Chapter 8
Fallon
Ipass Jack on my kitchen counter for the third day in a row.
‘Coward,’ Basil taunts me from the plant stand, getting his morning sunshine fix.
“It will hurt him.” I stare at the perfect pumpkin with the most beautiful stem.
But I have to carve him up.
‘He’s already dead,’ Basil says. “Chop, chop. Literally.’
I turn to face the little fragrant nuisance. “Do you miss your brother? I can send you next door, where there’s a good chance you won’t have water for days.”
Not really, but he doesn’t know that.
‘And you’re sending me in there?’ Cory, the small potted coriander plant, bloomed all beautiful green and thriving, cackles like a new recruit who’s being sent to the front line of a war zone.
“You’ll be fine.” I look at Rhys’s kitchen from my window. “My boyfriend and I are getting closer, he’ll start inviting me over more. We’ll be one big happy family.”
‘I’m good,’ Fern says, swinging from the ceiling.
‘I’m still waiting on details of a first kiss,’ Ivy swoons from the bookshelf.
“You and me both,” I mutter. “In fact, I’m going to check on Little Basil right now. Rhys is home. Let me see if he’s busy.”
‘Murdering people? By all means.’ Basil flicks his leaves at me, or maybe it’s a breeze from the open window. ‘Good luck, Cory.’
Grabbing my scope, I head to the front door and check my hair in the mirror.
Yikes. Wild as ever. Shrugging, I tiptoe out into the hallway.
After I check that my phone is receiving the video feed, I crouch down to slip the scope under Rhys’s door. “Ah, there he is.”
His hair is messed up, too. Wow, it looks very…sexy when it’s all out of that ponytail thing he makes with it. I forgot how long it is until it’s down like this. I like seeing his face when it’s in a bun, and I wonder if he’ll ever cut it.
Lost in conflicting feelings about my boyfriend’s hair, I must miss the ding of the elevator. Without warning, the sound of footsteps approaching startles me.
I yank the scope out from under the door, stick it in my pocket, and stand with my back against the hallway wall, trying to look casual.
A woman’s voice calls softly, “Hello?”
My heart leaps straight into my throat. For a split second, I worry she’s some floozy from a hook-up app. But she doesn’t look like she’s dressed for a date. She’s dressed like… Like Rhys. Dark pants, dark jacket, long blonde braid, and tired eyes.
Assassin!
“Are you here to hurt Rhys?” I ask, sharper than I mean to.
She looks startled. “No, I’m picking up something for…” Her eyes flicker with hesitation. “For Connor Quinlan.”
“Oh, his cousin!” I recognize the name from Rhys’s mail, and it eases the tension curling in my spine. I smile instantly, warmth replacing suspicion. “Hi. I’m Fallon.”
The woman with the braid blinks warily, like she’s still trying to figure me out. “Are you Rhys’s girlfriend?”
I can’t help the grin that spreads across my face. See, it’s obvious! The word feels right when it’s said out loud. “Yes. Yes, I am.”
“Great,” she says cheerfully. “Is he home?”
“Yes.”
Her next question catches me off guard. “Why are you out here?”
I lean closer, lowering my voice as if we’re sharing a secret. “He’s busy.”
She nods like she understands. “Oh, okay.”
“Wait here!” I say quickly and whirl around, ducking back into my apartment before she can ask more questions.
Inside, I pace once, then twice, then a third time to complete the cycle. My gaze snags on Cory. “We have a diversion. You’re being rehomed today.” Grabbing the pot, I hurry back out, blocking Cory’s objections.
Out in the hall, the woman is still there, patient and polite.
“Here.” I thrust the plant into her hands. “Put this in his kitchen, please.”
She stares down at it, sniffs, then looks back at me, blinking like she’s not sure what to make of me. “What is this?”
“It’s coriander,” I explain, maybe too proudly. “The seeds are toasted and used in soups. I grow them and other herbs in the community garden around the corner.”
Her eyes flick up, curious, like she’s never met someone who gardens before.
“Um, okay.” She takes the plant and holds it carefully.
“See ya!” I say, giving her a quick wave before slipping back into my apartment.
Once the door clicks shut, I exhale and smile, imagining Rhys’s face lighting up when he smells Cory’s fresh, herby scent. He will hopefully spend the rest of the day thinking of me.
