Chapter 13
Sloane
It feels like I’ve walked into a living, breathing thing. Lucas’s house, aka Maddy’s old place. The faucet ticks like a metronome, and the floorboards groan as if complaining about the February chill. I can practically hear my own heartbeat echoing off the walls, reminding me she’s gone.
I spot a mound of sneakers and boots by the door two sizes too small for Lucas. My chest tightens. Maddy’s not coming back. Somehow I’d tricked myself into forgetting she’s dead, and now grief slams into me like a freight train.
I pad down the narrow hallway. The air is heavy and stale, radiators huffing, windows sealed shut.
A wilted plant on the sill looks as exhausted as I feel.
I trace the old scar on my left hand, the one that still itches every time I step inside.
Bright blue paint peels from the wall, posters of punk bands crowd the ceiling above the couch, and that faded yellow throw she picked up at some street market lies folded on the armrest. She’s everywhere.
“I thought you’d given up,” Lucas says from the kitchen doorway. His hoodie droops around him, and dark circles underscore eyes that haven’t seen sleep in weeks.
My voice comes out too soft.
“Not a chance. Maddy is…was…” I begin, but it’s awkward to speak in the past tense. “I should’ve come sooner.”
He exhales a short laugh.
“You know where to find me,” he says, gesturing at a lean tower of takeout boxes. “Lo mein. Day-old special. Help yourself.”
“I’ll pass,” I say, perching on the couch arm, careful of tangled headphone cords. “I got a name and an address. Maddie’s boyfriend. We were right. He’s into some serious stuff.”
Lucas stiffens, eyes snapping up to meet mine.
“Who?”
“Ethan Reyes,” I say. “He’s got ties to the Red Hooks.”
“Shit.” His voice is a breath away from breaking. “That gang?”
I nod.
“They’re low-level, but they operate all over Brooklyn. There’s no telling what else he’s into.”
He kicks at the edge of the carpet, staring at a spot on the floor.
“How the hell did you dig this up?” he asks.
That’s where it got complicated.
“I had some help,” I admit.
His eyebrow arches.
“From who?”
I stare at a cracked tile instead of looking at him.
“Just a guy.”
Technically true. Rafaele Rosetti is definitely a guy.
He turned up at that bar last night and rescued me from that douchebag who was trying to drag me outside to God knows where.
No, he was worse than that, and even though it terrifies me to admit it, things could have gotten bad if Rafe hadn’t shown up.
I barely even protested when he walked me home and came inside, then hung around like bad wallpaper, fuming about how reckless I was.
Rafe Rosetti was already five steps ahead of me, it seemed.
Bumping into him at the bar was no accident.
He’d been watching the Callahan place. Or watching me.
He already had all the details on Maddy’s boyfriend, and when he told me, I was stunned speechless.
I had no idea he’d already been investigating.
Lucas shifts, trying to read my face. I need to stay focused.
“We have to find Ethan before he disappears,” I say. “He seems like the kind of person who can vanish at any moment.”
“Did this guy give you an address?” Lucas asks, pacing.
“Queens,” I admit. “He says that’s where Ethan’s holing up most days, but he isn’t 100% if he sleeps there too.”
Lucas flicks a stack of papers off the couch. Bills scatter. Lots of them.
I stoop to gather them, guilt twisting my ribs. I should have turned up to meet Maddy on time, then maybe I would have met this Ethan guy, warned Maddy off, kept her alive.
“You said Maddy was seeing him the night she died,” I press. “He’s got to know something.”
I put the bills on the crowded table.
“For sure,” Lucas agrees, sinking into the sofa. “But if he’s with the Red Hooks, he’s not gonna talk to us. Or maybe he’s gone for good. Jesus. Why didn’t I see it? He must’ve freaked when she—”
“We’ll figure it out,” I promise, crouching beside him.
I can smell the stale cigarette on his breath. He’s slipped back into bad habits.
He nods, eyes distant.
“We have to.”
“I need you in this, Lucas.”
He looks up.
“I’m in,” he says, like he needs to convince himself. “Let’s hit him up next weekend. Can you wait that long?”
I could arrange it with Rafe, get him to come along too. But next weekend, Jesus.... It sounds like an eternity. If Rafaele is right, Ethan could disappear at any moment. I’m only going to get one shot, and I have to make it count.
“Let’s go tomorrow,” I say, standing up then switching from foot to foot, unable to stay still. Adrenaline is building in my system, and I add:
“Hell, let’s go now.”
Lucas looks down at himself and groans.
“I’m a fucking mess, Sloane. I need to sleep.”
“You need to shower,” I add.
“Yeah. I… Look, I’ll pull myself together, I promise, and help you out. Just give me a week.”
I look him over. He’s right, he’s a mess. I can’t force him to come with me to meet up with a gang member before he gets himself sorted.
I don’t want to have Lucas’ death on my hands because I dragged him into something he wasn’t ready for, forced him into a dangerous situation while he was still grieving Maddy.
