could potentially be bought, coerced, or manipulated.”
It takes a moment for me to understand. When I do, betrayal hits me like a slap to the face. “You’re going to investigate me?”
“I already have.”
The words sink in with claws and teeth. “You said you trusted me.”
What once sounded like praise so faint as to be an insult has taken on greater weight. Trust is hard-earned for Henry.
“I trust you.” He runs a hand over my hair. “But my family has enemies who could use you.”
“You mean criminals who know the type of work you do.”
“Possibly. Yes.”
“When did you investigate me?” I don’t know why this bothers me so much. It’s not like there was anything terrible for them to find, but it feels like a violation.
He rubs the back of his neck and looks away. “You started coming to our home when you were eight.”
I don’t even realize my mouth has fallen open until I have to shut it to speak. “You investigated a child?”
“I didn’t. I was a child then too. But yes, we did. We investigated your parents and you. And since you remained close to Bronwyn, we’ve always kept eyes on you.”
“Kept eyes on me. Literally? You had people watching me?”
“There was no one following you. We kept an ear out for rumors, changes in spending habits, unexplained absences. Financial or medical upheaval. New people entering your sphere.”
“This is sick. I’m not a criminal. I have a right to privacy.”
Henry’s jaw flexes, and his brows furrow as he trains his blue gaze on mine.
“You’re not even sorry. You’d do it again,” I say in disbelief.
Never breaking eye contact, he reaches for my hand and presses it under the water to the scar on his abdomen, his skin hot under my touch. “A child was responsible for this. My brother had no idea what was happening until it was too late. They manipulated him. It doesn’t mean we couldn’t trust him. It meant he was vulnerable, and we have a responsibility to protect our vulnerable,” he says gently.
Stricken, I look down at the place where he’s holding my hand against him.
“My biggest regret is that I didn’t ask you not to go with your mother in the first place. My second biggest regret is that I didn’t tell you to call me to bring you home the moment you realized you were unhappy with her. The one thing I’m not sorry for is checking on you. I wish I’d been more thorough about it. You were hurt and afraid, physically and emotionally, and I didn’t know. That’s my regret.”
I lean forward and rest my forehead on his shoulder.
His wet hand moves up to splay wide across the center of my back. “I don’t like ripping off your rose-colored glasses. I’m not a hero and I never have been. I’m not going to lie to you about this and pretend I give a fuck about laws written in books. I care about your feelings, but I care about keeping you and my family safe more.”
“Your parents did everything they could to give you normal lives, including friends.” It’s a denial, not because I don’t believe him, but because I wish I didn’t.
“I’ve never had a normal life, but they gave us what they knew how to. Within reason.”
“You could have been raised like Clarissa.” Clarissa’s childhood and teenage years were spent as a virtual prisoner. Even inside the classroom, a private bodyguard hovered in the background.
“The only reason Clarissa Harcourt’s father permitted her the small freedoms he did was because we claimed her as ours. Most of the time, our reputation acts as a deterrent to harm. Few come after us when they know annihilation will be the result. We aren’t under constant guard unless we have reason to believe there’s an active threat. But it only works if we’re diligent enough to root out problems early. We can’t get sloppy.”
He avoids my eyes and plays with my fingers. “Do you understand what I do, Franki?”
“You investigate criminals. Organized crime bosses. Sex traffickers. People running guns. Pedophiles and murderers.”
“I do more than investigate.”
I press his hand to my heart. “I know there are people with so much power that charges never stick, no matter how much evidence you find. I know there are monsters who need someone like you to stop them.”
“I’ve killed. Many times. I need you to know that I would end myself before I ever hurt you.”
“Do you like to kill people?” I know the answer, but I want to give him the opportunity to say it.
“Does it matter?” He asks in evident exasperation.
“It matters.”
“No. I don’t like it. I kill when it’s necessary to save lives or stop atrocities. I’ve never killed anyone because I wanted to.”
“Then you’re still one of the good guys.”
He closes his eyes. “You need that from me. For me to be a hero.”
It wasn’t a question, but I answer anyway. “No. I don’t need you to be perfect, and I sure don’t want you living your life for everyone but yourself. As long as you’re trying to do the right thing, that’s all I care about.”
“Are you afraid of me now?”
“No.” I try to smile, but my heart hurts for him. “I already knew.”
I guide his hand to my throat. “Feel. I’m not afraid.”
Henry’s thumb skates over my steady pulse. His fingers tighten just enough that I know he’s holding me on his own now. Then he leans forward and presses his lips to mine, before pulling back and searching my eyes. “I’ll always try.”
Henry releases me, then makes room for me once more, so I sit with my back to his front.
