Chapter 18
CHAPTER
EIGHTEEN
Ghost
Shot.
Verbally berated.
Practically naked in the streets.
Toes exposed to the biohazard that was this floor.
Offered fucking creamer for a snack.
Let’s not forget the monsoon of tears unleashed upon me.
And now?
A locked door.
The only thing cute about this situation was that he thought four locks could keep me out. The urge to prove how wrong he was had me lunging forward, fists clenched.
But then I stopped.
Sucked in a deep breath and slowly expelled it through my nose. Finger by finger, I unclenched my fist, pressing my palm flat against the door.
So close but so far away never had more meaning. I left the building, not looking back until I was outside on the sidewalk beneath the early afternoon sun that illuminated far too well the state of neglect of the entire street Pip called home.
It was better than being homeless but not even close to what he deserved. A depressing reminder of why I did what I did.
Ten years ago, I was filled with the ideals of a hero.
I learned fast that you don’t send a hero to do a villain’s work. Heroes won’t get dirty, but a villain will stay in the mess to make sure it doesn’t swallow anyone else whole.
Today, I was a champion of consequences. A firm believer that people needed to pay for their actions. A man who made sure they did.
People want to believe in heroes because they need to believe good always wins. It doesn’t. And you can’t win a fight with morals because the corrupt have none.
It was in this gray area that I existed, a ghost lurking in the shadows who had crossed the line so many times he wasn’t even sure it ever existed.
A victim and creation of the broken system he worked for, hoping any innocence he saved would cancel out even a fraction of the sins he’d committed.
Exactly why I shouldn’t have been there. Shadows were meant to protect the light, not swallow it.
Born to die. That’s what this life was—my life. Dying every day over and over so those less tarnished could live. Doing shit that made me a villain. Shit some people might call justice. To me, it was just damage control.
After shit went down ten years ago, I swore I’d never go back.
But I did. Walked right into this life. Into a cage I knew I’d never get out of. It was personal then.
Something I swore I’d never let happen again.
Then I laid eyes on him.
Limping into that diner, flinging those wide gray eyes around like weapons from beneath a snow-speckled fur hood. Sometimes, I still thought about the way his feet dangled over the floor, legs not even long enough to touch the ground.
An adorable party for one that I couldn’t ignore.
I glanced down at the bandage covering the bullet wound, then the one plastered to the inside of my elbow.
He was more than personal. He was someone I was willing to bleed for.
And hooty-hoo, did I fuck it all up.
But what in the mini-muffin hell was I supposed to do when I saw him standing in the Neon Reef with a pizza box half his size?
Yes, I said mini-muffin hell. The kind with those fake blueberries. I really needed a snack.
A cigarette would be better.
I walked to the end of the block and hailed another cab. The entire time, I fought the urge to look back. And it wasn’t because of the view. This place was a certified dump. Leaving him here was causing me actual pain.
“You already took my heart. I’m not giving you anything else.”
Oh yeah, I heard. He was the one with the hearing problem, not me. This was no exit territory, so those words lived inside me now. Caged up. Locked down. A permanent echo that not even time could quiet.
If I were good, I’d keep driving (or, you know, riding) and never look back. Find a way to return that heart to sender.
“Hey, pull over here,” I said to the driver.
He slammed his brakes and swerved to the curb.
“Wait here. Leave the meter running. I’ll be less than five.”
He nodded, and I jogged into the small bodega on the corner, the bell on the door announcing my arrival.
“Shirt and shoes required!” the woman behind the counter hollered.
“You know you’re enjoying the view,” I hollered back and grabbed four bags of mixed nuts and some lightly salted cashews off a nearby stand.
On my way back from grabbing a water (status: hydrated king), something caught the corner of my eye, and I stopped abruptly.
My bare feet squeaked on the old linoleum floor.
Good thing I was already on antibiotics.
After debating for half a second, I snatched the item off the shelf and then unloaded my haul onto the counter. The woman glared, and I gave her my best smile.
Sighing, she rang up the items, and I paid with my phone.
