14. Bay
FOURTEEN
bay
I got semi-comfortable for one fucking minute and everything around me decided it was enough time to throw me for another loop.
It’s my fault.
Everything is.
I should’ve kept my damn distance from the boys like I told myself to do a million times over so that, maybe, this blow wouldn’t hit as hard. This world isn’t for the weak of heart. There is no reason to trust anyone outside of South Shore.
No one.
Not even men who bring back your sisters unscathed, hand you keys to a house, and stock the damn fridge.
That night I was in your house to off your dad… that wasn’t Cairo in your house with me. It was your new husband. You pointed that shotgun right at his chest and pulled the fucking trigger.
I remember that night like it was yesterday.
I just can’t believe I didn’t catch a vibe that Ozzy was the alleged person standing in front of me. That he just stood there like a shotgun wasn’t shit.
“Better listen up, dickhead,” I warn. “Takes one pull and you’re done.”
He stares down the barrel then flicks his gaze to me again. My body buzzes in warning that he’s a psycho. I would have someone demented and fearless walk into my home in the middle of the night because that’s my luck.
“Do it.”
For the last two days, I’ve tried to stay home to catch him. Ellie and Mae have loved it, using me up for board games, movies, painting our nails, and braiding each other’s hair, but my head isn’t fully with them.
It should be.
It’s not, though.
Another thing these boys have taken away from me is my right to peace. I’ve received only a tiny sliver of it because my past came back to bite me square on the ass.
It’s late, after ten, and the girls are sleeping in their new rooms. The house is deathly quiet. Dad’s ESPN isn’t softly broadcasting from a TV anymore.
I’m alone.
In a new house that’s not mine.
Not emotionally anyway.
I can only focus on the fact I’m married to a man who was twenty seconds away from killing my dad as I sit at the kitchen island with the same weapon that I used that night in my lap.
I don’t have Ozzy’s number to call or text. I’m not sure if tonight will be the night he’ll finally grace me with his presence, but he’ll never throw me off again.
And I want answers.
My luck finally decides to give me a break, and the door to the house opens with a key. Raising the gun and positioning the butt into my shoulder, I bide my time for what I hope will be a body of black to show up down my sight and not Levi asking me what the fuck I’m doing.
However, my luck breaks, and the latter doesn’t happen.
And, in true Ozzy fashion, he doesn’t flinch, move, or say a fucking thing to me.
Maybe he has so much guilt that it chokes him into not being able to say a word. For all I know, he could’ve been expecting this moment.
“We know each other,” I quip, brushing the trigger of the gun with my index finger. “You forgot to mention that.”
Ozzy doesn’t show shit—an ounce of remorse, a fuck, nothing.
I rack the gun and bring it up to my cheek, lining up my shot to his chest. “I want answers. I want to know why you decided to use yourself as tribute to marry me.”
“Don’t look down the side of the barrel,” he mutters. “Position the gun?—”
“I fucking know how to shoot,” I snap, careful to keep my finger away from squeezing the metal lever. “Tell me why you married me. I don’t know you. But you obviously know me. So there has to be a catch. I want to know Emilio’s angle.”
My jaw tightens at his unresponsiveness.
“I’m really not a patient person, as I’m sure you know.”
“You know his angle.”
I hate that he doesn’t speak to me and confirms it. I just need someone to fucking tell me exactly what’s going on so I don’t have to make a what-if list and figure it out the hard way.
“I want you to tell me.” Ozzy inches closer to me, but I counter it. “Don’t come near me. I don’t trust you. You could’ve murdered my whole fucking family that night. I don’t want you anywhere near me or them ever again.”
I don’t miss the shift in his weight, but nothing in his expression changes, hinting that he might be nervous or scared. “I could’ve done that already.”
I scoff. “What, you didn’t have your black ski mask with you that day?” He responds with that repetitive silence, so I take the con and continue. “Why did you marry me? I killed your Torin’s brother.”
A few beats go by before he asks me, “Did you?”
There’s no conviction behind his question. It almost sounds sad in a way.
He’s a grown man with a blanket of sadness over him, and I’m torn between putting him out of his misery and mine or giving him a well-needed hug.
But then there’s the whole breaking into my house thing, and the latter doesn’t sound good enough unless there’s a knife involved.
“Does it matter?” I counter back. “You don’t know all the facts, but you’re still here anyway.”
He shoves his hands into the pockets of his tight black jeans, and I look for any straining lines along his black tattoos. His eyes, those deep crystal blues hold on to me and nothing more. He doesn’t look at the heavy weapon in my hands, just me.
Only ever me.
