Chapter 13
Isa
Isa tugged on the T-shirt Locke had given her and pulled her wet hair free.
She was twisting it up when the woodsy scent of Locke’s shampoo teased her nose.
With no one around to witness her weakness, she brought the wet strands up, closed her eyes, and took a deep hit of the comforting scent.
It curled in her chest, nudging out the frigid residue of death that the hot shower hadn’t been able to touch.
Freed at last, the emotions she’d held at bay all night charged forward, threatening to swallow her whole.
Seeing Angel again had reopened old scars, allowing his poison to once again seep into her veins.
Tainted memories roused the ugly fears and self-doubts she had never been able to conquer, shredding her clarity and leaving her confidence shaken, but wrapped in Locke’s scent and clothes, she found a tentative foothold and held tight to the reminder that she’d survived.
He won’t let you go a second time.
She didn’t bother to argue with the experienced voice of logic.
There was no point. The fact was irrefutable—Angel would come for her.
It was just a question of when. And knowing just how much he enjoyed his games and got off on her pain, he would do it when she least expected it, and it would result in hurting someone she loved.
Like Locke.
Her world rocked under the quiet declaration.
No. She didn’t love Locke.
But you could.
She stared unseeingly at the half-fogged mirror, curiously numb.
Her hands moved by rote, clipping her hair in place, as her mind and her emotions battled it out.
She couldn’t be falling for the infuriating man.
She knew better. He was always on her ass because nothing she did measured up to whatever impossible expectations he had.
And why in the hell did he even think he was entitled to have any expectations when it came to her?
She didn’t answer to him. Hell, she chose a long time ago not to answer to anyone, especially not to a Family-made man.
And Locke Turon would always belong to the Cordova Family.
It was an inherent truth of the nature of Hounds.
Loyalty, once given, was hard to break. That depth of commitment, she knew better than anyone, could leave you bloodied and broken if you landed on the wrong side—which she would because following someone blindly was not in her character.
It was just the attraction that raged between them that was messing with her head, driving her to challenge him, to see how far she could push before he snapped.
Unfortunately, he got off on her defiance, acting as if it was something to be admired, not cursed.
Even worse, it was doing a hell of a number on that stupid unloved girl that she tried so hard to bury, tempting her with some silly hope that she could change his perception of her, become something important to him.
“Why reinita?”
“Because it fits.”
Does he really believe that, or was it just a line?
She ignored that last, knee-jerk thought.
Locke didn’t need lines. Hell, he just had to touch her, and she could create a world of excuses to fall into bed with him.
It was hard to keep him at arm’s length, but she was determined.
Hence, her continual verbal swipes. And yes, she could admit her bitchy attitude served a dual purpose.
Not only did it keep them out of bed, but no man would put up with shit like that for long.
Eventually, he’d give up and walk away just like everyone else.
As rational as those arguments were, she couldn’t ignore the visceral hunger to claim Locke as hers and have him regard her as his—to have one person who saw all of her, from the fragile, barely hanging-on shards to the jagged scars reshaped by darkness.
She knew she was an emotional nightmare most men would shy away from, but at Locke’s core was a relentless resolve—a critical necessity for whoever chose to stand beside someone like her.
But it had to be his choice, not her risking everything to ask it of him.
The phantom dream of having him as a partner drifted just out of reach, tempting her to give him the slightest opening, knowing he’d sweep in and take it.
He was all about besting challenges, and when he looked at her, she had no doubt that was exactly what he saw—a challenge.
She wanted to be something more, something cherished, especially by him.
It was why she played with fire, never quite slamming the door of chance closed.
If he managed to get through and claim his prize, would he even understand what she was offering, or would he see only the darkness that stared back?
It’s not like he’s all light and rainbows.
But she and death—they were interchangeable, a truth not a lot of people could handle.
Maybe not even someone like Locke. There were risks to being a Reaper.
Each time she and death danced, it took longer to discard the Reaper’s mantle and reclaim Isa.
How long would Locke be willing to deal with that?
