9. Rowan
NINE
ROWAN
Someone once told me you never really learn to appreciate things until they’re gone. I never truly appreciated that statement until now.
I’d lost a lot tonight. I lost the trust my brothers had in me, and I’d done nothing to gain it back or prevent them from pulling away. I lost the control I so carefully kept a hand on at all times. I lost the fucking girl I thought I’d never see again.
And now, I was losing my damn mind.
Things were complicated at best, with the contract on her head and the feelings involved between us. Because deny it though they might, I knew damn well there was something in both Nash and Angel that reacted to her just as much as I had. Otherwise, Nash wouldn’t be sitting in the Torino in front of her house. Angel wouldn’t be in the office pacing the floor. And I wouldn’t be out here in the commons, listening to Lilly St. Clair and Detective Douchebag play verbal chess with each other.
"So you’re trying to tell me there’s been no activity in the past three days from anyone in your guild, Lilly? Now, why don’t I believe that?"
St. Clair leaned forward in her chair, her nails like talons as they curled around the edge of her armrest and dug into the leather. "Maybe because you’ve always been sure you were gonna catch me in a crime, Detective," she spat back, not missing a beat. "You know as well as I do that my people, should they be doing things they’re not supposed to, are more than smart enough not to get caught."
The detective stood, his eyes narrowed as he pulled his phone out to check a message. "That’s debatable, but you know best, Lilly. I won’t bother you any longer tonight. Just keep an eye on" —he consulted his phone again, scrunched up his nose, and turned back to her— "the ones who ride the dirtbikes. They’ve been getting careless, and I found a piece of their latest target—sorry, victim— in the middle of Manston Park."
Lilly’s eyes lit up in the way she had about her when she was pleased with something particularly gruesome. "Oh? A piece, you say? I don’t suppose you want to tell me which piece it was, would you, detective?"
The cop scowled at her eagerness, no doubt disgusted with her excitement and intrigue. "Not a chance, St. Clair. Just keep your people in line, and we won’t have to have these sorts of late-night visits."
"Oh, but Detective McCoy, I rather enjoy our little late-night meetings. They do break up the monotony of housing and handling this rowdy bunch."
The detective glared at her one last time before heading for the front door. "I’m sure they do." He threw her one last glance, something that confused the fuck out of me, before he closed the door behind himself.
The gaze had been full of longing and regret.
It was like looking into a fucking mirror.
St. Clair caught sight of me out of the corner of her eye and grinned, making me wonder for the millionth time if the woman really was stable or if she was just really damn good at hiding her particular brand of crazy. She seemed too comfortable and at home in a house full of borderline mental cases.
"You got somewhere to be, Bossy?" she sassed, using the nickname she’d given me when I joined the Guild. "Or maybe something to do other than eavesdrop on mine and my ex-husband’s conversations?"
If it were possible to choke on air, I’d just done it. My lungs burned as I gasped for air, shaking my head like a dog who’d just been presented with its own reflection for the first time.
"I’m sorry, did you say ex-husband?" There was no way. No fucking way she used to be married to that fucking cop ? —
"Yes, Detective McCoy and I were married once. A long, long time ago. But that’s ancient history and not really anyone’s business." She shot me a wink, with that mocking grin I’d seen her turn on her victims before she carved them to pieces. "You can keep a secret, right?"
"Who would I tell?" I mocked, throwing my hands wide. "Not like I’m winning any popularity contests right now."
She cocked her head to the side and crooked a finger my way. "With that smooth sun-kissed skin of yours and those adorable locs, who would be able to hate that pretty face?" When I didn't rise to the occasion, she sobered. "Why don’t we talk in my soundproof office? You look like you could use a friend."
I’d never counted Lilly St. Clair as a friend, more of a boss-slash-overlord who I paid rent to. But since my brothers had abandoned me in anger, and I had no other people in my corner, maybe it would be good to talk through some aspects of this with an outside source.
The inside of Lilly’s office never felt like an actual office. Decorated in a very kitschy manner, none of her furniture matched, and all of it looked well-loved and older than dirt. Hell, Dracula himself might’ve sat in her desk chair once upon a time, it seemed so old Victorian-esque.
I opted for a wingback with several patches on the upholstery, sinking into the soft cushion like a weary traveler.
St. Clair smiled at me from her little mini wet bar, shaking a glass with ice in the bottom. "Drink?"
I usually didn’t drink liquor. That was one of the quickest ways to lose control, to dull your senses with alcohol. But it’d been a hard day. And I needed to relax.
