Chapter Two
I sit in the chair at the table in Malakai’s office, a set of cards in my hands and scattered poker chips on the table ahead of me, but I am not focused on the game. I don’t even give a shit that I’ve lost almost fifty grand tonight, not when all I can see inside my head is the way Savannah moved to the music in that shithole she’s decided to make her home.
I’ve seen her dance hundreds of times but there was something raw and hypnotic about the way she moved to the music today, dressed in her light summer dress that clung to every curve of her body and flowed around her legs, her eyes closed, platinum blonde hair whipping around her face .
“Killian,” Sebastian, one of my oldest friends, and Savannah’s older brother, snaps in my direction. “You playing or daydreaming?”
“Shit,” I grumble, “Sorry, what are we doing?”
“You need to place a bet,” His green eyes narrow.
“Right,” I agree and look down at the cards in my hands, already forgetting the hand even though I looked at it only minutes ago. A king of hearts, a nine of clubs and a seven of hearts, in other words, fuck all to the cards laid on the table.
“Fold.” I slap my cards face down and lean back in my chair, lifting my glass to my lips only to find I’ve already drained it. I don’t know what the fuck is wrong with me. I haven’t had my head straight for the past six fucking months.
Placing the glass down, I reach for the bottle and fill it back up, almost to the top and continue to watch the rest of the game. I’m not out yet but I doubt I’ll make it to the end.
I don’t give a shit about the money, nor do I care if I win or lose.
Not when my mind is haunted by my best friend’s little sister.
It’s wrong. It’s forbidden. It’s damn right criminal.
There are very few lines I am not willing to cross, I can kill and maim, spill blood and take lives. I don’t ask questions, I don’t show mercy, if it needs to be done, I will do it. But dreaming about my friend’s sister? Yeah, I’m not willing to fuck with that.
I can’t even remember when it started, and I don’t know what changed. One minute she was the girl we protected as she grew, the girl who went off to college to chase her dreams and nothing more, then she came back and the whole fucking world came to a standstill.
I’ve never questioned my morals until the moment she breezed back in with her long blonde hair and smile that could start a war. Never questioned my sanity until she turned that smile on me, and ever since, I have been putting up a wall between us, brick by brick but it’s going to take a little more than stone, it’s going to take steel and barbed wire to keep her out.
And I’m not even sure that’ll be enough after watching her dance the way she did today.
I’m out on the next round and for the rest of the game, I pretend to watch the guys. My oldest friends, my family, the people that gave me purpose and a place in this fucked up world, but they know something is up, no matter how much I deny it.
They always know .
I polish off my glass of whiskey and the next and I’m almost through my third, maybe even fourth by the time they call it a night, Bast, the fucker, winning. He always wins.
“Right,” He says, slapping his knee, “I expect the money in my account by the time I wake up but I’m out, I have a wife and a baby I need to get back to.”
Malakai grunts in agreement. These poker nights happen once or twice a month, a habit none of us can break even if at the end of them we all pretend we hated every minute of it. As we hit the door, Dean snatches the keys to my R8 out my hand and heads to the car, climbing behind the wheel but before I can get in, Sebastian grasps my arm.
“You good?” He asks, not for the first time.
“Fine,” I say, “Why?”
The thing about our friendship is that it goes further than just a brotherhood, we’re part of an organization, a deadly, bloody organization that deals with death daily. We all have to depend on one another to survive. Malakai currently sits on the throne, and the three of us, me, Dean and Sebastian sit in his inner circle. Secrets don’t sit well here, they fester and rot, spreading like a disease.
“You’ve been off, man,” He says, releasing me.
“I’m good,” I lie .
I know he doesn’t believe me but what the hell else am I supposed to say. He’d murder me if he knew the kind of thoughts I’d had about Savannah, fuck they all would, and I wouldn’t blame them either.
“Say hi to Willow for me,” I tell him as I yank the door open and get into the car, shutting it before he can say anything else. Dean’s eyes bore into the side of my face, but I pretend not to notice as I pull out my cell and start scrolling. Eventually he puts the car in drive and peels away from the estate, back toward the city where both our homes are.
When we get to my condo, he parks, shuts off the engine and we both climb out, separating without saying another word to each other, him heading down the block to his townhouse and me down the drive toward my front door. He knows when to push, when to ask questions, we’ve been through enough shit together and I know it’s grating on him to try and find out. He’s a problem solver, a genius and not knowing something eats at him.
But this craving, this secret will remain locked inside of me, not even the most violent of torture could pry it from me.
Some people use alcohol to fight their demons. Some people lash out, others go for a walk or sit in a room alone and in silence. Me? I work my body until it feels as if my muscles are about to tear through my skin and I’m covered in sweat while my lungs scream, and my body threatens to give out.
I count my reps, the weights in my hands getting harder and harder to lift but still, I don’t stop, my chin tilted to the ceiling, eyes on the light above my head. Beads of sweat roll down my temples, my hair soaked and sticking to my skin. It’s four a.m., the whole city is asleep, but I won’t be able to until I’ve pushed myself to complete exhaustion.
I have never slept well, I’m lucky if I get four hours a night and you’d think the fatigue would take its toll, but it never does so I do this night after night.
If it were only Savannah haunting me perhaps it would be easier, but there are many demons inside my soul, demons that have plagued me since I was a child, and they are relentless.
Unable to lift another rep, I drop the weights to the floor, the thud loud in the quiet room as I breathe heavily and sit up, elbows falling to my knees as sweat continues to fall off me onto the mat beneath the bench I am sitting on. My muscles throb in sync with my heartbeat and it takes a good five minutes before I can push myself to stand where I then trudge through to the bathroom, hitting the button on my shower.
As I stand beneath the spray, the hot water washing away the sweat and grime, easing the aches in my muscles and soothing my heartbeat, I close my eyes, remembering her dance. So much elegance and grace, her feet moving effortlessly to the music. I hadn’t ever heard the song before, but I can remember the lyrics.
It pisses me off that she occupies so much space inside my head.
And yet once I am done in the shower, a towel knotted around my hips, I grab my cell and type the lyrics I remember into the search bar, hitting play on the first result that comes up and instantly know I have the right one. And then I keep it on repeat and fall onto my back in the middle of the bed and replay her private performance inside my head.
She’s as delicate as one of those ballerinas inside a jewelry box, ethereal and otherworldly like a damn fairy taken right off the pages of a fairytale book.
As sleep claims me, she follows right behind, not giving me a moment of peace, even in my dreams.