The thought makes me sick, and I imagine explaining to his parents why he was the one who ended up dead, how I was the one who pushed him into it.
The guilt would eat me alive. I can’t let myself make the same mistake twice.
It’s my fault Maddy was alone the night she died.
I wasn’t there to help, and I’ll never forgive myself for that.
Luke said he needs a week. I know he doesn’t want to admit it, but it’s clear he’s barely hanging on, that a part of him still believes Maddy’s coming home.
Staying out of it for now might give him a chance to catch his breath and take some of the target off his back.
But no way am I waiting a week, when this Ethan guy might slip away while I’m twiddling my thumbs.
My pulse spikes.
“Sure,” I lie. “Next weekend.”
He nods, looking relieved, like he expected me to fight him on it.
My chest burns. He really thinks I’m going to sit around doing nothing.
Lucas rubs at his eyes, wiping away the exhaustion.
“I’ll be more use to you when I’m not a zombie,” he adds, trying to convince me, or maybe himself.
“We’ll go together. Raise some hell, like old times,” I say, trying to make it sound like I’m in no rush, that I’ve got all the time in the world.
Lucas let out a long breath, one I can almost feel rattling in my own lungs.
“I’ll come by your place when I’m ready,” he says. “Saturday, around noon?”
“Sure,” I say.
“It’s a date,” he says, then laughs weakly.
The air in the apartment presses down like a tight band around my chest. I’m not sure how long I can stand it.
“You need to eat,” I say. “After you shower.”
“Yeah. Guess I do,” he says, running a hand through his hair and then pushing himself to his feet. “I’ll hit you up, Sloane. Thanks.”
I grab my jacket from the arm of the couch and hesitate in the doorway. It doesn’t feel right to leave him alone, but then again, it doesn’t feel right to stay.
“Be careful,” he says.
“Always am.”
I step out into the cold February air, pulling the jacket tight around my shoulders. It feels like the house is still breathing behind me, and I can’t shake the relief of leaving it behind.
My boots crunch on the frozen path as I make my way back to my car. The chill in the air goes right through me, but it’s nothing compared to the cold dread settling into my bones. I know Lucas needs time, but Maddy didn’t have time. She didn’t have a choice.
As I slide into the driver's seat, my fingers shake a little as they fumble over the ignition. Shoving away thoughts of Lucas and his grief, I force myself to focus on Ethan Reyes. Rafe is certain of his involvement, and I trust him.
I back out of Lucas's driveway and set a course for home. I’ll go tomorrow. Driving on autopilot, the city lights blur past me as I prepare for what’s to come. Maybe this is reckless—going alone, keeping Lucas in the dark—but this isn't about me anymore. This is about justice for Maddy.
The shower pipes groan as hot water hits my skin. It’s burning in the best possible way, washing off dust, tension, and the ghost of Maddy’s apartment. Steam curls around me, and I sink to the tiles, rubbing the grime from my hair and the memory of those empty, cold, Maddy-sized shoes from my mind.
My own place feels like a sanctuary. The plants aren’t quite so dead, the couch isn’t crowded with half-eaten takeout and overdue bills. Plus, it reminds me of Rafaele, since he was here just last night. Almost slept on the couch. Or somewhere else.
I close my eyes under the spray and imagine him here now, lean and dangerous, that low voice winding around me.
My skin pricks with want. I picture his ice-blue eyes meeting mine, the faint rasp of stubble on his jaw, the way he shifts his weight when he thinks. It feels like sparks against my skin.
I trace the hot water over my torso and can almost feel his hands there instead of spray. My heart races, and I let my mind drift to how it would feel if he pressed close, warm breath, solid muscle, a whisper of my name.
I tilt my head back, letting the water drum on my shoulders. For a moment, the whole world dissolves: just steam, just heat, just that fantasy of Rafaele leaning in.
His words ring through my mind:
“I should’ve helped you the second you walked into my world.”
The water runs down my thighs as I press my hand between them, teasing myself, bringing the idea of him into sharp, hot focus.
I imagine him standing by the mirror, watching me.
I imagine him angry and hungry, striding across the tiles.
The look in his eyes when he reaches me.
He’d pin me against the wall, his mouth covering mine until I forgot how to do anything but let him.
His hips pressing into me, hard and demanding. His cock.
My hand works faster, more frantic, needy as hell. I can’t remember feeling like this, like I am going to break apart if he doesn’t touch me. Maybe it is the fog of the room or the silence after Lucas’s grief, but I can’t stop. Don’t want to.
In my mind, his hands are rough, maybe angry, and I want every touch. He’d hold me right against him, exactly where I want to be.
I’m aching for him, pulling him close in my head, and I swear I can feel his teeth at my neck, his hands grounding me. I can almost touch the way his low voice would wrap around me. Feel the heat of him, his mouth on mine. Rough and possessive.
I gasp as the fantasy hits hard, clenching around me, blinding white. It shatters and holds me all at once, a ghost fading in the steam. The water washes the last of it away. I am breathless and empty, Rafaele’s name on my lips.