CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Fallon
“THIS WAS MY ABSOLUTE FAVORITE MOVIE GROWING UP,” I SAID as I organized a table full of snacks in the screening room.
It had been a couple of days since the grisly photo incident, and there’d been no other threats or dead bodies. I could tell Kye was still on edge, but he was doing his best to hide it. The fact that the girls were starting to settle into their new home helped.
“It’s about a garden?” Gracie asked, wrinkling her nose.
“Gracie,” Clem hissed in warning.
I couldn’t help but laugh. “Have I steered you wrong in either movie or snack choices yet?”
Gracie grinned, one of her teeth wiggling. “You have the best snacks.”
One corner of Hayden’s mouth kicked up. “I know why Kye said your blood is ninety-nine percent sugar.”
“I actually said ninety-nine-point-nine percent sugar,” Kye said as he walked into the screening room. “Which is why she’s so tasty to nibble on.”
He dove for me, lifting me into the air and making a show of biting my shoulder as I squealed. Gracie and Clem burst into giggles, and Hayden couldn’t hold back her smile. As Kye set my feet back on the ground, we were close. Too close.
My breath hitched as those amber eyes locked with mine. I wanted him to close the distance and kiss me. It felt like it had been years since I’d tasted him. And it didn’t matter that I woke with the pillow wall demolished and Kye wrapped around me each morning. It wasn’t enough. Not anymore.
It was as if that stolen morning last week had reminded me of everything I was missing.
“You know you can kiss her, right?” Clem asked, amusement in her voice.
Gracie giggled. “We know you guys kiss. We’re not that little.”
Kye shifted slightly, and I waited to see what he would do, which way he’d tip. He lowered his head and kissed my cheek, his scruff ghosting across my skin.
“That’s not a real kiss,” Gracie complained.
Kye’s callused palm skated across my jaw. “Not a real kiss, huh?”
Those amber eyes searched mine as if checking to see if it was okay. He hadn’t kissed me since our wedding, and God, I missed the feel of those lips on mine, the taste of him, the heat.
I knew I should make some excuse. That I should turn this into a joke. Something. Anything to keep me from falling more in love with a man who didn’t want to be mine. But I didn’t. I stayed right there as Kye got closer and closer.
His mouth hovered over mine, and I could taste mint and Kye in the air between us. Then he closed the distance, his tongue stroking in. This kiss was different than the ones before. There wasn’t desperation behind it. There was … something else.
A slow, stroking need. It was as if Kye was memorizing everything about my mouth.
Gracie and Clem hooted and cheered, and Kye slowly pulled back. I saw a different heat in his gaze now. We’d spent the past fourteen years shoving our connection and bond into a box that didn’t fit us. I knew it could never go back there.
So, where did that leave us when this was all over?
Kye cleared his throat. “What do you say we start this movie? And please tell me it’s not an ooey-gooey romance.”
I rolled my eyes. “Boys,” I huffed. “The Secret Garden is about a forbidden love and a decades-old secret.”
Kye’s eyes flared at that. “That’s a hell of a choice, Sparrow.”
I shrugged. “It’s always been my favorite movie.”
He studied me with a gaze that saw too much. Instead of trying to hide like I’d done for ages, I let him see. Pain lanced his features, but I still didn’t hide. Finally, he grabbed my wrist and pulled me onto one of the massive couches in the screening room.
Kye didn’t say a word as he wrapped an arm around me and tucked me into his side. But he didn’t push me away either. Maybe that was progress.
I stayed curled into Kye on one side while Gracie, Clem, and Hayden were on the other, even after the credits rolled.
Hayden flicked on the lights, making me blink against the brightness. Clem grinned at me. “Okay, that was really good.”
I shot my fist in the air. “Victory is mine!”
Gracie giggled, but her focus was on Kye’s arm. She traced the line of one of his tattoos, studying the maze of shapes. “Who drew on you?”
Kye shifted to see which element Gracie was studying. “Lots of different people. But I designed all the artwork.”
Gracie’s amber eyes widened. “That’s so cool. I really like drawing, too.”
“Maybe you’ll be a tattoo artist one day.”
She grinned, wiggling her loose tooth. “I like the strawberry.”
Kye’s gaze flicked up to me. “I’ve always had a thing for strawberries.”
My heart jerked in my chest as if it were trying to rip itself free and return to its rightful owner. Kye.
A gate alert sounded from Kye’s and my phones, and I shifted to pull my cell out. Tapping the icon for the speaker box, I pressed it to my ear. “Hello?”
“Hey, Fal. It’s Trace.”