“Who are you?” My own inquiry comes out shaky, and I’m back to second-guessing everything. Is he a friend, an enemy, someone who was brought into this against his will? Why him over Ramsey?
“Protecting you.”
Two words that almost take my breath away. They’re sincere and to the point.
Are they, though, idiot?
It’s all I’ve seen. Just a handful of words and plenty of actions.
I find my grip on the gun loosening, but I don’t lower it because he hasn’t answered all my questions, and I might not like those answers.
“Why did Emilio want my dad dead?” Ozzy only cocks his head, as if studying how much of a moron I am. “Because…of me.”
I swallow, knowing that in my DNA lies my biggest enemy.
“Why didn’t you do it?”
He shakes his head, alluding that he doesn’t want to tell me that story. And I find myself thinking that’s too fucking bad.
“I don’t like secrets.” Ozzy raises his chin, authenticating that he’s not budging. “Are you Emilio’s solidier?”
“No.” I instantly recognize that he needed to tell me that answer verbally.
“Why does he trust you, then?”
Because you’re smarter than you seem.
He doesn’t offer me that piece of the puzzle either. Which leads me to the obvious.
“You’re playing him, aren’t you?”
The front door opens, and Ozzy is quick to line his spine to the wall opposite the entryway. His head is turned in the direction of who’s about to walk in so he can pounce, if needed.
I’m so stupidly drawn into what he’s doing—that he’d still protect me even though our whole conversation has taken place with my holding a shotgun at him—that I don’t see Levi walk the hell in.
“What the fuck are you doing?” he thunders out, causing me to jolt in response.
My eyes latch onto Levi, and I still don’t remove the direction of my gun. “Protecting myself from people who just walk into my fucking house.”
Levi glances over his shoulder, finding Ozzy who hasn’t moved, and rolls his eyes. “Geezus Christ, what the hell are you two doing now?”
“We were talking,” I deadpan.
“About what ?” Levi doesn’t pry his fixed stare off Ozzy, sounding fatigued, as if he doesn’t have another ounce of energy to spend on it. “And why does that include a damn shotgun, Astor?”
I take a page out of Ozzy’s book and choose not to respond.
“ Well ?” My best friend steers his question to me, but it lacks the sternness and irritation of just a moment ago. “Do I get to stand here and guess all night? I’m tired, Bay.”
Same.
However, my best friend deserves an answer.
“I was just looping Ozzy in on what happens when he breaks into my house in the middle of the night with my sisters inside.”
His brows clash. “He just broke in ?”
“No, months ago. He was with Reeve Stanton that night. The one when I shot?—”
“Oh.” Levi advances to the kitchen, suddenly ignoring the firearm in the room. “That.”
Huh?
I gape at him as he yanks open the fridge and pulls out three beers, balancing them between his thick fingers as he comes up to my side to deposit them.
“What?”
My lips press together to form words, but they don’t correlate with my brain.
I remember how pissed he was the following day. How I needed to take it more seriously. Asking me if I pissed someone off in a way that would’ve led them to breaking and entering.
Levi reaches for the shotgun still aimed at Ozzy and slowly lowers it. “Easy, killer. I’ll explain everything.”
No shit.
But I can’t fathom how Levi is calmly standing here like I just told him about some random, insignificant thing.
“Oz sought me out when he discovered which house he had broken into. Apparently, he didn’t know who was inside only that he had orders.”
“From?”
“Emilio.” He twists the cap off the Coors Light bottle and takes a generous swig. I watch the black ink of his tattoos move with each swallow, then he smacks his lips together.
“And that’s why he’s not dead yet.”
“I…” What the hell? “ Tell me how you’re okay with this. I’m still hella confused.”
“Because he’s Ellie’s fucking brother.” He whips his focus to Ozzy. “And that’s why he’s not dead…yet.”
Slowly, my head cranes back to Ozzy, who’s still just aimlessly staring at me. A surge of protectiveness claims me, and I narrow my focus because— “No…you’re fucking not.”
Ozzy, shockingly, doesn’t confirm or deny the fact.
I need him to confirm or deny that fact. Preferably deny.
All day deny.
“He is,” Levi confirms flatly, bringing his beer back to his mouth again. “He’s also my cousin.”
What in the actual fuck is going on right now?
I lay the shotgun along the kitchen island and fix my best friend with an irritable glower. “Explain.”
“Oh, it’s fucked. But, yeah”—he jerks his head at Oz—“mute boy over there is family.”
“Why didn’t you just…” Say that before? I’m back to looking at Ozzy, don’t know why, when I ask, “Who the fuck are you?”
