14
Broadway
E very night I find myself in the same predicament. I come home and immediately down a glass of whiskey to still my trembling fingers.
Next, I hit the shower to wash whatever blood or grime is sticking to my skin. And then, regardless of the hour, I sit on the couch in the dark living room, staring at the wall and willing my ass to stay in place.
The three weeks since Violet moved into Carter’s place have passed in a blur of work-filled days, Scarlett -filled weekends, and near catatonic nights.
I should be used to the unease slithering inside me like a restless snake by now, but no. Every night, staying on the couch, locked inside my penthouse, gets harder and harder.
The silence blanketing the air is suffocating, the emptiness daunting. Not that long ago, these four walls were my sanctuary. The silence a pleasant change after days filled with noise. I loved my late nights with a drink in hand and nothing but peace and quiet for company.
But lately, the silence has become oppressive. It makes my thoughts spiral, and instead of switching off and coming down from the undeniable high my work provides, I’m not far off climbing the walls.
I barely sleep.
Violet’s like a pendulum. One day she’s perfectly fine, smiling, talking, and interacting with everyone, then the next she grows distant, draws lines and erects walls.
Her therapist, Tom, told Carter it’s all part of the process and it’ll pass. He said it’s her defense mechanism for when she’s overwhelmed. He even said that knowing we wouldn’t hurt her allowed Violet to create boundaries.
It made no sense to me at first, but the longer I pondered her behavior, the more I understood, and the wilder the bloodthirsty beast inside me grew.
Violet was robbed of control while under Noretto’s thumb, used, abused, and treated like a blow-up doll for months.
She had no say in what happened to her or when.
Now, every decision she makes, every boundary she sets, helps her regain some semblance of control.
She has a say. She has a choice.
I just hate that she used it to distance herself. I barely exchanged any words with her for two weeks.
Thankfully, things have started improving lately.
She’s smiling more as the days go by. I don’t see her as much as I want—twenty-four-seven—but whenever I do, she’s brighter, talks more, flinches less.
It’s progress. The therapy I arranged obviously helps, but earlier tonight, Carter said she’s retreating again...
I don’t know what the fuck changed.
My head hits the back of the couch, thoughts racing at a million miles an hour, dissecting every word Carter said and every interaction I’ve had with Violet thus far.
In the quiet of the night, there’s nothing to ease my screaming mind. The onslaught of thoughts doesn’t die down, just grows louder...
Unless she’s within reach.
In my line of sight.
It doesn’t happen often, unfortunately. I haven’t seen Violet for three days because Carter’s running me dead. I’m doing more work now than I did when he went AWOL searching for Hailey and dumped his role as Dante’s right-hand man on my head.
Half the shit he makes me deal with could be easily delegated to lower-ranking soldiers, but I think he’s trying to keep me occupied so I don’t fly off the handle... Because killing every fucker who ever laid a hand on Violet has been my goal since the moment I hauled her into my arms.
He knows this. I asked for the green light to track them down. To be perfectly honest, given his brand-new boss status, I didn’t think he’d agree, but he did.
Under one condition. He has to approve every kill in case one of them is someone important, someone we can’t touch.
Too bad that, despite Ryder’s prodding, the purchase logs from Noretto’s auctions are encrypted the old-fashioned, analog way (the names that correspond to those numbers are probably only written down in some notebook buried in his mansion, if at all) and the guest lists are nowhere to be found.
Two weeks and I still don’t know who to kill.
The light at the end of this dark tunnel comes from Violet’s therapy. While Tom’s point-blank refused to share details, he promised to give me any names she mentions.
Anyway...
Not being able to gut the fuckers isn’t the worst thing happening right now. The thoughts tormenting me non-stop are inconvenient, just like the fear gripping my chest, and the bloodthirst frying my system.
But by far, the worst thing is the coldness .
Ever since I unwrapped Violet from my arms, my body, heart, mind, and fucking soul feel like a mammoth trapped under ice for millennia, or Alex’s eyeballs and fingers that we kept on ice for months after I dug the fucker up. She stole whatever’s warmed my blood for twenty-seven years, shattered my protective shields, and left me wide open.
That was three weeks ago. Three long weeks of working my ass off, stopping by Carter’s whenever I can to get a glimpse of Violet, then staying up until the morning hours, staring at the wall and willing myself to calm the fuck down.
I’m exhausted.
I don’t understand—don’t want to understand—why I feel this way about a girl I’ve only held once.
Gritting my teeth, I dig my fingers into my scalp, trying to anchor myself. The distance is messing with my brain so much it’s painful. The only time my muscles don’t feel made of iron is when Violet’s close, and there haven’t been many opportunities for that lately.
“Fuck it,” I snap. It echoes through the empty penthouse as I grab my car keys from the coffee table.
Stomping across the room, I slip my feet into my boots and enter the elevator, tapping in the code to go down.
Not even fifteen minutes later, I flick the indicator on and cruise down Carter’s driveway.
I did not think this through. It’s one in the morning for fuck’s sake. Violet’s probably fast asleep. Besides, it’s not like I can march inside Carter’s house then barge into her bedroom.
