Chapter 29
DANE
I wake up feeling something I haven't felt in years, maybe ever. Contentment. Like I'm not carrying the weight of other people's sins on my back for once.
The sheets beside me are empty but still warm. Lila's scent lingers—that mix of lavender and something uniquely her that I can't get enough of. On her pillow, a folded note in neat handwriting:
I run my thumb over the ink, picturing her writing this, maybe watching me sleep before she left. The thought should disturb me—vulnerability while unconscious is something I've spent years training against—but with her, it doesn't.
Stretching my arms over my head, I inventory the marks she left—small crescents from her nails on my shoulders, a bite on my collarbone. Battle scars worth having.
For the first time in forever, I slept through the night. No jerking awake at 3AM with my hand reaching for the gun under my pillow. No dreams of desert sand packed with blood or Gianna's pleading face.
Just... peace.
Paradoxically, that scares the shit out of me.
Men like me don't get fairy tale endings. We don't get the girl. We're the wolves in the forest, not the princes in the castle. The universe doesn't work that way.
I head to the shower, letting the scalding water pound my shoulders while I think about Lila handcuffed in my doorway, completely surrendered to me. The trust in those green eyes. Christ.
What kind of person keeps surveillance equipment in the apartment of a woman he's falling for? The same kind whose father helped bury bodies for the Carvetti family, that's who.
I step out of the shower and catch my reflection in the fogged mirror. The wolf tattoo on my ribs seems to mock me.
Does Lila understand what she's gotten herself into? Do I even understand what I'm doing with her?
The only certainty is that I'm too far gone to stop now. For the first time in my life, I'm terrified not of dying, but of living without something… without her.
And that makes her the most dangerous person I've ever encountered.
I'm toweling off when my phone lights up. Claire Langford. Reality crashes back like a bucket of ice water over my head.
Claire: Any updates on Brian? I need to know what's happening.
Just like that, I'm yanked from whatever fantasy world I've been building with Lila and dropped back into the cesspool that is Brian Langford's life. The asshole with the perfect smile and dead eyes who might have done something to Sarah.
Dane: Working on it. Will call this afternoon.
Fuck. I'd give anything to crawl back into bed, surrounded by Lila's scent, pretending for a few more hours that I'm a normal guy with normal problems. But men like Brian don't stop. They keep taking until someone makes them stop.
I dress quickly—dark jeans, black t-shirt, leather jacket, gun holstered at my side. The uniform of a man with ugly work to do.
The universe was the worst fucking sense of irony, giving me something beautiful right when it's about to demand the highest price. Like Lila is the sugar to help the poison go down.
Twenty minutes later, I'm back at NYU, knocking on Sarah's dorm room. Her roommate—Jess, according to the whiteboard on their door—opens up, looking like she hasn't slept.
"Hey," she says a mixture of release and worry in her expression
"Found anything?"
She glances down the hallway before speaking. "Her phone was under her bed." She hands me a rose gold iPhone with a cracked screen. "I charged it, but I don't know her code to get in Could you… ?"
I take Sarah's phone from Jess, turning it over in my hands. The cracked screen seems symbolic—a damaged window into whatever happened. The roommate's eyes dart nervously to mine, her meaning clear without spelling it out.
"You don't need to say it," I tell her. "I can get in."
There's relief in her face, followed immediately by the shame that comes with knowing you're bending rules. Good people always feel that weight. The ones who should feel it never do.
"I called campus security yesterday," she says, hugging herself. "Then the actual police this morning. They practically patted me on the head."
"Let me guess. 'College students are unpredictable. She's probably crashing with a friend or a new boyfriend,'" I mimic in a mocking official tone.
"Exactly." Jess's eyes widen. "They said they need to wait before filing an official report. Like, how long? Until she's dead somewhere?"
"The system's designed to protect people like Langford," I say, pocketing the phone. "Rich, connected people slip through the cracks while the rest of us smash against the walls."
"What now?" Jess asks.
"Now I do what the cops won't."
The weight of the gun against my ribs is reassuring. Rules exist to protect society from men like me. But sometimes society needs men like me to deal with men like Langford. It's a paradox I made peace with long ago.
