CHAPTER TWENTY MOLLY
CHAPTER TWENTY
MOLLY
Oh. No, no, no. I woke up, but unlike last time, everything came flooding back.
My dad.
Me drinking. Lots of drinking.
Katya.
Ashton.
Jess.
Jess left.
Ashton left and bam ! Exploding doors. Lockpicking strangers and pop, pop, pop . Ashton killing a man in my apartment.
I was in a bed but flung back the covers.
I wanted answers, and I wouldn’t stop until I got them.
I headed downstairs, following the sounds of chopping and cutting, until the room completely opened up.
A guy was in the kitchen and waved a knife at me.
“Hey.” This man was beyond pretty. Blond hair.
Green eyes. High arching cheekbones. He was wearing a merino polo shirt, and I would not be surprised if he had on some Italian loafers.
“You work for Ashton?”
His smile faded, and he nodded. “I do. My name is Avery.”
A male Avery? I liked it. “I’m Molly.”
“I know.” He motioned around the kitchen with his knife. “Want something to eat or drink?”
I shook my head, biting my lip because damn. He was cutting up vegetables. I loved vegetables, and my stomach growled, reminding me of that.
“You sure?” His grin was knowing.
“Where’s Ashton?”
He lost his grin again. “Can’t tell you that.” Ignoring my insta-scowl, he held up a bowl from beside him and showed me what was inside. Rainbow-colored frosted cupcakes.
My stomach was growling again. “Then call him.”
He lowered the cupcakes, studying me a little. “Okay.”
Avery was reaching for a button when we could hear footsteps coming from down a hallway. Ashton appeared, putting his phone away. He perused me before walking into the kitchen, passing behind Avery. “You look well.”
Avery paused in his cutting, watching for my reaction.
I shifted on my feet. “I want answers, Ashton. What happened last night?”
He motioned for the coffee machine. “I can make you an espresso. Do you want one?”
My mouth was instantly watering, and dammit, but I nodded.
I gave in. Why was I feeling this was a tit-for-tat kind of situation?
That’s not at all how I lived. You were all in or all out.
You either gave or you didn’t. This keeping track of what I won versus what he gave was exhausting and making my headache worse.
Also, I had a headache. I didn’t even know until now.
I was blaming the rainbow-frosted cupcakes for distracting me.
“You killed a guy at my place. And where am I? Just ...” God. My head was now killing me. “I’m developing a sixth sense with you. I feel like you’re planning something. What are you planning, and most importantly, how does it involve me?”
He stared at me a bit before slowly and calmly, which was irritating the fuck out of me, programming an espresso in his fancy machine that looked like I needed a PhD in alien language to figure out how to work it myself.
“Why don’t you sit? Avery is my cook when I’m here. He can make you an omelet.”
Gah. I could not get distracted by that omelet, though I wanted to be. “I want to know what is going on.” My throat swelled up. “Is this because of my father? Because what I asked him to find out?”
Ashton and Avery shared a look just as the espresso machine started sputtering to life.
He nodded to the machine. “Can you do two? Bring them to the office? Also, maté for myself.”
“Maté?”
“It’s like a tea, from my grandmother’s country. It’s a common drink.”
Avery nodded. “I can bring the food in as well?”
Ashton was eyeing me as he said, “Yes. I don’t care what she says. She needs to eat.”
I wasn’t about to protest because hello, I was not one to turn down food. Ever.
Ashton was heading back along the hallway he’d just left. “Come on, Molly. Unless you don’t actually want to get those answers after all?”
Nope. No way. I followed him into his office, and I was the one to close the door as he went to stand behind his desk.
“Who was the lockpick guy?”
He frowned at me.
I held up a hand. “Don’t lie to me. Your men were there.
I’m not stupid. Between you and Trace, you’re the one who gets shit done.
You wade in and get your hands dirty. Trace was a Wall Street guy before he took over his family’s business, but you, you were always more in than he was.
I know you know who that guy was. Your men probably identified him and have already done a complete investigation into everything about him.
This was all started because I sent my father out there to find who killed Justin and Kelly, isn’t it? ”
I was the one to blame.
My throat was burning.
Ashton stopped frowning, but he gave me a more contemplative look before nodding.
“I think your father kicked a hornet’s nest, but—” Now he was the one to hold up a hand as I’d been about to interrupt.
He kept talking, softening his tone. “I was the one who did this, not you, not him. You want to blame someone, put it on me. I’m the one who decided to use you to get your father to do this job. We’ve talked about all of this.”
My head started pounding, and I needed to sit down.
“There’s a different feel when you have someone trying to break into your apartment, and what was that on my door?
A bomb? It must’ve been a small one. That means someone else was there because you said the lockpicker guy wasn’t the one who did that.
That means two guys were sent, by two different people.
What did I get myself into? What did I get my dad into? ”
Ashton’s eyes went flat. “If anyone will survive this, you know it will be your dad.”
That was true. We were cockroaches.
“Who was the guy, Ashton?”
He came back around the desk and handed me a file before sitting on the seat next to me. “His name is Wallace Birchum. He goes by Walleye.”
I took the file, opening it. He looked different from when he was kneeling before my exploding door. His picture was rougher, his hair a mess. He was unshaven. His eyes glazed over. Dark hair. Dark eyes. “So who is Wallace Birchum?”