Even if I could, what would I do? Stand in the corner and watch her sleep like some psycho?
Well... with how unhinged I’m feeling, I wouldn’t put it past me.
I dim the headlights before the house comes into view behind a sharp bend and a line of old trees. All my mental berating ceases when the mansion appears, completely dark save for one light in the far-left window upstairs.
Violet’s bedroom.
My heart stutters, unsure whether to pick up its pace or slow down. Scanning the driveway, I pick a parking spot with a clear view of her window— Stalking for Dummies , page thirty-nine.
The murmur of my V8 engine dies seconds before Violet’s silhouette appears in the window. She looks out into the darkness, her face bathed in the orange glow of the night lamp, and every muscle in my body unwinds.
The air ejects from my lungs, my head hits the backrest and I stare right at her, my voyeurism disguised by the night. I’m sure she can make out the shape of my G Wagon, maybe even see me behind the wheel, though I doubt it.
Slowly, she retreats, only to come back with a pillow. She makes herself comfortable on the windowsill and rests her head against the cool glass, her chest rising subtly.
Movement by the main door drags my eyes away. The security guard on duty tonight moves from his post, crossing the driveway with purposeful strides.
I roll the window down.
“Everything alright?” he asks, regarding me slowly, his eyes weary, spine straight.
“Yeah. Don’t mind me. I’ll stay here for a while.”
Two wrinkles crawl onto his forehead and his face falls. He probably thinks Carter’s asked me to add additional security, meaning he doesn’t trust this guy.
It’s obviously not the case, but I don’t bother explaining. With a curt nod, he retreats to the door, his head swinging left and right with newfound determination.
And my eyes move back to the upper window where Violet stares outward, hugging her knees. She stays in the same position for ages, unmoving, eyes wide open as if sleep’s eluding her as much as it does me lately.
◆◆◆
This becomes my routine for days on end.
Spending nights in the car outside Carter’s mansion eases my tumultuous mind. It’s something to look forward to while I’m running around like a headless chicken from early afternoon until late evening, fulfilling orders.
I spend a lot of time watching Scarlett ’s VIP area, because ever since we rescued Violet, Noretto’s men have been showing up. They don’t engage, don’t ask questions, just sit and drink, but the timing’s too convenient for coincidence. If Blaze thinks he can steal Violet, then good fucking luck. He’ll need to go through me first.
Once they’ve left and everything else is dealt with, I go home, shower, and head across town to watch over Violet. The routine doesn’t allow for much sleep, but I catch a few hours—nowhere near as much as I need—in the mornings.
She doesn’t sleep at night either. Ever. She also doesn’t ask why I’m parked outside if I see her during the day. It’s our little secret, it seems.
She reads a lot, curled into a ball on the windowsill, her eyes skimming inked pages until morning, when Hailey and Carter wake up, and Violet heads to bed. It’s bizarre, but I guess her sleep pattern might be fucked after months in captivity.
What’s my excuse?
I pull up outside the mansion close to one in the morning, almost two weeks after my first visit. The sky breaks out in stark whiteness every few minutes as bolts of lightning obliterate the black canvas. The rain’s falling in fucking sheets, hence I’m a little late.
Not that anyone’s waiting for me.
It took me twice as long to get here, my wipers useless against the heavy downpour. Rivers flow down the streets, the storm near ripping the trees from their roots, and I was fucking certain I’d find Violet curled in the window again, nose in a book, but for the first time since this ritual started, her lights are out.
My brows furrow, anxiety rearing its head and flooding my mind with questions.
Is she okay?
Did something happen?
Wind howls in the air like a haunted melody, the thunder so loud it’s deafening. The lights are on in the living room and, when I squint, I can make out my boss and his girl on the sofa, the TV flickering on the wall.
I stay in my seat for several minutes, staring inside and waiting for another figure to materialize, but no. It’s just Carter and Hailey sharing a bottle of wine.
Like a slap across my face, another thought enters my mind. A dark, crippling thought. It makes my insides turn in on themselves, propelling me out of the car.
Has Carter sent her away without telling me?
It’s irrational, I know. He wouldn’t do that to me, but my heart’s pounding in my ears just as hard as the rain pounds against my scalp while I dash across the driveway.
The bodyguard there takes one look at my face and flings the door open.
Water cascades from my hair and clothes, my t-shirt soaked, boots dripping dirt over the pristine marble.
“Where is she?” I ask. The note of desperation in my voice makes me cringe.
Hailey groans on the couch, slapping a pillow over her head and Carter... Carter smiles at me over his shoulder. If this bizarre reception didn’t throw me off, the fact Hailey tosses the pillow aside while her baby blues are shooting daggers my way definitely does.
“She’s upstairs, why?” Carter asks.
“Her room’s dark. She’s always reading on the windowsill, but not tonight. Are you sure she’s here?”