I lift the sponge from beside the tub and make bubbles with the body wash. He huffs in laughter when I plop two white globs of suds on his upraised knees, then he gives a full-body shiver and rinses them off.
No more bubbles on Henry. Got it. “You know, I can’t help but wonder how, if you investigated all of us, you could let a jerk like Louis hang around Bronwyn.”
“Obviously, it’s an imperfect system. We’re making some adjustments.”
I hold the sponge high and squeeze, letting bubbles trail down my arm before they slide onto my thighs. “The life I had before I returned to New York is over,” I say in satisfaction. No matter what. My mother is my past. She has no part in my future.
“My sister and mother lead mostly normal lives. You can, too, when the current threat is under control.” His voice is cold and flat, but his hand flexes on my hip. “After that, whether you’re with me or not, the primary difference will be that now you know you’re being watched.”
I turn my head to take in his expression.
He’s still worried I’ll leave him. He thinks his revelations haven’t sunk in for me yet. That I’ll think about it later and want to run away.
Anyone else would think Henry looked and sounded like an arrogant dick right now, but I know better than to take that heavy-lidded expression and drawling coldness at face value. Henry is the last thing from bored or arrogant. His knuckles are white where he grips the edge of the tub, and a pulse thrums like hummingbird wings in his throat.
He’s coped with this stress since childhood, and he’ll continue to live with at least some version of it for the rest of his life. He invited me in because he knows I can handle it, and because he respects my right to know more than he fears losing me. But he does fear losing me. Desperately.
“I’m happy that my life has changed, and I always want the truth. Will you tell me what happened the night you were shot?”
His expression remains flat; his tone bored. “I was twelve. Gabriel was ten. Our father was the hero who’d cleaned up New York City. Mobsters were afraid to even dip their toes in the Hudson as far as Gabriel and I could see.”
Oh no.
“Our parents’ rules were stupid and unfair. What twelve-year-old isn’t allowed to surf the internet? We didn’t need bodyguards. We could take care of ourselves. That’s what we thought. My training started at five years old. Gabriel was three. It was . . . relentless. Martial arts. Weapons. I was stabbing watermelons at six and fully articulated human dummies by seven. We studied languages like our lives would depend on them. Anatomy and physiology. Criminal psychology. It was a game to me. I know you saw some of the training. We let you practice with Bronwyn.”
“Firearm training was the only one I did with her,” I say.
He tips his head back to look at the ceiling. “We were convinced we were invincible. Gabriel started sneaking out past the guards to meet a friend. I caught him doing it, but instead of raising the alarm, I followed him. All the way into an ambush in an underground fight club owned by a Russian syndicate.”
He runs damp fingers up my arm. Down. “There were three men torturing my brother. They didn’t know I’d followed him. To get him out, I killed them all. Before that night, I thought I’d never be able to do it. The sight of blood made me gag. But all the training and repetition kicked in.”
I straddle him, so we’re face-to-face, and he pulls me against his chest.
“You were shot in the fight?” I ask.
He shakes his head and gives a huff of sardonic laughter. “Part of our training was distinguishing threats from innocent bystanders. You can’t lose your cool and hurt random people in the crossfire. In our practice sessions, I had a near 100 percent success rate. When a woman came into the room, my guard went down. She acted sympathetic. Asked if we were okay and if she could call our parents for help. I thought we were going to be okay. I lowered my weapon.”
His lips twist. “And she shot me through the pocket of her cardigan sweater.”
I clutch him tighter, as if his wound is fresh, and I’m losing him to it now.
He sighs without sound and runs his fingers up my spine. “Then Gabriel shot her. I had to threaten to shoot him to leave me and get help. I thought I was going to die and didn’t want someone to catch him while he tried to carry a corpse out of the building.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry. You saved me.” The flatness has left his voice.
He guides me to sit up, and I look at him in confusion.
Henry smooths my hair behind my ear. “I met you two months after that night. I was shutting down. The doctors couldn’t help. The therapist wasn’t making a dent because I didn’t want him to. I wanted to punish myself. Everything that happened was my fault because I didn’t stop my brother when I should have. I followed him to see what he was doing. I was jealous of his adventures.”
“You were a child.”
He swallows hard and shakes his head. “I know. But I was using a child’s logic. When I closed my eyes, all I could see was blood. All I heard was gunfire and screams. And then there you were. You didn’t look at me like I was a monster or a victim. You thought I had all the answers. You showed me that the person I used to be was still alive inside me.”
He holds my head between both hands. “You reminded me that there was strength in gentleness and resilience. I felt like myself again when I was with you. For you, I was just your friend’s brother. For me? You were my salvation.”