Then he bellows from the hallway, “Fallon!”
I leap, but when I open the door and look outside, he’s not there.
“You’re welcome,” I say and close my door.
I glimpse out my window into his apartment and catch the blonde putting Cory on the plant stand. And then watering the others. What a nice lady. And she smiled at me.
I sigh and look at Jack on the counter in all his orange perfection. I grab my carving knife and then lower the shade on my kitchen window.
“Time to spill your guts, Jackie O,” I say, and let the massacre begin.
But soon, I can’t block the screaming in my head.
“I’m sorry,” I sob, plunging the knife down again. “I’m so sorry, I have to do this.”
With slick hands, my breath is ragged as shrieks echo off the kitchen tile. I can’t tell if they’re coming from inside me or the pumpkin. Strings of orange guts squelch between my fingers. The scent of raw pumpkin flesh hangs heavy in the air.
“I have to clean you out,” I choke, scraping frantically at the insides. “If I don’t remove everything, the candle will heat the leftover fibers, and you’ll collapse from structural failure due to internal moisture!”
Knock.
The sound detonates against the silence, and my shoulders jolt.
Knock knock knock.
“Fallon?” Rhys yells from the hallway.
Oh no, I hope he’s not returning Cory. I stagger to the door, holding a knife with sticky hands, and fumble for the lock. The second the latch disengages, it swings open.
Rhys pushes inside with wild eyes and a gun raised, ready to pull the trigger. “Bloody hell. Are you hurt, lass?” he rasps, chest heaving. “Is someone in here? Where are they? Show me. I’ll rip their fucking heart out.”
I blink up at him, my tears blurring his face. Then I drop the knife and crash into his chest. “Oh, Rhys.”
He catches me instantly, arms locking tight around my back like steel bars. My cheek presses against his shoulder, warm and steady, while I quake. He smells like fabric softener and the sweet smoke in the air this time of year.
“I heard you,” he says, softer now but still sharp-edged. “You were crying.”
“They were stuck,” I mumble.
He pulls back just enough to search my face, brows furrowed in confusion. “Who? Who was stuck? Did you try to flush someone down your toilet?”
I gulp a laugh.
“I’ll show you.” I lead him by the wrist into the kitchen.
The gun stays firm in his grip. The cold steel against my skin thrills me at a time when the spiraling won’t stop.
“You don’t need that,” I say. “It’s not what you think.”
“I’ll be the judge of when to put my heat away.” He refuses to trust that I’m safe.
He wants to keep me safe.
I stop in front of Jack with his guts spilled out all over the counter. “There. I had to do it.”
“A pumpkin?” His ribs expand in a full body exhale, seeing the orange crime scene. He drags a hand over his mouth. “You had me terrified.”
“I needed to carve him,” I say simply.
“Oh…” The hand not holding the gun flexes open, then closes, as if he’s strangling down the raw emotion he stormed in here with.
“It’s for the garden. To keep crows and squirrels away from my Christmas plants.”
Something soft rustles from the living room. Ivy sighs from the bookshelf. ‘Posture, darling. He came to rescue you. And he’s even more handsome up close.’
I snap upright, cheeks flaming.
Fern coils lazily from her hanging pot. ‘Kiss him!’
“Please,” I whisper to them. “Behave.”
“Who are you talking to?” Rhys eyes me suspiciously.
“You,” I say to cover up.
‘You’re no fun,’ Fern whines. ‘I’m going back to sleep. Especially since it’s quiet. Jack was a crybaby. I’m glad you gutted him.’
“You’re asking me to behave?” Rhys moves toward me.
“Only if you want to,” I say to be playful.
“I don’t,” he mutters, glancing around at the pumpkin carnage. “Jaysus, lass. I thought someone was carving you up.”
“Technically, I disemboweled it.” I always feel the need to use my proper words.
“Aye, I can see that. Vicious work. Remind me never to get on your bad side.”
“And look at you all barging in here ready to kill someone.” I hug him. “For me”
“You screamed.” He pulls on my hair to look down at me. “I freaked.”
“Sorry?” I shrug. Not sorry.
“You’re lucky you’re cute,” Rhys says, tucking hair behind my ears. But something dark changes the shape of his face, and he lets me go. “When are you setting up the pumpkin in your garden?”