Hailey pinches a smile off her lips. “Yes, we’re sure. She grabbed a glass of water no more than fifteen minutes ago. She’s probably sleeping. It’s late.” Untangling her legs from under her butt, she rises to her feet. “You couldn’t wait one more day, could you?” She pouts, coming close enough to jab her finger into my chest. “Just one day, Broadway. What does a girl need to do around here to win a bet, huh?”
My lips part to speak but words don’t form.
“Ugh, never mind,” she huffs, stomping her bare foot as she shoots Carter a dirty look. “I’m going to bed.”
“Night, night.” He laughs, but the sound morphs into a low growl when Hailey rolls her eyes. With a triumphant smile, she stalks away. “You’ll pay for that, pretty girl,” he grits out, before glancing at me. “Thanks. You won me a very good bet.”
I cock an eyebrow, slumping into the loveseat in front of him. “Care to explain?”
He walks to the drinks cabinet, pulling out two crystal glasses and filling them with Bourbon.
“We were wondering how long it’d take before you came inside instead of lurking on the driveway all night.”
“You noticed...” I mutter under my nose, accepting a glass.
“You thought I wouldn’t? I knew you were here that first night, the minute you parked up, Broadway. You’re not as stealthy as you think.” He plops down in his seat and switches the TV off, taking a long, measured sip. “Go on, spill.”
“There’s not much to report. I just feel so—”
“Protective? Possessive? Yeah, you made that obvious when you punched Ryder.”
“He shocked her,” I seethe, washing the bile climbing my throat at the memory with a gulp of Bourbon.
“He took every precaution. You know damn well the rubber insulation stopped the shocks from reaching her, but considering where your head is, I get why you ignored that information.”
I relax into the seat, my teeth gnashing between my lips. “Care to tell me where my head is? I’m having trouble locating it.”
He barks out a laugh. “Well, you’re in deep shit, my friend. Everyone can see you’re losing your head over Viera. Whenever you’re in the same room, you don’t take your eyes off her. You should see your fucking face when she frowns.”
I swallow hard, mentally kicking myself for letting my emotions bleed over my face. Clicking my tongue I drop my gaze, but it’s up a second later, clashing with Carter’s dark, amused eyes.
I’m not fucking ashamed of the maelstrom whipping me left and right. Far from it.
The only thing I’m ashamed of is not realizing those feelings Violet triggered the first time I saw her weren’t negative.
They were overwhelmingly positive.
Carter never hid how he felt about Hailey. He didn’t try to belittle their connection or pretend it wasn’t there. While I have no connection with Violet and whatever’s between us is one-sided, I don’t intend to hide it.
At least not from my best friend.
Carter’s the best equipped to help me navigate this maze.
He knew what it was before I did.
“It fucks with my head that she’s here and I’m at home,” I say, dragging my right ankle over my left knee. “It fucks with my head when she’s sad and I can’t make her smile.” Following Carter’s lead, I sip my drink, then run a hand down my face, fully aware how possessive these next words sound. “But what fucks with my head the most is seeing anyone save for Hailey invade Violet’s personal space.”
Carter bobs his head, without a trace of condescension. “I can relate. My relationship with Hailey is the hardest thing I’ve ever done... but it’s worth it.”
I don’t doubt that for one second, but Violet and I are not in a relationship. Far from it. We’ve barely exchanged ten sentences over the past five weeks.
“Don’t get ahead of yourself. This isn’t a relationship. I don’t think it can ever be one.”
“Why? Because she was raped?”
A shudder shakes me from head to toe, a badass headache looming nearby. “Yeah. You think she’ll ever trust another man?”
“She already trusts you,” he says, his tone sincere. “She only relaxes when you’re around.”
A dry laugh escapes me. “No, she doesn’t. She flinches when I get close.”
“It’s a reflex. Besides, it’s only been five weeks. According to Tom she’s doing great, but she won’t heal overnight. It takes time, so if you want her, and I know you do, you’ll have to muster a whole heap of patience.”
Another sip of Bourbon and more unfiltered truth spills from my lips.
Fuck it feels good to unload this.
“I can’t sit still when she’s out of my sight.” I pinch my nose. “Is that normal? Do you feel like you’re about to explode when Hailey’s not around?”
“Pretty much. It wasn’t like this when we met, but yeah, ever since she disappeared from Lakeside, I’m never calm unless she’s close.”
He doesn’t elaborate, but he doesn’t really need to. And he’s lying through his teeth or implementing the same denial technique I’ve been clinging to lately. He had it bad since day one with Hailey.
The Jensen incident proves just how bad.
I watched his sanity wilt away the longer Hailey was missing. I watched him when he got her back and how fucking unnerved he was whenever she wasn’t in the same room. He came too close to losing her and the strain took a toll on him.
“It gets easier with time,” Carter muses. “But whenever Hailey’s out of sight, I’m...” He pauses, searching for an appropriate word.
Bat-shit crazy.
Fucking mental.
A loose cannon.
“Not myself,” he finishes.
And it fits perfectly, because ever since Violet entered my life, I’m far from myself.
At least the version of me I was so used to and familiar with. That old version didn’t feel half the things this new version feels.
Despite the torment of navigating those feelings... the old me was missing out big time.