Chapter 27 Willow
WILLOW
I feel like the world is spinning around me. Like I’m on a tilt-a-whirl and can’t get off.
Carl is dead, someone knows about what happened at the brothel, and I’m standing in the middle of these three brothers’ home, being told I have to stay with one of them.
Is this what shock feels like?
“Come on,” Ransom says, grabbing my bags from where he set them on the floor when we stopped to talk. “Let’s go upstairs.”
Victor walks past us toward the stairs, probably going to do what Malice told him to do—get rid of any sign that Carl came to my apartment and try to figure out who’s after the information.
Malice disappears too, heading back out to the garage, and I have a disquieting feeling in my stomach that he’s off to get rid of the body somehow. I don’t even want to think about what that’s going to entail.
Ransom leads me upstairs, his hands filled with two of my bags, and I clutch my school bag to my chest, holding on to it like it’s a lifeline. I feel so on edge in this place. I’ve been here before, but this is different. Now I’m in their living space, moving deeper into their lives.
So much has changed from before I knew these men, and I barely recognize myself or my life anymore. My head is spinning, and when I close my eyes, I can see the look of shock frozen on Carl’s face after Victor killed him.
Just earlier today, the biggest thing I was worried about was my cold. I feel a lot better, although I still have a bit of congestion in my nose. It makes my head feel too full, on top of all the thoughts running through it.
“Can I take a shower?” I ask Ransom after we reach the second floor.
“Sure,” he says. He shoots me a sympathetic look. “I know it’s hard at first. Seeing dead bodies and watching people die. I guess Carl and Nikolai were probably the first ones you’ve seen killed. It gets easier, though.”
That’s nowhere near as reassuring as he probably thinks it is, and I can feel my heart rate climbing as I swallow past the lump in my throat. I don’t want death to become a part of my life that gets easier. I don’t want to get used to it.
We head down the hall, and Ransom shows me to the bathroom.
He trades me my duffel for the school bag I’ve been holding, and I grip the handle tightly as I step inside the small room, my skin prickling with awareness. I’m almost worried that he’s going to follow me in, with some line about how they can’t trust me to shower alone or something.
But Ransom just positions himself against the wall of the hallway outside, letting me close the door without a protest.
Thank god.
I feel marginally better with a closed door between me and… everything and everyone else out there, but it’s not enough to chase away the off-balance feeling entirely. Too much has happened tonight for me to feel anything close to comfortable.
It occurs to me to look for a window to climb out of or something, but there isn’t one.
And even if there were, trying to run from these men would probably be stupid anyway.
They’d just drag me back, and it would be even worse.
Besides, they’re the only ones standing between me and whoever’s been tracking down information about the brothel.
With a sigh, I turn the shower on, adjusting the water temperature until it’s as hot as I can stand it. I linger for a second beside the tub, feeling very exposed as I contemplate the idea of undressing in their home.
This is a bathroom that all three of them clearly share, and it’s obvious to see the little touches each one has brought to it.
Inside the shower, there are shelves adhered to the wall, and each of the brothers has one.
On top, there are small bottles in orderly rows, and that’s all Victor.
One of the body washes on the middle shelf smells like the smoky, alluring scent that I associate with Malice.
The ones on the bottom have more variety, which seems like Ransom, wanting to try a little bit of everything.
I turn away from their things and quickly strip off my sweatpants and long-sleeved shirt, then step under the spray.
As the water slicks my hair to my skin, I realize that the body wash I brought is in the suitcase Ransom still has, so I grab what’s available in the shower and pour a liberal amount into my hand, scrubbing at my skin to try to get the feeling of the splatters of Carl’s blood off me.
Even though I can’t wash the memories away, I just want to feel clean.
But as I finish up and step out of the shower, I realize this might have been a mistake. Because I replaced the scent and feel of death with the scent and feel of these three brothers.
Now it feels like they’re all on my skin, and I don’t like that.
It’s too intimate.
Too personal.
Too real.
Shivering slightly, I rummage through my bag and get dressed in different clothes, pulling out the long-sleeved shirt and long pants I usually sleep in. I feel even more self-conscious about things here, and I want to be covered up.
When I open the door, Ransom is still waiting outside.
His gaze sweeps over me, an appreciative gleam in his eyes. It makes me feel odd, especially since I’m just wearing old grungy clothes. There’s nothing sexy about them, but he’s looking at me like he likes what he sees.
It unnerves me… almost as much as the way my body responds to his look.
“Feel better?” he asks, raising his pierced brow.
“Yes,” I lie.
He leads me down the hall to his bedroom, and I shuffle inside after him, watching as he deposits my things against the wall near the closet.
I linger near the door, feeling awkward and uncertain about being in his private space like this—not that I should feel bad about it, since he and his brothers have invaded every aspect of my life with impunity.
There’s a bottle of whiskey on his nightstand, and Ransom picks it up, shaking it a little as he holds it out to me like a peace offering.
“It’ll take the edge off,” he tells me. “Might help you sleep tonight.”
