Chapter 12
HATCH
The sound of a pistol’s hammer being cocked is unique if you’ve never heard it, unmistakable if you have, and bone chilling if it’s directed at you.
Unless it’s been used against you too many times to count. Now it’s just downright irritating.
“You motherfucker,” I growl as I slowly lift my hands for the guy aiming his gun at me.
Stupid.
Stupid, stupid, stupid.
What the fuck was I thinking trusting someone dressed as an executioner?
Under the moonlight, his costume makes him look even more terrifying. Taller, meaner, and his hood shadows out half his face like the grim reaper himself.
And then there’s the whole pistol-pointed-directly-at-all-my-soft-insides part.
I wasn’t totally sure whether he belonged on my hit list before, but he just launched himself straight to the top.
“I should’ve killed you when I had the chance,” I sneer.
He snorts. “And how exactly would you have done that when I have your knife?”
An ugly smirk pulls across my face.
“How ’bout you return it and I’ll show you?”
“Easy now.” He tsks. “You still got the madness in you. Don’t let it take over.”
My eyes narrow. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about how you’re not thinking clearly.” His voice drops lower. “And you’ve run outta time. If you finish what you started…” He jerks his chin toward the club. “She’ll see it.”
“She? She who—”
The alley door squeaks open again, and my head snaps up.
Warm orange light spills across strawberry-blond hair, held back by a headband and pulled into a ponytail, as a small figure steps out onto the stair landing. It’s Lucy, now wearing the baggiest damn clothes I’ve ever seen in my life. Baggiest men’s clothes, if I’m not mistaken.
Excuse me, little wife, whose clothes are those exactly?
My stomach suddenly twists as I glance sideways at the asshole still poised to kill me. An asshole who would absolutely fit the oversized hoodie and sweats hanging off her.
A guy looking up at her with obvious concern and something dangerously close to devotion.
I tear my eyes away before I can see more than I already don’t want to see.
Shit.
The dude might as well have shot me. My chest already hurts just as bad.
Get it together.
She’s not yours. She’s not yours. She’s not yours.
When I can finally look up again, Lucy’s still lingering in the open doorway with one hand tight around her bag strap, eyes sweeping carefully over the docks. She’s watchful and alert, vigilant in a way that hits me straight in the gut.
There are only two things that make someone move like that. Training and trauma. Girls like Lucy are raised with the first one from birth. The Troisgarde daughters grew up understanding they’re both protected and one wrong move away from danger at all times.
But without her father, without Bordeaux Conservatory, without her safety net she’s always been able to fall back on? I bet the last six months have felt like nothing but one wrong move after the other.
And I really want to know why.
Why did you leave, bunny?
“Down here, Alice!” the bouncer calls, stepping away from me and waving with one hand while the other stays hidden behind the cabinet, his weapon still trained on me in the shadows.
“X?” she calls as she steps out farther, though she keeps one hand braced on the door. “Is everything okay? Why are you down there?” Her face squinches. “And why is it so dark?”
X? The guy’s name is X? Jesus Christ, this guy sure has a persona.
“Just doing my rounds before you leave. Coast is clear, babe.”
Babe? Fuck. That’s one way to do it.
The woman who should’ve been my wife smiles brightly at the guy who wants to kill me and finally steps out of the club, letting the door swing shut behind her.
“Thanks. I could’ve sworn I heard something before I came out.”
She practically skips down the stairs without a care in the world, and every light, carefree step hammers an ugly, painful sensation in my chest.
Maybe she spent the first five months terrified. But this last month?
She trusts him. Really trusts him. Which means he’s kept her safe when I couldn’t. Probably done things for her I’ll never get the chance to do now.
Done things with her I’ll never get a chance to.
I don’t know what the fuck to do with that.
“Nah, just the wind,” X says easily, slapping the cabinet I slammed Frog into earlier. “Knocked this thing over, so I came down to check it out.”
“The wind did that?” she asks, incredulous.
The story’s ridiculous, but her tone is one of true shock at what he’s saying, not wariness because she thinks he’s lying. That makes this worse. She trusts him to tell her the truth.
I should probably hate him for lying to her while pointing a gun at me, betraying that trust. But if he wants to kill me, I don’t want him doing it in front of her.
And if he genuinely thinks I’m a threat and is trying to protect her, I can’t blame him for that either.
The whole situation, though… Fuck, it just all feels so goddamn unfair.
“Well thanks for checking for me.”