Ashton didn’t reply at first, until he took the file away. “He’s a hit man.”
A hit man?!
Oh, god.
I sank back in my chair.
“He’s also a CI for the police.”
A CI. Confidential informant, and a hit man. “He diversified his street résumé.”
The corner of Ashton’s mouth twitched. “We got into his phone, and he received a call four hours earlier from Detective Worthing.”
Every muscle in my body snapped to attention. “What?”
“I sent my men to pick up the detective so we can have a talk about this man.”
Alarm sirens were blaring through my whole body, but also a whole different type of alarm was sounding. “He’s a cop.”
“Yes.”
“You’re picking up a cop to talk?”
“Yes.”
I was remembering when they were at Easter Lanes—“Wait. Easter Lanes? Is someone still covering me there?”
“We’re paying your cousin to run Easter Lanes while you’re with me.”
“He can handle covering for a shift, but not any longer than that. He’ll mess everything up.”
But wait again, Detective Worthing. “Worthing called you that day, and you said that he did. I saw the look he gave you and how his partner reacted.” I was a little slow, but this was clicking at least. “You wanted his partner to know.”
“I did.”
“Why? You guys had an exchange at the end, and you said it was about him thinking we’re sleeping together. That wasn’t the truth, was it?”
“I didn’t want him to guess what I was going to have your dad do.”
“But his partner? What was that about?”
He studied me a moment before getting up and returning behind his desk.
His hands went into his pockets, and his shoulders hunched forward and down.
It gave him a whole different vibe, more relaxed, more trusting, but I knew not to believe it.
No matter my own messed-up attraction, no matter how many times I enjoyed the feel of his body against mine, Ashton Walden was still Mafia.
“My family works with the West family, and both of us run this city. I handle a lot, but one of those roles is the authorities. Do you know what I’m referring to?”
My mouth dried. I nodded. “You got cops on your payroll.”
“Cops. Detectives. Feds. Judges. Lawyers. Paralegals. Anyone in a place of authority, and if I don’t have them in my pocket, I have someone right next to them in my pocket. Before his family declared war against mine, Detective Worthing was one of those men.”
“You said that to out him to his partner.”
“I said that to drop a seed in his partner’s mind.
Worthing is good at his job. He used to walk the line real well, but yes, now he’ll have to worry about what his partner is thinking and observing.
And if Worthing is the man who ordered Walleye to break into your place, I want to know why, and I don’t have time to waste. ”
“What about the bomb?”
“It was sent to be analyzed. We were told it was faulty. It was supposed to go off when you opened the door. There was a delay in the switch, so whoever bought it, put it together, or installed it messed up. I’m hoping to get to whoever messed up before their boss gets to them.”
Right. Yeah. Okay. A bomb that was supposed to kill me.
A bomb ...
Pressure was attacking me from all sides.
Hands touched me on my shoulder. “Breathe, Molly.”
I couldn’t. That was the problem.
I was totally hyperventilating.
I heard someone cursing next to me, and I was being picked up.
I tried fighting, twisting. Reaching for anything, but I was being carried out of the room. We went through a doorway, I reached out, my nails dug into the wood paneling, but he didn’t stop. We didn’t stop. My nail tore. I saw it, registered it, but didn’t feel it.
My body was burning up.
I couldn’t—water was turned on.
Water?
I lifted my head, but we were stepping inside a shower, and the water hit us hard.
I jerked out of his arms. It was Ashton holding me.
I tried getting away from him, away from that water, but he held me against the wall, leaning over, and I gasped again; this time I could get air into my lungs. I drew in deep breaths, trying to fill my lungs as much as I could.
I never wanted to feel that again, never ever.
I felt burning at my eyes but ignored it. The water was cascading down my face. The tears were camouflaged. A firm finger tipped up my chin, lifting my head. That water poured down, washing everything away, and I moved back enough so I could open my eyes just outside of the stream.
He was watching me, his own eyes dark and somber. His thumb moved over my chin. “I’m sorry all of this is happening to you.”
His hand cupped the side of my face, his thumb brushing up and over my cheek before he held the back of my head. His palm was firm, his fingers spreading out, and I felt fully anchored in his hand.
God.
My breath caught again, but my body was warming up.
He moved in, closer, blocking the water.
The air electrified.
We were in our own pocket, like under a waterfall. I could go there, let the world fall away. Let reason and sense fade, wash away with the water, and I wanted that.
I wanted that desperately.
I began reaching for him as his other hand went to my hip, pulling me against him.
His eyes were so intense, molten. They were firmly fixated on my lips.
I wanted him to kiss me. I wanted to feel the pressure of his lips on me, the texture. How he’d taste. How he’d taste me, and I was standing up on my tiptoes as my thoughts ceased.
I was just feeling. Needing.
“Boss—oh shit! Sorry.” Avery’s voice came from the doorway, but I felt Ashton pulling away before he moved back.
The pocket was gone. We were back to this world, where there was murder, bombs, disappointing dads, and the Mafia. Right. That was the world I was now in, fully and completely.
Ashton drew in a ragged breath, and he’d been watching me as reason settled over me, like a wet blanket.
His hand slipped from the back of my head, but he drew it around my throat, his thumb grazing my jawline, the side, until he ended it at my chin before letting it drop all the way and taking one more step back.
“You should eat.” He turned and left.
I stayed and let the water pour down on me for a minute longer before I turned it off.