The second I slid into the back seat, the driver craned around and looked at the items filling my lap. “Man, you ain’t got on a shirt or shoes, but you bought mixed nuts and—”
“And after we talk about my choices, we’ll do yours. Specifically, that you look like you grunt a lot in the bathroom.”
Redness bloomed over his face. Looked like embarrassment.
I hitched a thumb toward the bodega. “I can grab you some meds for that.”
He barreled out into traffic, and I ripped open the cashews and poured half the bag in my mouth. Bold of him to start something he clearly couldn’t finish.
The salt hit my tongue, and some of that invisible itch riding me felt scratched. I chewed loudly. You have to chew nuts like that. It makes them taste better. And as I was chowing down, I remembered. “Oh yeah, I need to go back to where you picked me up.”
He glanced in the rearview mirror.
“I tip good.”
His eyes rolled. “The last guy who said that gave me three dollars and some chewed gum.”
“What flavor was the gum?”
He looked appalled.
Good.
I finished off the cashews. “Fifty on top of what the meter says when we’re done.”
The tires squealed when he popped a uey right there in the middle of traffic. Horns blasted, and someone shouted a very rude word. I stored it away for later.
He was a terrible driver. I’d let it slide, though, because Pip wasn’t in the car.
He glanced in the rearview again as if he thought his amateur hour would make me hurl myself out onto the sidewalk.
I popped open another bag and tossed in some nuts, then pointed to the tat on my chest. Born to die. “I’ve seen shopping carts with better steering.” Chomp. Chomp. Chomp.
After that, he didn’t say anything at all. I filled the silence with more chewing. These nuts weren’t too bad. I’d have to buy more later.
The moment we turned onto Rett’s street, I shoved the half-eaten bag into my pocket and swiped my salty fingers on my sweats. The rhythm of my heart changed from chill to supermax, and it was hard to ignore.
“Up ahead here,” I directed.
When he stopped, I sat there staring at the building, making mental notes of everything around it.
“Total is thirty-five,” the grunter up front called.
“Same as before,” I said, not pulling my eyes from the building. “I’ll be less than five. Then you can drive me to the first address I gave you, and we can complete this little adventure.”
He glanced over his shoulder, a pinched look riding his features. Really should have taken me up on the Imodium. When his stare dropped to what was in my lap, I found myself hooking an arm around it defensively.
“Fine.” He relented.
I left my water and snacks in the back seat and took the rest into the building, knowing exactly which stairs to avoid on my way up. At the top, my stomach fluttered, which stopped me in my tracks.
Racing heart. Fluttering stomach. Was I a teenage girl?
What the fuck was I doing right now?
Seriously? Was I okay?
I glanced down at the stuff in my hands. Clearly, I was not.
This was the complete and utter opposite of what I should be doing. Practically diabolical behavior.
Turn your half-naked ass around and leave. Don’t come back.
The mental image of tears rolling over his cheeks assaulted me while the eternal echo of his accidental confession clung to my bones. You already took my heart.
I stood there teetering in a battle between my head and heart. The first war my heart ever waged. For cotton candy, it had some balls.
Everyone else was so easy to walk away from. Hell, I murdered people with fewer fucks.
But him? Too many fucks. More than I ever planned to have.
He’s better off without you.
My brain was clearly good at combat because it was a well-aimed barb. One that was ultimately true. My fuck-filled heart faltered.
Remember who you are.
A protector. The kind with dirty hands.
And that meant I had to protect him from me.
My hand fell away from the door handle as my heart retreated, crippled right there beneath my ribs. I turned away—
Bang!
My head whipped up.
“Get out!” a frightened voice roared.
Rett.
I burst through the door so hard I took a couple hinges with me.
Everything in the hall paused—a moment frozen in time. I locked on two figures—one lying on the ground and the other looming over with one hand clutched in the front of his shirt and the other pulled back in a fist.
Instinct rolled in, overruling my head and heart.
My instinct? A trained assassin. The final boss.
And right now, it was furious because someone was putting their hands on what was mine.