“Now.” I brush my arms, still feeling his heat.
He glances at the window. “Now?”
I follow his gaze, startled at how it’s fully dark outside. The buzz of the city has gone low and feral. “Oh. I didn’t realize it got late.”
A pause stretches. Then he says, “If you’re going out, I’m coming with you.”
“Really?” My heart rate spikes.
His tone is exasperated, but something flickers in the corner of his mouth. “I’d like to see your garden. That basil plant you gave me is getting big.”
I close my eyes and ignore Basil spewing words of derision against his brother.
“I want to clean the seeds first. I roast them.” I step out of Rhys’s embrace. “You don’t have to stay.”
“I want to,” he says with a warm smile. “If you don’t mind, I mean.”
In the kitchen, I rinse the seeds in a fine-mesh sieve, separating them from their gooey tangles. Rhys watches with the same sharp attention he probably uses to hunt prey.
When I lay out the seeds on paper towels, blotting each one dry, Rhys grabs a bunch and mirrors my motions without asking.
Exact. Careful.
Our shoulders brush while we work side by side in the quiet. My skin lights up like someone took a match to my kitchen.
“These need about a day to dry.” I glance at Jack. “He’s ready for duty.”
Rhys laughs but stares down at my tank top and shorts. “Are you going to change your clothes? The temperature dropped.”
With my body humming next to him, it feels like a furnace in here. I glance at the counter-top organizer that holds a calendar. Noting the date and the time, along with the cloud cover that rolled late this afternoon, my brain computes that it’s probably forty-seven degrees outside.
“Right. I’ll just be a minute.” I pop into my bathroom and change into jeans and a sweater since my apartment is all one room except for the raised alcove for my bed.
By the front door, Rhys helps me into my coat. He snatches the carved pumpkin and carries it for me, too. I follow, swinging a bag of candles. After a quiet elevator ride, we step outside where the air bites as cold as I imagined. We walk around the corner to Neverland Garden.
“It’s through here.” I unlock the gate.
Fallen leaves crunch under our feet, but when we reach my plot, my stomach drops.
The man who harasses me stands there, bent trowel in hand, cigarette glowing between his yellow teeth as he barks into a phone, “Damn city with their ridiculous regulations. Fuck them. And fuck their permits, too. I don’t need one.”
“What are you doing?” I snap and reach for the hand spade I always keep in my jacket, visions of violence dancing in my head.
“Taking over your plot,” he snaps, raising the trowel, pathetically plunging it into some hardened dirt in my garden. “To expand my cannabis operation.”
“No!” I rush forward. “You can’t.”
“Back off, psycho. I’m running a serious business. You’re planting nonsense.”
Rhys steps in front of me so smoothly, it’s like his shadow moved before his body. “What the fuck did you call her?”
The man snorts. “Where did you dig this guy up?”
Rhys’s nostrils flare like he’s holding back a beast who wants out of his body.
“Get the fuck away from her plants,” he says, low and dangerous. “Or I’ll make sure you never walk again.”
“Go away, you tall freak.” The guy stabs the dirt dangerously close to my Christmas plants. “Before I get the shears and cut off all that hair.”
“Come here, you little prick. I’d love to see you try to say that again, this time up close,” Rhys murmurs, taking deliberate steps until the man stumbles back into a bag of soil.
“Rhys?” I whisper, touching his arm.
He turns to face me and blinks like seeing me wrenches him from somewhere dark, and he forgot I was here.
Softer, quieter, snapping out of his coiled anger, he rasps, “Turn around, Fallon.”
“I’m not—”
“Do what I tell you.” His voice is lethal. “I don’t want you to see this.”
Rhys spins me around, but I peek and see him grab the guy by the collar and slam him into the one solid brick wall that borders the garden. The sound of the impact is ugly.
Now I can’t look away.
The man spits blood and coils back. “Hey, man, this has nothing to do with you.”
“Yes, it does. That’s my girlfriend and her garden you’re fucking with.” Rhys drags him into the narrow alley behind the rows of garden plots, their souls disappearing into the kind of darkness I’ve avoided my whole life.
I want to see what Rhys does to him, but a sharp crack of bones triggers panic inside me. Familiar sounds from my past. I kneel in the dirt, my hands steady despite the thunder of my heart.
I focus on fixing what the guy ruined.