My stomach sank. I hated that hearing my brother’s voice made me react that way, but it couldn’t be helped. “Buzzing you in.”
I didn’t ask why he was here or for any additional details. I simply tapped the icon to open the gate. The questions I wanted to ask would’ve put the girls on edge, and that was the last thing I wanted when they were just starting to settle in.
“Who was it?” Kye asked.
“Trace. Probably wants to borrow your truck for something out at his new place,” I lied.
Kye’s mouth thinned, but he nodded. “All right, you hooligans. It’s time to get ready for bed.” He glanced at Hayden. “Think you can get Gracie and Clem started on bath time?”
Surprise flitted through Hayden’s eyes, but she nodded. “Sure. No problem.”
As the girls made their way upstairs, I realized something. Hayden wanted to feel useful and like we trusted her. There had been pride in her eyes when Kye asked her to start the other girls’ baths.
Kye slowly moved toward the stairs, keeping some distance between us and his sisters. “Trace say anything?”
I shook my head.
“Fuck,” Kye muttered.
He knew as well as I did that if Trace had good news, he would’ve led with that.
As we made our way upstairs and into the entryway, the girls laughed and squealed one floor up.
Something about the juxtaposition of those two things—the dread of a sheriff’s visit and the laughter of three girls we adored—felt a lot like life in a nutshell.
We couldn’t escape the bad. We could only hold tight to the good.
A knock sounded. Kye crossed to the front door and opened it. Trace walked in, his face unreadable. But someone else followed him in. Anson. Dread pooled.
Trace wouldn’t have brought the ex-FBI profiler with him if it wasn’t bad. I started walking toward the kitchen, wanting to put some distance between us and tiny ears.
“Can I get you a beer?” I asked Trace. “Soda?” I asked Anson, knowing he didn’t drink.
Trace shook his head. “But I wouldn’t say no to a Coke.”
That told me two things. He thought he might have to go back to work, and it could be a late night. Still, I moved to the fridge and pulled out a soda for him, and a strawberry bubbly water for me.
“I’ll take a ginger ale if you’ve got one,” Anson said.
I grabbed one of those for him and then glanced at Kye in question. He just shook his head.
“What’s going on?” Kye asked, pitching his voice low.
Trace popped the tab on his Coke. “Found Joker, the president of the Reapers MC, stabbed to death an hour ago.”
A muscle in Kye’s cheek began fluttering wildly, and I instantly crossed to him. I wrapped an arm around his waist, but he was as stiff as a board, like he was preemptively warding off any comfort I might be able to give.
“Where?” Kye ground out.
“Road on the way to his cabin. Looks like someone put down a spike strip. It sent him flying, and then whoever it was moved in to finish the job.”
A wave of nausea slid through me, and I set my fizzy water down.
Kye gripped the counter’s edge, and I couldn’t help wishing he’d hold on to me that way, let me take some of his stress and worry. “That takes planning and knowledge,” Kye said, his voice tight.
“It does,” Trace agreed.
“I guess I should be thankful I have an alibi for this one,” Kye muttered.
A muscle fluttered in Trace’s cheek. “You know I had to dot every i and cross every t.”
A sick feeling slid through me. I hated that Kye even had to answer a question like that, and it took everything in me not to point that pissed-off right at Trace. But I knew he was only doing his job.
Kye ran a hand through his hair, his gaze flicking to Anson. “What do you think?”
Anson tapped a finger on the top of his ginger ale before opening it. “Someone is taking out those involved in the fight ring, one by one.”
“No shit, Sherlock,” Kye hissed. “Tell me something I don’t know.”
I squeezed his side. “Easy. This isn’t Anson’s fault.”
Kye shrugged out of my grip. And, God, that hurt.
“I know,” Kye said, slicing a hand through the air. “It’s my goddamned fault. Because I’m the one who got mixed up in it all to begin with.”
My jaw went slack as I stared at Kye. “You were sixteen. You made a mistake.”
Kye squeezed the back of his neck and shook his head. “Thought I knew better. And even after I learned how fucked-up it all was, I thought I could get the cash to free myself. Get out. Get my own place. Start over.”
His amber gaze collided with mine. His eyes were so full of pain. That’s when the pieces started coming together. Just why he might’ve kept fighting after coming to live with us at sixteen—so he didn’t have to stay.
“Kyler, no,” I whispered.
It was the only name I could use in the moment. The only one that fit.
His throat worked as he swallowed. “I wanted to figure a way out, Sparrow. So we didn’t have to throw it all away.”
