Chapter 14
WAR
I’d almost forgotten what the inside of a rib cage looked like. It’d been months since I’d had to clean up an old-school mess, and now here I was—elbow-deep in pink runoff and a slurry of tooth fragments, picking a very dead man out of the foundation, one damp chunk at a time.
My eyes burned. Bleach fumes wrapped around us and the only thing that saved me from choking was the face masks. I also had a pair of goggles on, so the burn could’ve been the three hours of sleep I’d gotten in the last forty-eight hours, too.
Derek, in his infinite hospitality, had seen to it I was the only set of hands left for the job. Nitro was out back burning old documents. Two other goons were running errands in town—one at the gun range, the other at a bulk foods store for plastic tarps and ice.
Most of my recent days were like this. Work detail, punishment, or just the lingering reminder that Derek hadn’t gotten around to killing me yet. And he made sure I knew it. Every time I reached for my phone, he’d somehow materialize behind me. Eyes like black marble, always watching.
Being back in New Gothenburg wasn’t the trophy I’d thought it would be.
I hadn’t seen Kit in two weeks and I missed him.
So fucking much. We’d texted, but that wasn’t the same as seeing him in person.
From what he’d told me, he was back at school and studying as hard as he could.
Was he trying to forget Francesca and the bullet he put in her head?
The same one that had come from a gun he held?
I checked his latest message.
Kit
What are you up to right now?
I swiped off my nitrile glove and typed back.
War
Just redecorating a basement.
Kit
Does it stink?
The corner of my mouth twitched. Christ, I missed him so much it hurt.
War
Smells better than your gym socks.
I snorted to myself. One time when I’d come around to see Derek—before secrets were revealed—Kit had just gotten home from the gym.
He’d stripped his shoes in the doorway, near where I’d stood, and it was the kind of odor that made me gag, and I’d smelled a lot of disgusting things in my life.
Back then, I’d never said anything. I was a professional, after all, but now it seemed like a joke I could make.
Kit
Rude. It means I worked hard on my body. That’s important, you know. And it was pretty much the only time I’d gone to the gym.
I was about to respond when a shadow flickered in the corner of the room. Nitro’s laughter—low and wet, like someone rolling marbles in their throat—echoed down the steps. He ducked his head inside, a red handkerchief pressed against his nose.
“Boss needs you upstairs.” His eyes glittered, mean as always. “Wants to know if you found the teeth.”
I grabbed a handful of molars and held them up. “Tell him he can finish his necklace.”
Nitro’s lips peeled back in a grin. “Will do.”
He lingered, watching me with that gleam.
I trusted Nitro. I was the reason he was still alive and not a name added to a suicide list. I’d dragged him out of the same hell I’d experienced and offered him a job with Derek years ago.
He was a good guy and an even better soldier. “You gonna shower before lunch?”
“Why?” I jerked my chin. “You into blood or just the musk?”
He snorted. “You know what they say about us navy guys.”
I didn’t, actually, but I’d learned long ago not to ask Nitro to elaborate. He lived a different experience than me. I was part of a SEAL team, he stayed a navy man.
As soon as he stomped away, I checked my phone again because there was another ping.
Kit
You wanna get out of there for a couple hours? Like, drive to the lake or something?
The words punched harder than they should’ve.
I could almost hear Kit’s voice—always a little nervous, with the kind of awkwardness that was more adorable than embarrassing.
If I closed my eyes, I could see his hands fidgeting with the seams of his shirt.
His eyebrows scrunched up, deep in thought. My stomach twisted.
War
Water’s probably getting cold by now. It’s no climate-controlled pool in a hotel.
Kit
I don’t care. I just want to sit in your car and scream at the gulls. Maybe throw rocks.
I wiped the inside of my wrist against my forehead and left a smear of someone else’s DNA across my temple.
War
Pick you up at 4?
Kit
Yeah. Dad’s not here. Come whenever.
There was a pause and three dots blinked on my screen, telling me he was typing. Then another text came through.
Kit
I miss you.
I stared at the words for a long time. I chewed the inside of my cheek until I tasted copper.
War
Miss you too.
Kit
I totally expected you to be the type of millennial to use a “2” for too. Glad I was wrong.
I chuckled. Little shit.
I pocketed the phone and went back to work, humming a song I couldn’t name.
The teeth were all out. I double-bagged the fragments, bleached the grout, and stacked the trash in a corner for pickup.