“Of course, sweetheart.” His voice softens. “Least I can do after I fucked up so royally earlier. I’m really sorry about that.”
Sweetheart.
I might vomit.
A wave crashes hard against the dock, swallowing whatever Lucy says back, but X’s posture loosens, so I’m guessing she accepted the apology. Then he motions with the gun for me to get farther back into the shadows.
I do as I’m told.
I’m not totally sure why I care so much, but I don’t want Lucy seeing me like this, with bloody knuckles and some unconscious pervert sprawled at my feet.
Inside the club, she didn’t seem scared watching me beat Frog’s ass because it happened while defending her. But this is different. This is revenge. And for some reason, the thought of her seeing this side of me in all its ugly glory—a side I’ve shown proudly in the Fury name—makes my stomach turn.
She already ran from me once. Would watching me nearly kill someone for her in cold blood send her running again?
Why wouldn’t it?
I think X somehow understands all that, because he lowers the gun, seeming to know I won’t reveal myself, and walks toward her instead.
The high-tide waves slap against the pilings loud enough to drown out their voices as he drapes an arm around her shoulders and pulls her into his side then starts leading her farther away from me.
The docks are designed like a grid with several arms off the main branch in this open stretch of marsh. The farther they go, the harder it is for me to see at this angle. So despite every smart instinct in my body, I step out from the shadows to watch them.
If she notices the gun hanging loosely at his side now, she doesn’t react to it. She just smiles and laughs softly beside him, looking up at him like he hung the goddamn moon, while they make their way down the endless stretch of dock.
They stop at one of the plexiglass security gates branching off toward another row of boats, and X waits for her to unlock it.
That must be where she lives. I’ve seen it from the satellite angle but seeing it here in front of me makes my pulse race.
If he follows her inside her home…
Except he wouldn’t, because he’s got me and Frog to deal with. But is that the only reason why he wouldn’t?
They’re appearing and disappearing within the stretches of darkness of the dock’s streetlamps, so despite every smart instinct in my body, I move after them, weaving around cabinets and stacked gear until I can see them better without being spotted.
When I’m in the dip between two storage cabinets, I catch him bending down and wrapping his arms around her while she rises onto her tiptoes—
And by the time I round the second cabinet, he’s coming back up and she’s falling back on her flat feet, gazing up at him as he smiles down at her.
I nearly stumble off the dock.
Did they kiss? Hug? Is she… is my wife in love with another guy?
I swallow, trying to catch my breath as she locks herself inside the gate and walk farther down the dock alone.
He watches her go, and so do I, all the way until she disappears into the very last boat on the right.
I sag back against a lamppost afterward, the icy metal biting through my jacket and into my spine. I barely feel it. I can’t feel a goddamn thing right now.
“You can come out now. I got her home safe.” X’s voice carries easily over the wind, though he didn’t need to say it. He knows damn well I watched the whole thing.
And maybe I’m losing my mind, but I swear I hear something weirdly proud, maybe even territorial, in the announcement.
She’s not yours. She’s not yours. She’s not yours.
I swallow hard and ask the question I’m not sure I actually want answered.
“You walk her home every night? To keep her safe?”
X turns toward me, stepping beneath another flickering lamp, allowing me to properly see him. The menace is mostly gone now. The smeared eye black has faded enough he almost looks normal instead of like some medieval executioner.
He nods once. “It’s my job to make sure all of Castle’s girls get home safe.”
“Is that all it is?” I bite out, hating myself.
His head tilts, and he replies slowly, “At first.”
“At first,” I whisper.
Fuck.
Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.
My throat burns. “And what is it now?”
I swear I can see him smirk beneath the balaclava.
“Still not convinced that’s your business,” he drawls. “Alice has her secrets, we all do. But I know her. She would’ve mentioned a boyfriend.”
I swallow. “I’m not… I’m not her boyfriend.” Then I force out, stepping toward him. “But if you hurt her—”
“Me hurt her?” His tone turns dangerous all over again. “What the fuck happened back in that booth? I’ve never seen her that upset before.”
“Well she seemed real upset when you dropped the ball with Frog.” I shoot back.
His jaw clenches hard enough it tics against the black fabric.
“I fucked up,” he admits. “I thought you’d done something to her. It clouded my judgment. I hated seeing her that way.”
Suddenly bone tired, I sigh. “Look, I didn’t do shit, I swear. She freaked out because she found my allergy medicine.”