"One won’t hurt me."
She poured two fingers of an obnoxiously expensive brandy in separate glasses, handing me one as she made her way to her throne. "So. What’s got you so off-kilter?"
I brought the glass to my mouth, sniffing the sharp liquor with a wince. "How could you tell?"
The ice in her glass tinkled as she gestured it in my direction. "Oh, you know. I’m well acquainted with all you hooligans in this place. I’ve gotten to know you pretty well, and I learned to pick up on your personality. And something about your ju-ju is outta whack right now."
The fact that she could tell I was acting strange in a matter of minutes was astounding. Apparently, I wasn’t doing as good a job at hiding it as I thought.
"What gave it away?" I asked, sincerely curious what my greatest tell was so I could correct the slip-up. I didn’t care for people to know my state of mind.
She gestured at me again with her glass in hand, eyes narrowing. "Oh, no. You think I’m gonna just tell you what makes you human so you can erase it like you do all your other human traits. Not happening, buddy. This one, I’m keeping close to the breast." Lilly patted her chest over her heart, smiling at me like a fucking Cheshire cat. "Come on, now. Out with it. What’s up with the three of you?"
The room fell silent as she waited for an answer I refused to give. I didn’t care to divulge this to her—I had no desire to reveal the premise which she’d hired us on was false. I rather liked my job here. Our standoff might very well go down in history as one of the most tense moments in Guild record. That pause in space between us weighed more than a cargo ship and felt rather like trying to hold up a planet. Atlas of old lore came to mind, and I smiled despite myself at the image of me replacing him, cussing up a storm as my brothers danced around me.
"Let’s just say they unearthed a lie I told them for their protection, and they’re not happy about it."
She squinted at me, waiting for more, but I clammed up, pissed at myself for even giving her that. I knew better than to drink, and look where that one single sip had gotten me—here I was, blabbing to my boss about a fuck-up. I certainly didn’t want Lilly St. Clair to think I was incompetent.
I was competent. I was just also a softie for a certain victim in the past .
Totally understandable.
I was young. Stupid. Headstrong.
And in love.
"Will this affect your ability to finish the jobs you’ve already taken?" She took another sip, tipped the glass up to empty it, and swiped my still-full glass on her way to the wet bar. "Because I’d hate to have to call up our clients and tell them you’re not up to it."
"We’re up to it; we’re just taking a night to cool off, that’s all." Her reaction made me scowl. She knew damn well I was all business. If I had to finish the jobs myself, I would see to it they were completed. "No need to worry about our jobs."
She handed me a fresh glass with a clear liquid in it this time. "I got the impression you don’t really like brandy, so I took the liberty of switching you to something different. Smoother." She waggled those eyebrows at me like she was letting me in on some secret. Being I wasn’t a connoisseur of liquor, the effect was lost on me. "Come on, you really don’t get it?"
I shook my head, my locs bouncing against my face with the movement. "Sorry, Lilly. Not a drinker."
"Your loss," she muttered, forcing me to take the glass. "That’s nowhere near as strong as brandy. Finish that, and go to bed. Maybe you’ll wake up in a better mood."
Might as well get it over with, I thought as I swished the clear fluid around the glass slowly. The smell alone made me wanna retch, but I steeled myself and tipped the glass back with a jerk of my wrist, finishing it off in one go.
Which was just the first of many mistakes I would make tonight.
Yippee.
Twenty minutes later, I found myself standing, however ungracefully, making my way to the door with a sway in my step I didn’t much like.
Work, dammit legs, the way I fucken want you to .
From her velvet throne, I heard Lilly snort, and I realized I’d muttered that out loud.
"Shit."
Now that, I knew I said out loud.
She broke into raucous laughter as I slumped into the hall, grabbing for anything that could support my weight as I stumbled and tripped to the stairs. Hell, it was a miracle I was stuck in a constantly leaning forward position, because had I been a backward leaner, I might’ve gone head over foot back down the stairs, broke my neck, or more.
Hell, she probably would have found me at the foot of the stairs, in a pool of my own blood from a self-inflicted head wound, delirious and paralyzed.
If one of the other crews didn’t find me first and turned me into a human torture dummy.
Somehow I managed to make it to our floor, which was a miracle in itself, and made it all the way to the door before my stomach started to remind me why I wasn’t a drinker very often.