I accept the bottle and take a little swig, grimacing as a burning feeling hits the back of my throat. I’m not much of a drinker, but it does help. After one more sip, the burn settles into a tingling warmth that spreads through my belly and out into my limbs.
“It’s good, yeah?” Ransom takes the bottle back and lifts it to his lips, taking a sip himself. “We’ve got a liquor shelf downstairs, but this is my favorite whiskey, so I keep it up here to keep Malice from drinking the whole damn thing.”
He passes it to me again, and this time, when I raise it to my mouth, I’m keenly aware that his mouth was just on it. This feels strangely intimate too, and it makes it hard to not think about the way he kissed me the night he dropped me off at my apartment.
“Come here.”
Ransom sits on the bed, patting the mattress in an invitation for me to sit too.
I do, and we pass the whiskey bottle back and forth a couple more times.
It’s relaxing and calming in a way I didn’t expect, and some of the tension bleeds out of me.
I feel strangely at ease with Ransom, and that makes me nervous.
“What will you do about whoever is poking into Nikolai’s death?” I ask him after a while.
He shrugs. “We’ll figure out how to handle it. Figure out who it is and take care of them.”
I realize that ‘take care of them’ means kill them, and I’m a little horrified at how easily he says it. Like it doesn’t matter one bit that they’re going to take a life. But it also would mean that I’d be free, so there’s a part of me that can’t help but hope they succeed.
“So… what is this place?” I ask, glancing at the bedroom door and raising my hand to indicate everything beyond it. “It looks sort of like a garage, but you live here too?”
He smiles, the whiskey bottle dangling loosely in his hand. His blue-green eyes gleam with good humor as he cocks his head.
“You sure you want me to answer that? Knowing more about us could be dangerous for you.”
I shrug one shoulder. “I saw Vic shoot a man through a pillow tonight. And I saw all three of you kill that Nikolai guy. We’re pretty much past that point anyway, aren’t we?”
“Guess so,” he agrees with a low laugh. “But yeah, we live here and work here. We needed something to do for work, to get money coming in, so we opened a chop shop when Malice got out of prison.”
That last bit catches my attention.
Malice was in prison?
I guess it makes sense, since some of his tattoos look like prison ones. I want to ask what he was put away for, but at the same time, I’m scared to poke too much. Despite what I just told Ransom about it being too late, I’m certain that getting to know these men well would definitely be dangerous.
“Oh.” I nod, picking at a loose thread in the blanket on the bed. “I didn’t know that.”
“You don’t seem too surprised by it though,” Ransom says with a chuckle. “I guess that makes sense. Malice has a… way about him.”
“You could say that,” I murmur, thinking back to every time he waved a gun in my face. “How long was he in there?”
“Several years. It was supposed to be longer, but then… well, he got out.”
The vague way he ends that statement makes me certain that it wasn’t as simple as he’s making it sound. Did they break him out somehow? Or did he get out early on good behavior? Somehow, I find that possibility hard to imagine.
“What about you?” Ransom asks, changing the subject before I can decide whether or not to ask anything more about Malice. “We’ve got our shop. What are you gonna do with your fancy degree once you get it?”
“I’m not sure yet,” I admit. “I’m a sophomore, and I haven’t declared a major yet. I need to soon though.”
The truth is, I have no idea what I want to focus on.
I know what my goals are, and I know where I want to end up in life, but I’m not sure how to get there yet, or what degree would be best. And it’s not like I have a lot of authority figures in my life to ask for advice.
The thought of asking my mom what career path she thinks I should pursue almost makes me want to laugh. Or cry.
Ransom slides the piercing in his tongue between his teeth. “I’m sure you’ll pick something good. Have you always lived in Detroit?”
“I thought you guys did your research on me. Don’t you already know everything about my past?” I grimace. “And my present.”
He shakes his head. “No. We don’t know everything about you. Well, Vic probably does, but not me.” He grins. “I like to get to know someone the old fashioned way.”
There’s something in his voice as he says it, a sort of warmth that makes me feel like he doesn’t just see me as a pawn in this sprawling, convoluted game they’re playing, but like a person.
Like someone he wants to know.
Someone worthwhile.
The alcohol burns in my veins, and I can’t seem to tear my gaze away from his gorgeous face.
He doesn’t ask me any more questions, and I almost wish he would, because the silence between us feels loaded with too many confusing things.
Finally, he takes the bottle from me and puts it back on the nightstand.
“You should get some sleep,” he says. “You’ve had a long night.”
“Right. Okay.”
Pulling back the sheets, I get into bed, feeling awkward as he crawls in beside me. I’m so on edge that all my muscles are tense, my body too aware of him. The warmth of him beside me makes my skin tingle, and I realize I’m practically holding my breath.
I stare at the wall, curled up on my side, not sure how I’ll ever fall asleep like this. But exhaustion tugs at me, every single hour of this marathon day dragging me down, and eventually, my eyelids fall shut and stay that way.