He stills. “Your…”
I answer the obvious questions before he can finish asking them. “It was in a syringe. I’m deathly allergic to cats and like eleven hundred other things, so I carry it everywhere.”
A low huff rumbles out of him.
Then his shoulders start shaking.
And suddenly…
Wait is this motherfucker laughing?
“I don’t see why any of that’s funny,” I grumble.
But he’s full-on guffawing his fucking head off, barely catching himself on a lamppost before he can fall off the dock.
“It’s just…” He tries to breathe through another punch of laughter. “I thought you’d hurt her, so I was fully prepared to ditch you in the low tide…” He doubles over harder. “Over fucking allergy meds?”
“Yeah, yeah. Laugh it up.” I rub at my eyes while he keeps losing his damn mind.
“I almost killed you over pussy for real,” he wheezes.
Okay, that one actually gets a reluctant snort out of me.
For a good solid minute, X goes on like my Grandma Fancy watching America’s Funniest Home Videos the first time. I just shake my head and head back down the dock toward where Frog is sprawled unconscious.
By the time the laughter finally dies off behind me, I glance over my shoulder.
“You done?”
He wipes tears from beneath his eyes, smearing more eye black, and nods. “Yeah. Whew. I needed that.” Another breathless chuckle escapes him. “Thanks, Hatter.”
“The pleasure’s all yours,” I mutter. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to get back to my—”
I round the last stack of crates and stop cold.
The dock’s empty.
“The motherfucking toad is gone,” I hiss. “Dadgummit, shit was just about to get good too.”
I drag both hands through my hair searching for my cigarette and accidentally drop my stupid hat off in the process. X catches it before it hits the dock and flips it upright, handing it back to me top-hat side up.
“Thanks,” I grunt and shove the unlit cigarette between my lips as I jam the hat back onto my head. Partly because I paid an ungodly amount for this ridiculous costume, but mostly because I want my hands free.
“Listen,” X says behind me while I search around for anything Frog might’ve dropped, “I would’ve loved to let you finish the job.
But honestly? I’d have had to take you out if you killed him.
Castle wouldn’t want you alive after one of his men turned up dead.
Roughed up? Fine. Dead?” He sucks his teeth.
“That’s a problem. That’s why I kept your knife. ”
Then he pauses and looks down. “Wait. Is this…”
I turn around fully to find him crouching beside something on the dock. Frog’s phone.
Pure rage floods me all over again as I stalk toward him and find him staring at the screen. It’s still lit, and frozen on Lucy and her friend half-dressed inside the dressing room.
My jaw clenches so hard it aches. “Any idea how he’d get access to y’all’s cameras?”
X is glaring at the screen himself, then he slowly shakes his head.
“We can’t pause our live feeds, and we don’t have them in there anyhow. This ain’t ours. It’s a recording…” His brow furrows more. “What the fuck was he even doing with this?”
“I don’t know, but he was pounding his little tadpole to it out here,” I seethe.
X goes completely still.
Then his voice drops into something even deadlier than before. “The fuck did you just say?”
“Ah, good. Glad we’re on the same page.” I clap him on the back, making him jolt.
Then I point my thumb back at The Rabbit Hole.
“Where I come from, we’d normally say you got a snake in your garden.
But it looks like y’all got yourselves a fucking Frog.
And I’m betting he’s too dumb to be the one hiding cameras in the dressing room.
So I’ll ask again.” I step closer. “Any idea who else just made my hit list?”
X shakes his head once, then stares at the phone for another long moment.
“You know what?” He exhales hard and slides the thing into his pocket. “Fuck it.”
Then he reaches behind himself and pulls something free.
A knife.
But before I can even react, he tosses it in the air and catches it by the blade before holding the handle toward me.
I snatch it from him, the comfortable weight of it settling something in me.
I’ve carried this thing since I earned it during what my family lovingly calls “Survival Week,” where sixteen-year-old Furys get dumped into the Appalachian wilderness and are told to fend for themselves.
My future sister-in-law calls it child abuse. We call it tradition.
“Meet me tomorrow at four,” X says. “Sweet Tea Bakery.”
I keep a tight grip on the knife, not entirely convinced I won’t get shot anyway.
“Why?”
“Because Castle ain’t got shit on you yet. Which means you can do things I can’t.” He gestures vaguely toward the bloody smears Frog left behind on the metal dock.
“And because, I have a feeling you need an excuse to stick around.”
His gaze flicks to the side, and I follow it toward the end of the dock. Toward Lucy.
Then I meet his eyes again.
“I’m listening.”