There could come a day when Isa put on the cloak and forgot to take it off—or even worse, chose not to remove it.
He wouldn’t let you go.
It was a lovely thought. Too damn bad she couldn’t trust it, because she knew damn well everyone walked away eventually.
Maybe not Cass and Des—not yet—but that was because she refused to let them go.
Everyone else, though? Her father, her stepmom, and her extended family were all quick to believe Angel’s lies.
They had barely blinked at his twisted version of events and had all but abandoned her, leaving her alone to pick up the shattered pieces he’d created.
And speaking of Angel…
If he learned that Locke meant anything to her, he’d go balls to the wall to use Locke against her.
She could admit, at least in the privacy of her own mind, that if that happened, Angel’s chances of getting his claws into her would skyrocket.
And as inconvenient as it was, on some level, she considered Locke hers.
But it wasn’t just Angel she worried about—there was the Cordova Family, who held more sway with Locke than she ever could. They had money, power, influence, and Locke’s loyalty. All she had to offer was… well, just her.
It could be enough.
But it won’t be. Family first, chiquita.
Sounding a lot like Angel, that second voice had been quiet for so long she’d almost forgotten it existed. But thanks to Angel’s reemergence, it was back, mocking mercilessly as it tore through old scabs and straight to the heart of her worry.
It all came down to trust. Could she trust Locke to stay and not betray her, even to his Family?
Among the powerful and monied Families, the skills of a Hound and a Reaper were in high demand.
Who couldn’t use a Hound who never lost a scent and could track down anyone or anything?
And gaining access to a Reaper who could reach beyond death for damnable secrets…
The image of greedy-faced people rubbing their hands together in glee flashed through her mind.
It might be paranoia, but she was well aware of how far Families would go to keep someone like her on tap.
She’d witnessed horrific deals that swallowed unique magics into unfathomable corporations and left behind broken lives, all to feed someone else’s greed.
It was a reality she fought against constantly, not just for herself but for Cass and Des too.
It was why Wonderland existed. Someone had to step in and help those who couldn’t stand alone.
And if she allowed Locke to be part of her life, how long would it be before the Cordovas pressured him for access to her or her small family?
How long before Locke starts to bend and so do I?
If she let herself fall all the way with Locke, she knew with sickening certainty she would rationalize the risk of bending, even knowing it would break her beyond recognition.
A knock at the door and Locke’s voice snapped her out of her dismal spiral. “Isa, you good?”
“Yeah, I’ll be out in a minute.”
She stared at her reflection, searching for answers, the caustic mix of unresolved emotions leaving her raw and on edge.
It might be too late for her heart, but no one else needed to know that.
With as much painstakingly care as someone handling a live grenade, she tucked away the messy truths to deal with later.
For the moment, she needed answers from Locke because the more she knew, the better equipped she’d be to ward off Angel’s manipulations.
“So, no chance that it was Isaiah who handed Owen the pill?” Locke watched her, his hands behind his head as he stretched out his legs and crossed them at the ankles on the far end of the sofa. His well-worn shirt rode up just enough to flash an intriguing glimpse of flat abs.
“No.” Curled up in the opposite corner, Isa kept her attention on the borrowed T-shirt she fiddled with. “The face wasn’t clear, but it was someone older than Isaiah. Honestly, the way the whole deal played out, I’d say it was one of Angel’s crew.”
“Because…?”
Sighing, she gave him a look before pointing out the obvious. “Because Angel wouldn’t let anyone else deal on his territory.”
“Yeah, I could see that.” He scrubbed a hand over his face, his exasperation coming through loud and clear. “Why in the hell did that kid take something from someone he didn’t know?”
It was a good question. Too damn bad there was no good answer.
“I don’t know, but considering how things went down, I feel pretty confident saying it was the same drug Leo took.
” When Locke remained quiet, she decided it was time to push.
She studied him. “What are you really chasing, Locke? Isaiah or this drug?”
For a long moment, he stared at his feet, his hands laced over his flat stomach. Finally, he asked, “Does it matter?”