I made it to the kitchen, where Angel found me minutes later, with my head in the fucking can, the smell of strong tequila and brandy emanating from below. The fucking stench was enough to make me retch again, but there hadn’t been much to my stomach before. Now, all I could do was dry heave and wish I had been smart enough to refuse St. Clair when she offered that poison.
"Well, well, well. If it isn’t Mr. Righteous himself, sitting here stewing in what smells like a frat party bender. Who liquored you up and sent you stumbling home?"
Of course, Angel would take this moment to torment me any way he could. "What do you care?" I moaned, hating him for seeing my moment of weakness. Fucking St. Clair would pay for this. Eventually.
"I care because you sound like you’re dying, and as much as I wouldn’t object to you suffering right now, I do very much object to you leaving me alone with the crazy one." He put his hand against the back of my neck and winced, wiping it on his jeans as he marched to the sink and turned on the water. "Good grief, you’re stickier than a sap puddle in September. Here—wipe yourself off."
I took the wet, cool washcloth he thrust in my face and wiped away the sweat that had broken out all over my skin. I felt hot all over, no doubt thanks to the fucking liquor purge. My stomach turned again, and I groaned, wishing I could just curl up and die.
"How much did you have tonight?" Angel knelt beside me, unable to repress his caring nature even though he most likely didn’t want to see my fucking face. "A whole bottle?"
"A glass and a shot?" I replied, very unsure as to what counted as a single drink. "I dunno. There was clear tequila and old brandy involved."
"Oh, no," Angel bemoaned, "you weren’t drinking with St. Clair, were you?" At my half-assed nod, he just groaned again. "Oh, you sweet summer child, you need a shower, a cold one, and a cup of coffee. And then you need to go to bed and try to sleep." I heard him in the background muttering to himself, and couldn’t bring myself to care who he was talking to. His footsteps on the floor were too loud, pounding on the inside of my skull like a reminder that I’d fucked up.
"I think that shower sounds like a good idea," I groaned, standing on shaky legs as I made my way to my en suite bathroom. "See you later, alligator."
Angel gave me a weird look as I marched past him, his stare piercing my back like daggers as I rounded the corner and giggled my way to the bathroom like a fool. The water pelted me from above, a shiver running down my spine as someone yanked open the door and swore to themselves.
I realized there was something wrong with me when I only barely registered them picking me up off the floor, muttering something about showering in clothes, and oh, wouldn’t you know it, I was still wearing my clothes— how odd.
I was stripped from head to toe, thrust into my bed, and covered with a blanket, the door left open so the light filtered in from the hallway. I could just barely make out the sound of Angel on the phone with someone, his tone argumentative and angry as they went back and forth. Words like date rape drug and soused as fuck and can’t believe you, then some more grumbling as the water was switched on somewhere outside of my room.
Probably the kitchen.
My door creaked open again, and I peeked one eye open to see Angel setting a glass of water and a couple of pills on my nightstand. He met my gaze, shook his head, and sighed, brushing the wet hair from my face.
"Never drink with St. Clair again, you hear me? She’s dangerous when unsupervised."
"Got it," I whispered as I tried desperately to lift my hand to salute him. I failed, but I liked to think he got the idea. "You know, you’re a good brother, Angel," I droned, feeling floaty and abnormally feel-goody for me. I’d never share this typically, but something prevented me from bottling it up. It was like my filter was gone, the gates thrown wide open, and the ability to stop was gone. "I mean that."
"Yeah, yeah, I know," he started, rolling his eyes.
I snatched his wrist in my grip, a part of me retaining my lightning-fast reflexes somehow. "No, I mean that. I fucked up, you know. I should have told you both back then. I just—I thought it was safer for you two not to know."
"Go on," he muttered, stilling in my grasp. "I’m listening."
I tried to sit up but obviously failed and just ended up tangling myself up in the sheets more. Angel’s laughter punctuated my failure, and I settled for covering my head in the blankets, hiding from the world. I didn’t want to face my shortcomings tonight. But I felt like I had to say something. I didn’t want my brothers to leave me for a mistake I made seven years.
"I knew I couldn’t do it, when I looked in her eyes, man. I just—I dunno. It was the only time I’ve ever, you know, doubted myself. And she just—god man, don’t you remember what she was like back then? I fucking hated her so much, but I?—"
I winced as my brain caught up to my mouth, and promptly stuffed my fist in it to keep from saying anything more.
As it turned out, I didn’t need to. Angel finished my thought for me. "But you didn’t, though. You didn’t hate her at all."
As he shut my door, I heard him mutter to himself, so low I almost missed it.
"None of us did."