14. Levi
LEVI
I pull on my cigarette, letting out the cloud of smoke and watching it hang in the air of night. A ship horn blasts somewhere out in the bay, signaling it’s coming into port, but it’s not why I’m here.
A noise catches my attention, and my gaze shoots back to the docks to where a ship is being unloaded a few yards away.
They can’t see me where I am, hidden in the brush across the street. They do this under the cover of night. Not many are awake at three a.m., but I am.
I’ve been here for an hour, just watching. Waiting for the proof I need.
A black SUV pulls through the gates, heading over to where they’re unloading the remaining cargo from the small ship. I pull out my binoculars, zooming in on the back of the car.
A worker crosses the dock, heading toward the back window. They exchange words, but the glass is tinted, making it impossible to see inside.
I know, though. I fucking know who’s inside that car.
My hands shake with uncontrollable rage.
My blood roars in my ears.
All this time, it was right there in front of my face, and yet, I didn’t want to believe it.
I still don’t.
I’m about to turn away when I spot him. The back door opens, and he climbs out, smoothing down the lines of his suit. He looks around, his gaze sliding over me where I’m standing in the shadows. He doesn’t see me . . . but he can sense me.
His gaze lingers in the shadows surrounding me for only a moment before he starts walking toward the warehouse off the docks, presumably where they store all the drugs that come in on the ships.
I watch him disappear through the doors as the last bit of cargo is placed on the dock.
In the blink of an eye, everything goes silent.
The men on the docks disperse—the doors to the warehouse slam shut. Even the waves of the ocean fall silent.
Silently, I slip my flask out of my back pocket, raising it to my lips.
I let the whiskey coat my senses, drowning out the noise in my head, telling me to go in there and put a bullet between his eyes.
Slowly, I roll my shoulders, cracking my neck.
My day will come. When it does, Trailblazer Corp, the DEA, and all of Seattle will know not to fuck with what’s mine.
My father may have been a sick, sadistic mother fucker, but one thing he taught me before I killed him?
No one fucks with the Cross’s.
Least of all, him.
“Starting a mechanic’s business now?”
I glance up at the sound of Christian’s voice as he steps through the open garage door. I’ve been out here since the moment I got back this morning, hands deep in the guts of Ava’s beat-up Oldsmobile.
The damn thing barely qualifies as a car. Tires worn down to threadbare rubber, the heater gasping like it’s on life support, and the engine rattling like bones in a coffin. Hell, it would probably make a better boat anchor than a vehicle.
Christian stops beside the gold monstrosity Ava has named Judith, and leans down, his nose wrinkling at the fuzzy, purple seat covers as if they might be contagious.
“Cute. Purple’s really your color.”
“Yeah, fuck you,” I grunt, slamming the hood shut with a satisfying clang that echoes off the garage walls. “Thing’s a piece of shit.”
“Thought you didn’t care?” he tosses back, amused.
“I don’t,” I snap, a little too quickly.
He raises both hands in mock surrender, lips twitching. “Right. Must’ve been imagination.”
It’s not entirely a lie. I didn’t fix it for her.
Not exactly. I just needed something to do.
Something to keep my hands and brain busy while everything around me unravels.
I’ve always been good with cars—took apart and rebuilt my first one before I was sixteen.
I even fixed my Aston’s front grill after we slammed into Mega-deer the other night.
Christian watches me for a beat longer, the amusement in his eyes softening into something else—concern, maybe, or curiosity. I don’t care enough to figure it out, and that’s probably for the best.
“You’re avoiding something,” he says quietly, almost casually, but there’s an edge there I can’t ignore.
I snort, wiping grease-streaked hands on an already filthy rag. “Yeah,” I grunt. “You.”
He shrugs. “Or her.”
Jesus fucking Christ.
“Don’t you have something better to do?”
“Nah, I’m avoiding Bella and her Christmas demands.”
I round the car and slide into the driver’s seat. The scent of her perfume hits me instantly. I can’t fucking escape it.
