27. Cassius
twenty-seven
“What?” Ruby asks, when she catches me staring. She’s sitting on the island counter with one of my T-shirts hanging off one shoulder. Struck by the normalcy, I step between her legs and press my lips to the bare skin.
“Isabella Diaz is alive and well and living in a suburb in Florida. She just got her GED and is going to the community college part-time while she works at Publix as a cashier.”
Ruby’s eyes widen and she opens her mouth to say something, but must change her mind because nothing comes out. Turning from her, I open the fridge, retrieving sandwich makings. Placing them next to her on the cutting board, I continue, “So, I knew shit was going down. The underworld always knows, right? The sex traders started acting shady, well, shadier than usual. I had Garrett look into it.”
I offer her a shrug and then hold up a tomato in question. She nods.
“Anyway, we found out that they’ve been trafficking, but until Isabella, it had been all out of town dealings. Nothing local. So, Cranston’s son? Obsessed with Isabella—a local girl from a poor family. Her dad got wind of it and used it to his advantage. He sold her to Cranston, using the guys in the trade as the dealer. Smart if you think about it, but also stupid. So very stupid.”
I hold up the lettuce, and again she nods. “I’m really not picky. I like pretty much everything.”
“Well, that makes it easy.” I tear off layers of lettuce and spread mayo on four slices of bread. “G sees this, it’s an anomaly, a chink in their armor. I’ve done and still do things in my life I’m not proud of. But there are also things I can’t sit back and let happen.”
“We have that in common…” she tilts her head, pulling her upper lip into her mouth in thought, “to an extent.” She spears a pickle with the fork and pops it in her mouth.
“So, long story short, G and I came up with a plan. I hit Cranston’s kid with my car. Paralyzing him was a perk, not necessarily my intention. I wanted him to suffer, but I wanted it to be by my hands. While he was in ICU, G worked his magic with Cranston's home security, and I took the girl right out from under Cranston’s nose. I was rough with her, shoved her in the trunk. It had to look real because I didn’t want them looking for her. It was better if they didn’t. But it didn’t matter because the footage was scrubbed, except for that piece your friend dug up. Still not sure how she found that one.”
I cut both sandwiches in half and slide one toward her. Ruby bites into it with an appreciative moan. After last night, and then this morning, I figured she must be famished. I fill two glasses with water and offer her one.
The cold is refreshing, and I take several gulps before putting mine back down.
She drains the glass and takes another bite of her sandwich. She uses a hand to cover her mouth, talking through the bite. “So, the younger Cranston, Junior, he’s paralyzed. I knew that.” She swallows. “But what happened to Senior?”
“Like I said, I killed him.” I finish half of my sandwich and wash it down with more water. “I thought he hired you to kill me. He’s the only person I can think of because nobody that owes me money has the money to pay you. I can only assume that your price … it must be high.”
Ruby nods again, eyes wide with vigor. “Cassius, I honestly don’t know who hired me. It’s anonymous and Rowan has dug as deep as she can and has found nothing. Nada. Not a single trace of where the hit came from. And even if it was him, the hit doesn’t go away. It’s not like it disappears off the Reds' radar just because he’s dead.”
“Even if it wasn’t him. He was a piece of shit that somebody should have killed a long time ago. Will you tell me about the Reds?”
“Only if I can soak in your tub while I do.” Her eyes drop sheepishly. “I’m a little sore.”
I am such an ass. Fuck.
“Baby, I am so sorry. I just, I … I thought you’d be hungry and my stomach and fuck. Of course, you can take a bath.”
“Oh, I was starving, and I’m not sore the way you’re thinking. I think my muscles and joints are sore from killing a half dozen, actually no, I think it was nine. Nine people last night, and then some asshole had my shoulders in a position they aren’t used to.”
I groan, and Ruby laughs. “That sore, it’s a good sore. It just sucks that it’s in combination with my other aches right now.”
There are so many layers to this woman that I want to discover. I want to climb between each one and settle there. I want to know all the things that will make her laugh. I want to know her favorite song and if she can hold a tune. I want to know her best memory. And her worst. I want to know the deepest darkest parts of her, the ones that no one else gets to see. The ones she struggles to carry alone. I want to help her carry them.
I check my phone again, but there are no new texts, no missed calls. I didn’t want to come to the club tonight. I tried everything I could to get out of it, especially after what she told me about the Reds. None of it sits well with me, and I want Garrett to look into it, but every time I open my mouth to ask him, I see Ruby’s face. The one that’s hurt and confused about the people who took care of her but in their own way destroyed her. It’s clear that she’s still trying to work everything out, and all I can do is be there when she does.
In the end, she convinced me it was safer this way, for both of us. Things have shifted between us, and more than anything, I want to go back home and curl up with her. But we have to keep up appearances. Publicly we need to hate each other for the Reds' sake at least. But it doesn’t stop me from looking at my phone, anticipating a text that will probably never come.
