Chapter One
Sadie
Careful of the delicate roots, I scoop the pink flowers from the soil and settle them into a larger pot where they won’t be so stifled.
Even the deadliest things deserve the chance to grow.
I lean forward and pull in a long breath through my nose, eyes shutting with pleasure at the sweet vanilla scent. My favorite.
Once the oleander is repotted, I make a quick circuit to check the horsenettle, then the bog beds where the water hemlock sulks in its wet soil, leaves glossy and deceptively calm.
From there, I cut back toward the cooler wing, where valerian rests beneath filtered light and open vents, its roots kept cold and dry.
The greenhouse is divided into five sections to suit the needs of the various plants. They range from generally safe, like the valerian and mugwort, to incredibly deadly, like the belladonna. The whole greenhouse stays locked, day and night.
That doesn’t seem to stop my best friend from plundering the space, though. She’s unaware that I know about her occasional “shopping” trips here or the money she sneaks into my safe.
She also doesn’t know that I see the darkness in her.
She probably thinks I’d be horrified to learn whatever secrets she keeps locked away.
Or terrified to see the most visceral part of her soul.
I wish I could drag her into this greenhouse and scream at her, See?
I love gorgeous and deadly things! But that would probably send her running for the hills.
I’m glad she has Theo. Especially now, with how off she’s been acting these past few weeks. It doesn’t matter what Rose and Evelyn think about him, I know this relationship is good for her. He’ll match her darkness.
I shake my head, shoving thoughts of June out of my mind, and leave the greenhouse to make passionflower tea.
Over the next hour, a handful of customers come and go, most buying household plants.
Then a young woman, probably only a few years my senior, walks in, and I stand, knowing in my gut that this customer is different.
She has long, braided hair and a thick layer of makeup that doesn’t quite cover the bruising on her jaw.
“Welcome to Seedling Sanctuary. How can I help you?”
The woman glances over her shoulder, and if the bruise wasn’t enough, that move tells me all I need to know about her. She closes the distance between us with small steps.
“I’m here for, uh… an anniversary present.”
I nod. “What year are you celebrating?”
“Our third.”
“What sort of palate does your husband have?” This isn’t typically a coded question that new customers are prepared for.
If they’ve been sent by a friend or found me through reputation, they’ll likely only know to say they need an anniversary present and to give me a number out of ten on how much damage they need to do.
Ten means I break out the water hemlock or belladonna and have a long conversation in my office about other options, what to expect, and disclaimers, like the fact that neither hemlock nor belladonna are undetectable, though they aren’t tested for in a routine autopsy.
I rarely sell either plant, and when I have, it’s barely been enough for a fatal dose.
Anytime a customer gives me an eight or higher, I send them away with two things: the product they came to purchase and the number of a certain therapist with a darkness inside and a hatred for men who hurt women.
I’m always careful to make sure the women don’t tell June I sent them, but I try to keep up with them after they leave my shop.
Two of them are now free of their abusers, who disappeared without a trace within a year of their first appointments with June.
I re-focus on the woman in front of me. I suspect her “three” is actually closer to a five or six, but I won’t push her about it.
“He eats anything if it’s smothered in barbecue sauce,” she answers.
“Can he handle spice?”
She nods.
“Perfect, I have just the thing for you.” Thirty minutes later, I watch her walk out, a little bag with foxglove hanging from her tense fingers.
She’ll be back with a higher number later.
They always are. What they buy from me gives them a few hours of reprieve, maybe a chance to escape, but not freedom.
I’m restocking the shelf of fertilizer when the bell above the front door jingles.
I look up, prepared to greet the customer with a smile, when my lips falter halfway.
Evelyn walks to me. Her curly blonde hair sits in a knot on top of her head and exhaustion lines her face and darkens the skin under her eyes.
Quickly, I plaster the smile back on my face, ignoring the unease that sprouted at the sight of her. It might be Saturday, but she’d typically be locked in her office, drowning in paperwork. “Ev!” Meeting her halfway, I pull her into an unreciprocated hug. “What’s up? Is everything okay?”
“Did you know June hasn’t been back to her house this week?”