When I finally came up the stairs, Derek was waiting for me in the kitchen, perfectly pressed as always.
“Take the rest of the day,” he said, pouring coffee into a bone China mug. “You look like shit, War.”
I stared at him, waiting for the twist, but there wasn’t one. His eyes were heavy-lidded and his mouth was tight with some private disappointment.
“You’re not still mad?” I asked, unable to help myself.
“Why would I be mad?” His tone was cool and surgical.
He didn’t become a boss in the New Gothenburg underground for no reason.
He was calm and collected, nothing more than a mask of complete nonchalance when he was annoyed.
“You finished what you started, which is more than I can say for most people.”
I nodded, tense. “Nitro’s handling the rest.”
“He is.” Derek’s eyes flicked to my phone, which was visible in the side pocket of my pants. “You meeting someone?”
I hesitated. “Maybe.”
A smirk tugged at his mouth. “Stay out of trouble. And don’t let the kid drive. He’s a menace, but he’s my son. If you break his heart, that body downstairs won’t even begin to resemble you once I’m done with you.”
I grunted and retreated to the guest bathroom of one of Derek’s playhouses, a home he used specifically to bring his torturees, as Nitro and I called them.
I stripped off my shirt and pants in the hallway without an ounce of shame.
We’d all seen each other naked, and it wasn’t unusual to have to get rid of clothes.
The bleach had soaked through to my skin, and my forearms were pink and burning.
I washed up as best I could with lukewarm water and harsh soap, and then I pulled on my cleanest jeans and a faded black T-shirt from an array of spare clothes we kept in the house.
My hair looked like shit, but Kit never seemed to care.
The Challenger was waiting for me outside.
I slid behind the wheel, adjusted the seat, and let the hum of the engine settle my nerves.
For a moment, I just sat there, staring at the old scars on my hands.
Kit had traced them once, curious and gentle, never asking for the story.
He just wanted to know if they still hurt.
They did, sometimes.
At 15:50 I pulled up at his house on Angel Perch Drive. The neighborhood was all overpriced landscaping and surveillance cameras, but I’d parked here before. The houses weren’t as fancy as somewhere like Vert Island, and they were only a step down from being mansions.
Derek’s house was the exception. He called it a cottage, and to an extent, it was. The place was a lot less than the other homes around it.
I texted Kit.
War
I’m here.
He responded a minute later.
Kit
Give me 2 mins.
I tapped the wheel and tried not to fidget. I’d been in shootouts with less adrenaline. Maybe that was the problem.
When Kit finally appeared, he was wearing a black NGU hoodie, jeans, and sneakers. His hair was a mess, but it was damned adorable. He jogged the last few feet, then slid into the passenger seat like he was being chased.
“Hey,” he said, grinning.
“Hey yourself.” My mouth went dry. “You forget how to use a brush?”
He flipped me off, then pulled out a wrinkled bag of sour gummies from his pocket. “Want some?”
“Always.” I grabbed a blue one, popped it in my mouth.
The sour taste hit me like a bomb, exploding in my mouth and making me scrunch my face.
I didn’t know why I tortured myself. I didn’t hate them, but this was the first time Kit had offered me one and I wasn’t going to say no. “You bring towels?”
“I thought you said we weren’t going swimming. It’s too cold.” Kit held up a cotton bag. “But I did anyway. Just in case. And a change of clothes.”
I almost smiled. How did he think of everything? That was the thing I loved about Kit. He was smart as hell. His intelligence extended past books. He had common sense, too.
He studied me for a second. “You look tired.”
“Long few weeks.” I left it at that.
Kit nodded, chewing on his lip. “Thanks for coming.”
“Not even an option. I needed to see you,” I said, and I meant it.
I pulled away from the curb, tires rumbling over the asphalt. Kit leaned back, pressing his face to the window, and I let the city fall away behind us. For the first time in weeks, my head felt clear.
The lake was waiting.
The city unspooled behind us—blocks of granite and glass and steel, and car-lined streets. Sunlight reflecting off the lake turned every traffic light into a stuttering, blinding glare. Kit stretched his legs in my passenger seat.
I liked the way he sprawled, but he was a little too comfortable for a man who’d killed someone for the first time a few weeks ago. I watched his hands flutter, twisting the candy bag, while his body bounced with every jolt of the road.