“Cass.” Garrett slams his glass on the table. “Are you going to tell me what the fuck is up with you or are you going to sit there moping all fucking night? The night is young and there is fresh ass on that floor.”
“It’s nothing,” I tell him, averting my gaze. “Club shit, game shit, you know the drill.” The lie tastes bitter, and I take a sip of my drink. I don’t lie to my best friend. Ever. I have only ever lied by omission once in all our years of friendship, and it cost him. But this entire situation is bigger than anything we have ever been up against, and I can’t risk him. Besides her, he’s the only person I think I’ve ever truly cared about.
Garrett leans back in the booth and eyes me over the top of his glass. “Are we just going to pretend like I believe that?”
I say nothing, there’s nothing to say.
He stands. “Well, I’m gonna go find some pussy while you,” he waves a hand over me, “figure all this shit out. Let me know when you want some help.” He walks down the steps and onto the dance floor, where he disappears.
My phone pings with a text.
Unknown number: You’re not acting like yourself.
The text causes my heart to go into overdrive. How is this happening?
Unknown number: You normally make the rounds. You need to do that.
Normally I find a willing participant and go to my office.
Unknown number is typing…
Unknown number is typing…
Unknown number is typing…
I know you like to watch.
Radio silence. This is her right? Who the fuck else would it be? I stand and remove myself from the booth, casting my eyes around the club.
My phone pings.
Unknown number: No office booty call.
Unknown number: Unless it is me…
We can do that again. Maybe without so much blood next time
Unknown number: Is it the risk? Or the pain?
It’s you.
Unknown number: Go dance. You do that sometimes, right?
Do I have to?
Unknown number: Appearances.
Putting my phone in my pocket, I blow my breath out slowly, audibly. This is the fucking last thing I want to be doing right now. Poker face, Cassius. Poker face. I walk down the steps and nod to the security guard at the VIP entrance. He nods back in response and takes out his phone to text the rest of the security team, letting them know I’ll be on the floor.
The dance floor is busy, and it fucking smells—alcohol, perfume, cologne, and body odor. They all hover like a storm cloud waiting to hit you in the face. Sweaty bodies surround me. I wade through them, narrowly avoiding having my junk grabbed by some woman wearing a veil and a sash that says brIDE. I hate bachelorette parties, and I’m not saying that bachelor parties are any better, but bachelorette parties are loud and messy, and the women are always leaking makeup down their faces because someone is always crying.
I find a small group of women dancing together and slowly work my way between them. Gliding my hand over the small of one back, I flash a one-sided smirk at another. I’m greeted with smiles and grinding hips as I try to pretend this is where I want to be. A blonde woman grinds on one of my legs, trailing a finger down my chest. Her friend lingers for a minute and then moves behind me, grinding on my ass. I move my body with theirs. Normally this is where I would whisk one away, but I won’t because all I can think about is getting home to Ember. Ember in my T-shirt. Ember in my bed. Ember on my dick.
Ember .
My watch vibrates with an incoming text.
Unknown number: ABORT.
Thank God. Extracting myself from the girls, I feign disappointment, gesturing that I have to go. Turning around, I come face to face with a ghost. She smiles and turns, pushing between groups of people and disappearing deeper into the dance floor. My feet are rooted where I stand. The bodies around me move in hyper-time while I’m in slow motion. Everything around me blurs.
Hannah.
But that’s impossible. Hannah has been dead for twelve years.
Garrett stumbles into my line of sight, his face is white, his eyes wide.
He saw her too. He’s no longer the twenty-eight-year-old tech genius, but the broken sixteen-year-old boy of his past. His face twists with anguish. His pupils dilate. I need to get him out of here. Fuck. I don’t know who the fuck that was, but there’s no way. No fucking way.
I grab Garrett by the arm and pull him from the dance floor, shoving bodies as I go. He moves like he’s wading through sand, slow and heavy. I motion to one of the bouncers for help. Together we help him up the stairs. I can’t wait for him to gain proper movement of his legs again. We need to figure out what the fuck just happened.
We deposit him on the couch and the bouncer leaves, the door locking behind him.
“G,” I plead. “Tell me what you saw.”
His eyes skate across the room until they finally land on me.
“Cass, she…” But he doesn’t finish his sentence, instead he covers his mouth with his hand and runs to the bathroom behind me. He chokes and spurts, but nothing comes out. When the dry heaving stops, I speak.
“She’s dead, Garrett. We saw her body.”
“But Cass, her dad. He could have—”
“No, he couldn’t. She’s dead.”
Realization dawns on both of us, but Garrett is the first one to say it out loud. “It was a closed casket.”
“But there was no pulse.” I pace. “And all that blood.”
Garrett slides to the floor, leaning against the vanity.
“So much blood,” he says.
Sirens go off in my head, and I call the unknown number. My single lie of omission has come to haunt me.
She answers on the first ring.
“It’s Hannah,” I say, not letting Ruby speak. “She’s the person who hired you.”
“Who is Hannah, Cassius?” Her voice is clipped, her words sharp.
“A fucking ghost.”