I blink, wondering if I blacked out and missed the first part of this conversation. Then I remind myself this is what Evelyn does. She skips pleasantries and small talk when she has something pressing on her mind.
“How do you know?” June doesn’t share her location with any of us. I have my suspicions about the reason why, but I’m sure Evelyn doesn’t share them.
Her fair cheeks flush. “I put a piece of scotch tape on her door on Tuesday evening. I just checked this morning, and it’s still there. She hasn’t opened the door at all.”
I frown, slightly impressed yet annoyed on June’s behalf at the same time.
“She’s probably with Theo,” I say. The relationship still fills me with surprise anytime I think about it.
Not because of who June is dating—in fact, a guy like Theo is exactly who I pictured for her.
Someone who would see her darkness and feel a kinship, a place to call home.
Not someone afraid of the dark. No, what’s surprising is that she’s dating anyone at all.
June and I took our distrust of men and ran in opposite directions. Where she keeps them all at a distance, I keep several close enough to watch but far enough that it’s easy to cut ties when I inevitably need to.
“That doesn’t bother you?” Ev asks. Her eyes are wide, like she sees a danger no one else can.
I pull in a breath, careful not to sigh. “June isn’t dumb, Ev. I know it seems weird, but if he makes her happy, then shouldn’t we trust her judgement?”
She crosses her arms, frowning. “You know as well as I do how easy it is to be blinded by a man’s bad side.”
I wince but force the words to drip cleanly off my back. “Then we make sure to be there for her just in case. But until this guy gives us a reason to distrust him, I think we should support our friend.”
“He’s a criminal. That’s reason enough.”
So is June, I think. But Evelyn can never know that.
As much as I love her, I also know her morality is far too rigid to accept the grey that June lives in.
“That doesn’t inherently make him a bad guy.
And being a law-abiding citizen doesn’t make a man safe and trustworthy. Something else we both know.”
This time, it’s Ev who winces. “Did you know his gang has had run-ins with others in Tucson? And several of their members have served time. Two months ago, one of them was arrested for assault. He beat a guy unconscious. Nearly killed him.”
“Was it Theo?”
She shakes her head.
“Then we don’t have to worry about June.”
Her mouth drops open in obvious shock. “He’s a member of their gang! Which means June is probably spending a lot of time around him. Plus, if he did that, the rest of them are capable of it, too.”
“June can take care of herself. You’ve seen her at kickboxing and self-defense classes.”
“You’re telling me that because she can kick a bag hanging from a ceiling, you’re not worried about her being surrounded by violent criminals?
Sleeping with one? What about her job? What do you think would happen if her clients found out who she’s dating?
She hasn’t even been fully licensed for two years. This could ruin her career.”
There’s so much more going on here, but suggesting that this might be personal for Ev and not about June at all wouldn’t go well. “Her dating life has nothing to do with her work. I don’t think she’s inviting Theo to her sessions.”
Ev gives me a pitying look, which makes me bristle. I might not know what it’s like being a therapist, but I know June more than Evelyn ever will.
“You’re really going to sit back and let her do this?”
“It’s none of our business.”
“She’s your best friend.”
“Exactly.”
Ev’s jaw flexes. “If I could go back in time, I’d do anything to have a friend stop me from marrying Ivan.”
Her words thaw something icy in me, and my shoulders relax. “Ev…”
“I found out the gang’s vice president has a fight tonight. It’s one of those underground fight things. You know. The illegal and dangerous kind? I came to ask if you wanted to go.”
My eyebrows shoot up. “You want to go to an illegal cage fight?”
“Not to watch. Just to make sure June isn’t there. People get hurt at those things.”
“Seriously?” She opens her mouth, but I press forward before she can argue.
“I know you’re worried about her, and it’s sweet, but you need to let this go.
She’s an adult, and she knows what she’s doing.
All we can do is be there for her if she needs us.
What you’re talking about is dangerously close to stalking. ”
The pink tinge returns to her cheeks, darker this time. “I’m trying to protect her.”
“How about, instead, you try to love her the way she needs? She isn’t Emerie, Ev.” I regret the words as soon as they leave my lips but don’t take them back. Even when she straightens her shoulders and every ounce of emotion drains from her face.