Honestly, what’s the point? This man is so void of words and answers that I’m wasting my time handing them off to him.
“My Uncle Vinny’s kid, Roger’s brother,” Levi explains. “Ellie and Ozzy have the same mother.” His green eyes meet mine. “So technically, she’s an orphan. Both of her parents are dead. Mae is Roger’s real kid with your stepmom.”
Dad is always taking in strays, myself included.
Which means Ozzy is just like us. Strung through this world without a real family.
“So, Emilio is?—”
“Not related to him,” Levi recites. “Thank fuck for him.”
I glimpse back at Ozzy, who still hasn’t opened his beer or moved from the wall. “You’re an Astor?”
“He’s a Ryland. When Uncle Vinny married Aunt Celine, he took her last name. She was the only girl and wanted to keep her name alive.”
“So…Ellie is a Ryland?”
“Mhm.” Levi takes another drink of his beer, and I can’t pry my hang-up off Ozzy to save my life.
I hate this.
Like the whole damn conversation.
“But he has Astor blood in him,” I deadpan.
Levi hesitates a second before confirming, “He does.”
Everyone does.
Levi. Mae. Ozzy—a man I’ve never met before. He gets to be blood-related to Dad, and I don’t.
I can’t help the jealousy coursing through me because, with everything in me, I want to be an Astor.
“What do you want with this family?” I practically snarl through clenched teeth because there’s something.
I know there is.
He’s not here for shits and giggles. He’s not here out of the kindness of his heart either.
He’s here to destroy.
He works for Emilio.
“Torin called him his cousin,” I tell Levi. “If you tell me that Pretty Boy is an Astor, too…I’m going to lose my shit.”
My best friend cups my elbow for a split second, coaxing me to calm down. “No. Torin’s a Morrison, technically. His father married Roger’s sister, Quinn—” I tear my arm so he can’t touch me again and round on him.
“That means he has Astor blood in him. He’s fucking South Shore?”
“No—well…shit, I don’t know where everyone is from, but?—”
“Roger’s sister. Dad is an Astor. That means that fucker has Astor blood in him.”
Levi’s features soften, but it has no effect on me.
None.
“Bay, calm down. Torin’s a mut. When his mother divorced his dad and he died, she married Emilio and?—”
“I don’t give a fuck what she did. He’s an Astor. He’s my dad. He’s supposed to be my dad.”
Levi inches closer but barely. He knows I’m close to exploding, so he doesn’t push. “Bay, you’re a fucking Astor. Roger made you one.”
“I’m not, though. I’m a Wildes. I have evil blood running through me. No wonder Torin thinks I murdered Judah. He can probably see it in my eyes every time?—”
“ Stop . You’re having a goddamn nervous breakdown. Roger?—”
“Dad. His name is Dad,” I carp out as a broken sob gets away from me. “He’s mine . He told me he was. He was there. He loved me. He said I was his little girl. He told me that?—”
“Bay.”
My brain locks down but only registers that Ozzy spoke. He called my name. He stopped me from shooting out everything else.
Slowly, I turn in his direction, still in the same spot I left him but in an edged blur of heavy tears.
“You’re an Astor.”
My face skews at the fact he’s convinced his opinion of what I am or who I am would have any impact on me, but it does.
Somehow, my rising panic attack or—I’m not sure what it was—begins to dematerialize. Dad’s not here to confirm it, but Ozzy’s three words practically sever whatever was working up in my brain.
Wiping gracelessly at my eyes, I pivot toward the fridge and grab a juice box. I require the damn truth from this man, and there’s only one way I know how to get it.
Placing the Juicy Juice on his side of the kitchen counter, I gesture toward it before taking a seat on the stool.
He doesn’t pry those exemplary blues from me, peering down into my face like he just wants to crack my head open and learn what’s inside.
Kinda morbid but kinda cool, too.
His black tattoos along his neck are mixed together, and I want to learn their story. But we’re at a crossroads.
Things are moving, secrets are coming out, and I have to know his angle.
Reaching for the beer Levi brought over to me, I sit on my stool and wait for him. I won’t say another word or ask another question until he agrees to play.
If not, I’m done with him.
After what seems like forever, Ozzy moves forward, pulling out his own stool, and takes a seat directly in front of me. His long, tatted fingers seize the juice box and rip the straw off the top. Gently, he stabs it into the top of the counter to free the thing before gingerly piercing the hole.
Then he waits.
“Sometimes, I’m going to need words,” I tell him. “Other times, you can answer with sips. One sip is for no. Two sips is for yes. Okay?”
