Chapter 11
Colt
“Why do you hate being called Deluxe?”
She snorts. “Would you like it if everyone called you Ghost like it’s your actual name?”
“Ghost is cool.”
“Deluxe is a weight.”
That’s an interesting way to put it. “A weight?”
“It’s like … being sent out on stage without a script. Be Deluxe, live Deluxe, we love Deluxe! Who even is she? Because she’s sure as shit not me.”
“I get that. People think I’m some kind of phantom and it’s become almost a game to get me. Do you know how many people have tried to kill me in the last month? Six.”
She exhales deeply. “They need to try harder.”
“Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.”
While we haven’t progressed much in our civility, Denver is sitting beside me now.
We’re shoulder to shoulder in this box, and it’s now incredibly hot, but it’s a hell of a lot better than shivering.
She’s taken her hair down, and we’re currently throwing her hair ties over the neck of the near-empty bottle.
“What are the McEwans like?” she asks.
“Helena is amazing. She’s like a second mom. She and Finn are like the perfect couple. It’s actually a little annoying.” I throw the hair tie and punch the air when it secures itself on the bottle neck.
Denver frowns. “Cheater.”
“How?” I gesture at the bottle. “How could I cheat?”
“Because I decided,” she declares. “Keep talking.”
I collect the hair tie, and she starts attempting to throw hers. I say, “Finn is great.”
“And in business?”
“All the stories are true.”
Her gaze meets mine for a moment before returning her attention to her challenge.
“And Ronan?”
How do I describe Ronan McEwan? My best friend. Almost my brother. A great fucking man. Someone who has killed for me. Someone who I’d kill for.
“He’ll rule the world one day.”
She leans back against the wall and her brows raise. “More than you?”
“He wants it more than I do. And what Ronan wants, he gets.” And not a truer word has been spoken. I’m a little drunk, so I allow myself to take her features in for longer than necessary. “You might have chosen the wrong McEwan to marry.”
She tries to fight a smile. “Are you suggesting I marry Ronan? Because I’m already one half of a pretty powerful marriage.”
“Half? From what I’ve heard, you’re edging toward the majority holding.”
It’s hard to describe what crosses her face in that moment. Amusement, definitely. Suspicion, absolutely. And maybe something else. A spark of … hurt.
“Ranger will always be Ranger Luxe,” she says. “Marrying me doesn’t make him more or less.”
“And what did marrying him make you?”
It’s an intrusive question, but one I can’t help asking. I wonder if the alcohol will make her honest or if the walls around Denver Luxe are too solid to be taken down by too many mouthfuls of whiskey.
“Wiser,” she says, then looks at the bottle, barely holding back a smile. “Are you always so open about the McEwan family history?”
“It’s hard to deny when Ranger looks exactly like Rory. And I grew up avoiding the guy as much as Ronan did, so I’d know,” I say. “Is it a secret back home?”
“Being the result of a sordid affair and then being abandoned by the richest family on the East Coast? It isn’t exactly dinner conversation.”
I catch her wrist before she throws the hair tie. “That’s what Ranger told you?”
She glances at where I’m touching her, and I let go. “Yes. He and his mom were left with nothing. Then when she died, he was alone.”
“He was never alone,” I say, maybe too fast, but in defense of a man I respect. “Finn never once let them suffer.”
Helena told me everything years ago—how the moment Finn found out his brother had a child with Daria Luxe, he’d gone to see them both. He’d offered them support—financial or otherwise. Daria refused. I tell Denver this, and she listens with rapt attention.
“When Daria died, Finn went to Ranger,” I continue. “Ranger refused to take anything from him. Said he didn’t need or want the McEwans’ help.”
Denver frowns, chewing her bottom lip. “He was probably hurt. He’s proud.”
We sit quietly, the hair tie game forgotten. The mood wasn’t exactly light before, but now it definitely isn’t.
“Why now?” she asks.
“Why now what?” I frown, wondering if I’m more drunk than I realize. “Does that make sense?”
“Why are you letting me see you?” she asks. “Why now?”
I exhale deeply and grab the bottle again.
I told myself I’d do anything to make her see that hurting Wilder is pointless.
I need to find her humanity and cling to it.
But I didn’t think we’d talk about this side of my life.
Amy feels off limits, but I can talk about Callie.
“My wife died.” My throat is thick and bitter as I swallow.
“The only reason I worked behind the scenes was to keep her safe. And in the end … that amounted to fuck all.” I avoid her eye.
“Don’t pity me. Your husband is dead. I don’t pity you. ”
“Yeah, but I killed that fucker.”
Laughter bursts from my mouth. “Did you just confess to murder?”
She shrugs. “Who cares? Everyone thinks I did it anyway. And what are you gonna do? Snitch on me?”
“True. So, how did that happen? He was cheating, right?”
She waves a hand. “It’s a long, boring story. I’ll write a book one day. Tell me someone you’ve killed so I don’t feel so lonely.”
I think for a minute. “I killed my boss’s son.”
“Boring. Next.”
I laugh. “How is that boring?”
“Because everyone knows you did that. Whenever I asked about you, it was always, ‘Oh, he killed Billy “Big Hands” Craig.’ Ridiculous nickname, by the way.”
“Agreed. Okay, I’ll tell you something no one knows. It was an accident.”
She frowns. “What do you mean?”
I can’t believe I’m telling her this, but I definitely am a little drunk, and the consequences seem too far away to touch me. Besides, it’s been twelve years.
“Wilder and I knew we were going to do it. The guy was a prick, he was threatened by us, and his dad had already agreed to retire and give us everything. Billy was only alive because he had a reputation. And he was fucking huge,” I say, remembering his six-foot-eight frame.