So, he’d taken beating after beating—one that was so bad he’d ended up in a coma, and then almost did time in juvie—all because he’d wanted a chance … to be with me.
My eyes filled. “How can you even look at me?”
Kye’s eyes took on a glassy sheen. “’Cause you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”
“What did I miss?” Trace asked, sounding confused as he looked between us.
Anson took a pull of his ginger ale. “These two have a much longer history than people realize.” He studied us. “I’d guess you met during a moment of trauma for one or both of you. A bond forged in fire.”
Kye scowled at the ex-profiler. “Quit it with your mind-meld tricks.”
Anson grinned. “Good to know I was right.”
Trace shook his head. “None of that matters right now. What matters is figuring out who’s killing these people so we can stop them.”
But that’s where Trace was wrong. It did matter. It meant everything.
For fourteen years, I’d thought it was as easy as breathing for Kye to throw away his feelings for me and shift us into the friend zone. But I couldn’t have been more wrong. He’d given everything for me. And now, he was paying the price. Twice.
“What matters is how the hell we keep Kye safe,” I snapped.
Anson grinned.
I glared at him. “Why are you smiling?”
“Because you love him,” he said, gesturing to Kye.
Kye pinched the bridge of his nose. “A literal serial killer is running around, and you’re grinning like one of those creepy bobbleheads because Fallon loves me?”
That grin only widened. “What? I can’t be happy for you?”
“I swear, being in love has pickled his brain,” Trace muttered.
“In case you missed the memo, that serial killer might be targeting me. So maybe we chill on the super smiley,” Kye pointed out.
The first part of his statement had ice sliding through my veins and blood draining from my head.
It wasn’t like I didn’t know the facts, but hearing Kye spell them out, the casualty of it, was all too much.
My knees started to give way, and Kye cursed, catching me before I slid straight to the floor.
“Sorry,” I mumbled.
“Don’t you dare apologize, Sparrow,” Kye clipped as Trace slid one of the stools toward him. “I’m the one who should apologize. I need to watch my damn words.”
He settled me on the stool and popped my bubbly water. “Drink this.”
I scrunched up my nose. “I don’t know if I can.”
“Drink it,” he ordered. “I’m going to get you some cheese and crackers. You need something other than sweets. Your blood sugar probably plummeted.”
Anson’s lips twitched. “Love the caretaking.”
“Shut up,” Kye and I said at the same time.
Trace held up a hand. “All right, all right. Let’s talk about what we need to do, and then we can go and let you two get some sleep.”
“Not sure they’re getting much—”
“Anson,” Trace warned.
“Okay, okay. I just think it’s nice to remember the light when things are dark,” Anson said.
Kye slid a plate in front of me. “He’s all well-adjusted and stuff. It’s freaking me out.”
“You and me both,” Trace muttered. “All right. First things first. What’s the update on security here and at your businesses?”
Kye leaned a hip against the counter, staying close to me. “Blackheart and Haven already have state-of-the-art systems. I’ve got an alarm system here, and I added cameras at the gate and the front and back doors of the house.”
“That’s a good start,” Trace said. “Might want to reach out to Holt Hartley and see if he’s got any recommendations for beefing up the system.”
“Will do.” Kye looked at Anson. “What do you really think?”
Anson set his ginger ale down. “I think there are a few possibilities.” He ticked them off with his fingers.
“One, someone is tying up loose ends from the fight ring because having it possibly starting up again puts them at risk in some way. Two, someone was hurt in the past and is looking for revenge. Or three, a competitor doesn’t want a new fight ring popping up.
Organized crime is rife with those sorts of operations. ”
“None of that sounds good,” I said, breaking off a small piece of a cracker.
Kye slid a hand along my shoulders in reassuring strokes. “They all sound possible, but I’m not involved with the MC or whatever the hell they were trying to start up again.”
Trace looked at Kye. “Maybe not. But I wouldn’t put it past Oren to have told his club you were willing, hoping he could bring you around. You’d have been a big get for him. The famous tattoo artist walking on the dark side.”
Kye scowled at the suggestion. “It might’ve been a big get, but he must have known I would never do it.”
A phone dinged, and Kye released his hold on me to tug his device from his pocket. His fingers tapped the screen, and his whole expression turned thunderous.
Anson and Trace were already rising. “Show us,” Anson demanded.
Kye’s jaw worked back and forth, but he flipped his phone around. There was a new text message from an unknown number, but there were no words. Only an image.
A picture of a Polaroid.
Boxy lettering across the bottom said,
THREE DOWN. WHAT NOW?