Warm citrus and a hint of vanilla. Light, sweet. Unmistakable. It clings to the fabric, to the steering wheel, to everything. My mouth waters, and the memory of her pressed against me in the woods crashes over me like a tidal wave.
So soft and warm. The way she moaned my name. Fucking hell, she was perfection.
Fucking hell.
I hate it.
I hate that I crave her.
“So, where’d you go last night?” Christian asks, voice casual—but I know him too well.
I open my mouth to tell him about the information I’d learned, but fall silent. I don’t need to implicate him any further in this mess. He’s finally able to relax and settle down with his wife. He doesn’t need to be a part of my problems.
“Met a girl,” I say instead.
He tilts his head. “Yeah? Only to come home and fix another girl’s car?”
“Am I being interrogated?”
Jesus Christ. “You’re being asked.”
I scowl. “I’ve got shit to do.”
He shrugs. “I don’t give a shit who you’re seeing. Just don’t bring—”
“Don’t bring shit home. I know.”
We stare at each other for a long beat, tension like static in the air. Then he leans back against the counter, jaw ticking. Watching me.
“You don’t need to worry about me,” I grunt, turning the car over before he can say anything else.
The car coughs, sputters, then miraculously roars to life. I rev the engine a few times, listening to the uneven tick like a time bomb counting down. There’s no way this thing survives the winter.
Where the hell did she even find this car? A junkyard? The ocean floor?
“I’ve been thinking,” Christian says suddenly, “about this lodge. This house.”
“What about them?”
“You really want to spend the next fifty years doing the same shit?”
I shrug, scrubbing my hands in the sink. “Wasn’t our decision. Mom and Dad did that.”
“Yeah, well, there’s nothing saying we can’t change it.”
“You want to change the lodge?”
“Just a thought.”
“If you want to change it, change it. You won’t hear any complaints from me—”
I freeze.
Across the gravel path, Ava is walking toward the house, her laugh soft, head tilted back—and standing next to her is that smug, fuck-faced security guard, Alex Mendez.
My vision narrows.
Christian must feel the air change. He follows my gaze, and when he sees her, then me, he lets out a knowing breath.
“Definitely just my imagination.”
“Fuck you,” I mutter.
A rush of something pissed off washes over me.
“Have fun with that.”
Christian slaps my shoulder with a smirk and disappears inside, but I barely notice. My attention is pinned to the woman outside and the man who doesn’t know just how much I would enjoy slicing every one of his fingers off for touching her.
She doesn’t notice me lurking in the shadows of the garage, but Mendez does. The fucker looks over her head while she’s completely oblivious, and winks my way, a twisted grin spreading on his lips.
And then, she does something that’s going to cost her.
He’s brushing something—leaves?—from her hair, and she thanks him with that sweet, innocent smile she has never given to me. My stomach twists—my pulse pounds.
Ava walks away, toward the house, and Mendez has the audacity to turn my way, winking.
My grip tightens on the wrench until pain shoots through my fingers, and suddenly, I’m thinking of all the ways I can punish her.
I tell myself I don’t care. Who gives a fuck if he touches her? I have no claim to her.
Then something in me snaps.
Fuck it.
Ava Ryan is mine. She just doesn’t know it.
I toss the wrench onto the bench and stride toward the house, boots echoing against the tile. Every step calculated. Measured. I round the corner, eyes locked on the dark-haired girl at the other end of the hall.
She spots me and freezes.
Her gaze widens. She knows something’s changed. Maybe it’s the look in my eyes. Maybe it’s the air thick with tension. I see the fear flash across her pretty features. It’s quick—but it’s there.
She smiled for him.
I’m not letting that shit slide.
She takes a cautious step back. I cock my head to the side, waiting to see what she’s going to do.
She surprises me, spinning on her heel and running in the other direction.
I actually chuckle under my breath.
Fine, baby girl. Let’s play.