He was called Big Hands for a reason. They were like fucking shovels.
“But we had no idea when or how we were going to do it. Then one night I was leaving a warehouse, and I was in a rush, and I reversed and didn’t realize Billy was behind the van. I knocked him into the Hudson.”
Denver stares at me. It takes a second for her lips to start twitching. “You knocked him into the Hudson.”
I nod slowly. “And he never surfaced.”
Her lips tighten and she slaps her hand over her mouth as she erupts into laughter, and I join her.
“The story you’re known for—” She’s choking on her laugh. “The legendary story of you killing Billy “Big Hands” Craig was a fluke?” I nod, grinning, and she wraps her arms around her stomach as she laughs harder. “You’re the worst gangster ever!”
My smile is hurting my cheeks, and maybe it’s the alcohol, but I can’t remember the last time I wasn’t … worrying. Burdened. Buried under the weight of my brother’s fuck-ups and my endless responsibilities. And it’s fucking strange that I feel this way with Denver Luxe, of all people.
She exhales loudly, resting her head back and staring at the ceiling. Now I’ve spoken about Callie, I can’t help but wonder what Denver meant when she mentioned Amy. And how she even knows about her, given that she died years ago, and I kept her as hidden as I have Holly.
“How did you know I had a daughter?” I ask.
Denver takes a few beats before answering. “I saw you with her tonight.” My heart races a little fast. Too fast. “It was just by chance. I was going for a walk and you both just appeared in front of me. She was asleep in your arms, and—”
She saw me with Holly.
She tilts her head to look up at me. “She looks just like you.”
Yes, she does. Everyone says it. She looks more like me than Wilder. It was a running joke for years and would be now if it wasn’t so painful to say.
“You saved me because of her.”
She nods. “I wasn’t going to. I was close to walking away. But I thought … if it had been me. If someone had known how much my dad meant to me and spared his life so I wouldn’t be alone?” Tears gather along her lash line. “I’d have been grateful to them forever.”
My heart twists in my chest, and I feel something other than frustration for this woman. Something close to understanding. I was looking for her humanity, and I’ve found it.
I didn’t think I’d find mine, too.
I save my feelings for Holly, for the little girl who lost her mom and is close to losing her dad.
She gets the version of Colt that I want to bury, but Denver has pulled him free, too.
With a single look, she’s reached into my chest and scooped up the fragments of a man who was a husband, a father, a son, a friend.
And now I have to tell her the truth, even though I know what it’ll do to her.
I swallow. “She isn’t my daughter. She’s Wilder’s.”
Realization dries her tears and parts her lips.
I watch her go through a whirlwind of emotions that I’ve caused.
Her reasons for saving me just became her reasons to forgive Wilder.
I’ve robbed something from her. A chance at peace, maybe. It was only the truth, but maybe at the worst time, because fresh tears fill her eyes, and she doesn’t stop them from falling.
I don’t know if I’ve caged or freed her, and it feels too cruel to ask.
For some reason, something I’ll likely always wonder about and question, I touch her face. She doesn’t recoil. She doesn’t stop me. Too lost in what she’s given up, she lets me cup her cheek. Her lips tremble as more tears dampen her skin, and I run my thumb under her eye to wipe them away.
The elevator springs to life. Denver pulls back and I glance at the camera in the corner. I didn’t tell Alistair to do this, but he must have decided it was time.
I stand and offer Denver a hand, but she ignores it. She swipes furiously at her face, refusing to look at me. When we reach her floor, she sweeps up her wet clothes and storms out.
The doors go to close, and I slam my hand against them, squeezing my eyes shut.
I’ve probably saved my brother’s life. Being a father has spoken to Denver in some way, and this is what I wanted. This the best outcome.
Then why do I feel like this? Why do I feel like I may as well have held a gun to her head and told her I’d pull the trigger if she didn’t let this go?
Why do I feel like the monster?
I should just walk away. Tell Wilder it’s over. The Luxes defeated. My conscience fucking destroyed. Denver’s hope gone, too.
I’m leaving the elevator before I can reason with myself not to.
I sprint down the hall and catch her door before it shuts. She whirls on me, backing away as I enter her room and close the door behind me.
“I’m sorry,” I say.
She looks horrified. “Sorry?”
“Yes, I’m sorry,” I say. “I’m sorry this happened to you. I’m sorry Wilder did this to you.”
Her eyes are glassy, more tears falling. She has a gun. We’re alone. She could kill me, and I’m starting to think I wouldn’t blame her. An apology is an insult for what Wilder did to her.
But she doesn’t shoot me. She shoves me. “Fuck you, Colt.”
“I—”
“Say you’re sorry again and I’ll kill you!
” she screams, a sob escaping her throat.
“You don’t get to be sorry. Wilder doesn’t get to walk away because he was lucky enough to have someone who needs him.
What do I get?” She hits her chest. “What gets me through the night, Colt? What stops me from hurting?”
I don’t know what to say. I don’t know how to make it better.
All I ever do is try to fix things. Fix Wilder’s mistakes. Fix my own.
“I lost people who could have been someone in my life because they blame me. They blame me. They—” She presses the back of her hand to her mouth.
I’m watching her break, and I can’t remember the last time I felt such desperation to erase someone’s pain.
“I was left with no one but him, and I can’t even make him happy anymore.
I’m not enough. I’m not enough. I’m—” She lets out a cry.
My words are pointless, so I go to her. She hits at me and sobs, but I pull her to my chest.
She stops fighting. Stops struggling.
And she cries. She wraps her arms around my waist, and she buries her face in my chest as I hold her.
A woman I’d once seen as close to invincible. A powerhouse.
She breaks in my arms. She falls to pieces.
And I stay with her as she does.