“Fine. But remember this when we’re either sitting at June’s trial or her funeral.” Then she turns and storms out of my shop, leaving me momentarily stuck in a tangle of weeds in my mind. Finally, I shake the conversation away and return to work.
I close the shop early and take Soot, my doofus of a dog who looks scarier than he is—I mean, the guy is a Great Dane, but I swear I saw him run from a ladybug last week—on a long walk.
When it does nothing to erase the tumultuous thoughts, I text Lionel, hoping to silence my mind with a decently attractive man willing to do whatever I tell him in bed.
Unfortunately, he has plans, and out of the other two guys on my rotation, one recently ended things to be monogamous with his girlfriend and the other is out of town for work.
Before I can overthink it, I text Maple, Rose’s younger sister, who’s a wiz with computers and has morals that could rival June’s.
ME
Can you find out where an underground fight would be happening tonight?
Her reply comes quickly, and manages to pull my lips into a grin.
MAPLE CAKES
Have you forgotten the first rule of fight club?
Also, I’m offended that you have to ask. Of course I can.
ME
All I know is one of the fighters is the vice president of the Saints of Purgatory.
MAPLE CAKES
That’s more than enough. Standby.
It takes three minutes before she sends me an address, followed by a request for videos.
The entire drive to the warehouse across town, the word “hypocrite” blares in my mind. It only gets louder when I pay the cover charge, walk inside, and relax upon not immediately seeing Evelyn.
The warehouse is packed and so loud that the noise vibrates against my skin.
It smells like sweat, cigarettes, and alcohol.
I continue scanning the crowd, and when I see a couple leather jackets that say “Saints of Purgatory” on the back, I move in the other direction until I’m facing them across the room.
I stay on the edges of the crowd where an escape route is shortest and the most unobstructed.
Two guys are already in the makeshift ring in the center, pummeling each other with a viciousness that looks animalistic.
They’re both covered in blood and sweat.
The shorter of the two throws an uppercut that catches his opponent under the chin and sends him flying to the floor.
He lays motionless, and a second later, the crowd erupts in an ear-splitting cheer.
The shorter guy is declared the winner, while the other is dragged off, hopefully just unconscious and not dead.
I examine the crowd again, lingering on the group of bikers. There are a few women among them but none are June. No Evelyn either.
A large man bumps into me and I take a step back, keeping my head angled away, but he must still get a good enough look, because he slurs, “Yo, who do we have here? You lost, chica?”
How original. I don’t reply. Which is a mistake, because he reaches over and grabs my arm, turning me to face him.
“I was talking to you, bitch.”
“Roger, come on, man,” another guy says.
Roger’s beady eyes stay pinned on me. “What are you doing here? Hoping to slum it with a real man? Or you a snitch?”
I glare at him, swallowing my response.
“You look like a snitch.”
Because I’m clean and don’t have any tattoos? “Not a snitch. I’m here to watch my friend fight.”
“Oh yeah? You got a friend here? Who?”
Some divine being is smiling down on me, because the next moment, a booming voice announces the next fighter, James Hartley. “Him,” I say, pointing back to the cage. “James.”
Roger clearly doesn’t believe me. My eyes jump between the myriad of strangers surrounding us, desperately looking for a savior that’s not there. When I notice the Saints cheering louder than before, yelling James’s name, I make a guess and hope for the best. “The VP of the Saints of Purgatory.”
Finally, he falters. His hold on my arm loosens enough for me to pull free. “I don’t believe you.”
“I don’t care. Just know that James, and the rest of the Saints, Theo included, won’t be happy if something happens to me,” I say, hoping he can’t see the bluff all over my face.
“If you’re here with the Saints, why aren’t you over there with them?”
“I didn’t say I was a Saint.” Why didn’t I bring my gun with me?
Roger’s face contorts with anger, and he goes to grab me again, but I step out of his reach, perfectly dodging him. He shouts, and I feel several people turn to look at us. My blood roars, and fear washes out any thought that isn’t RUN.
So, I do. I sprint away and don’t slow down until I’m safely in my car. Only then do coherent thoughts return with a vengeance, my own brain yelling about how fucking stupid I am.