Ozzy doesn’t react in the way anyone else would. It’s stupid. However, I can’t conjure up another way to get him to talk to me.
Finally, he gives me a curt nod, and I inhale deeply.
“What do you want with this family?”
Ozzy folds his hands in his lap. “Nothing.”
“Ellie is your sister,” I ground out. Each word is a piercing little jab to my gut. “Are you here for her?”
He shakes his head.
“Who are you here for?”
“You.”
My eyes slit suspiciously. “For what? So Torin can finally kill me?”
“No.”
“And why should I believe you? I don’t know you.”
“But he knows you, Astor,” Levi mutters out next to me, and I mindlessly capture his focus. “He’s not new.”
“Obviously. He broke into our house.”
Levi steers his gaze to Ozzy. “I’m gonna tell her everything, bruh. So speak up or forever hold your peace like you’ve been doing.”
The room remains still, but I need to observe Ozzy the best I can during whatever it is that Levi’s going to tell me.
I’m held captive by my husband’s blues when Levi takes Ozzy’s quiet as his cue.
“Uncle Vinny, Ozzy’s dad, had a Titan seat, and worked with Penn Northcott, too. Ozzy’s mom was a schoolteacher. I remember her buying me comic books, but I don’t remember much else. Roger discovered Ellie and Ozzy in a pool of Celine’s blood, they hadn’t eaten in two days…Ellie was one. Vinny was also dead.”
I clench my teeth together, holding Ozzy’s blues, and I match his energy.
The best poker face this side of the Northeast.
Nonetheless, my sister’s parents…his…this whole area is shrouded with death and destruction. Severing families and engaging in this awkwardness of who’s going to cross what line, and when.
It’s bullshit.
“Roger took Ozzy in temporarily…but Paisley wasn’t a fan and didn’t want the extra kids.”
Makes sense.
My so-called mother was a selfish bitch.
“But she kept Ellie,” I note.
“Yeah,” Levi exhales. “Another girl…a baby. She didn’t have Mae yet and was told she was never able to have kids, so…Ellie was everything she could’ve wanted. But a boy…that wasn’t her cup of tea.”
I crave more information. More of Ozzy’s history to give shape in my head of what kind of man he is, and my best friend doesn’t disappoint.
“When Paisley threw a fit about Oz?—”
“Why don’t I remember you?” I blurt out. A boy living in the house definitely would’ve jogged my memory.
Especially with eyes the shade of dark cerulean along with onyx features.
“He stayed with me,” Levi replies. “And my mom. She was so fucked up all the time, she barely noticed him. However, as this idiot got older, he started hanging out with Cairo, Reeve, and Torin. They accepted him, as is, and didn’t give a fuck he was from South Shore. How old were you, Oz, like ten?”
“Eleven,” he says placidly, finally glancing over at his cousin and removing those deep ocean blues from me.
My body feels as though it lost its footing for a second, like he was holding me up while Levi was speaking, and I quickly right myself.
“Then what?”
Levi leans against the kitchen island and puts down his beer. “He stayed with Lorenzo Black, Cairo’s father. Roger tried to stay in contact, but with South Shore and The Landings always going at it, Emilio kept that shit severed. Oz got into some shit, went to prison, came back, and has been doing Emilio’s bullshit ever since.”
He’s been to prison.
He’s in my house.
He’s my husband.
And he does Emilio’s dirty work.
Fuck my entire life right now.
I steal a look at Levi, who doesn’t look bothered at all about the fact. Maybe he got caught with drugs or something.
Yet, Emilio’s bidding…
“I’m still caught on the whole he-works-for-Emilio thing and why you’re standing there like that doesn’t mean shit,” I offer up.
Levi’s finger taps along the side of his Coors. “When you came to jail and told me you were going to do some shit I wasn’t going to like”—he points his index finger at Ozzy—“he told me already. And this was his test. I wanted to see if this asshole was going to sit back and watch you go at it with the psycho Wildes, or if he was going to step up and be loyal to me. And the motherfucker pulled through, after all.”
“You’re a double agent?” I meet Ozzy’s blank stare, and Levi mirthlessly chuckles.
“Eh, we don’t play that shit. Ozzy knows who will win if he fucks me over. He came to me. He wanted peace. Emilio believes he now has you and Ozzy in the palm of his hand. So, tell me, cousin…how loyal are you?”
Ozzy doesn’t look his way just yet, keeping me within his grasp before glancing my bestie’s way. “To whom?”
“Me.”
“I’m not.” I quirk an eyebrow before receiving his full attention. “But I am to her.”
“Good,” Levi replies evenly. “Because she murdered Judah Wildes.”