"Call me if you hear from her," I say, heading for the door.
She nods.
On my way out, I text Milo. I need to bring him the phone. He can get whatever information we need from it, if there's any to be found.
I'm halfway to my car when a flash of auburn stops me in my tracks. Lila stands twenty feet away, clutching textbooks and looking at me like I'm a ghost.
Fuck. What are the odds?
"Dane?" Her voice carries confusion, a hint of pleasure. "What are you doing here?"
My mind races through potential lies, but something about those green eyes makes bullshit harder than it should be. I pat the phone in my pocket.
"Case brought me here. Student went missing." The truth, but not all of it. Never all of it.
"Oh." Her face falls slightly. She shifts her weight, textbooks pressed against her chest like armor. "Here?"
"Yeah. Freshman." I step closer, drawn to her warmth like a moth to flame. "But I'm glad I ran into you."
Life has a sick sense of humor—one hand offering Sarah's broken phone, the other delivering Lila into my path. The juxtaposition of darkness and light in my life has never been so stark.
"Turns out Tessa is late," she says, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "I was heading to the coffee shop to wait for her." A pause, her eyes flicking up to mine. "Want to come?"
The responsible thing would be to get Sarah's phone to Milo immediately. Every minute counts in a missing person case. I know this better than most. But Lila stands before me offering normalcy, offering coffee and conversation instead of dread and death.
"Lead the way," I say, because I'm weak for her. Because twenty minutes won't change anything for Sarah, but it might keep me sane.
As we walk across campus, students part around us. I'm too old, too dangerous-looking to blend in here. But with Lila beside me, I almost feel human. Almost feel like I belong in the daylight instead of skulking through shadows.
"So this case," she begins tentatively. "Is it something serious?"
I study her profile—the gentle slope of her nose, the way her lips press together when she's concerned. What would it be like to have a simple life with her? Coffee dates and weekend mornings, arguments about whose turn it is to do dishes instead of whether I'm becoming the monster I hunt?
"It's always serious," I answer finally. "But right now, coffee with you sounds like salvation."
Five minutes later, it's a small miracle—sitting with Lila on a concrete bench outside the coffee shop, watching students rush past with their manufactured crises, their world untainted by the shit mine drowns in daily.
The October sun hits her face at an angle that makes her freckles stand out like a constellation I've already memorized.
I paid for our drinks despite her protests—some old-school habits die hard. My black coffee steams between my hands while she nurses some complicated concoction with cinnamon and whipped cream that has too much sugar, but makes her inordinately happy, and that's all I care about.
"You know, normal people actually sit inside coffee shops," she teases, blowing ripples across her drink.
"I'm allergic to Edison bulbs and acoustic covers of 90s songs." My lips quirk up. "Besides, confined spaces make me nervous. You can't see threats coming."
"Threats like... a pop quiz?" She gestures at the campus around us.
Christ, I envy the lightness in her. How is it possible she still carries that after everything she's been through? After Colton? I want to bottle it, carry it with me into the dark apartments and back alleys that plague my life.
Lila smiles, a full, unfiltered smile that hits me like a punch to the solar plexus.
Her whole face transforms, eyes crinkling at the corners, a dimple appearing in her right cheek.
It's fucking glorious. For a moment, I forget about Sarah's cracked phone burning a hole in my pocket, forget about Langford's too-clean apartment, forget about everything except the woman in front of me.
I lean forward and kiss her, gently. Nothing like the desperate, hungry kisses from last night. Just the press of my lips against hers, tasting cinnamon and sweetness. Wishing for more of this. More of her.
When I pull back, those green eyes study me like I'm a puzzle with missing pieces.
"What was that for?"
"Because I wanted to. Because you're real in a world full of ghosts."
She tilts her head. "What's going on with you?"
The question sinks into me, demanding honesty I'm not used to giving. But I'm tired of the walls between us… walls I built, reinforced, and guarded.
"My life's been... I've seen shit that would turn most people inside out," I say, watching a group of laughing students pass by, oblivious to the darkness lurking just beneath the surface of their manicured world.
"Violence, betrayal, depravity. It's like background noise in my life. Been that way since I was a kid."
Her fingers find mine, squeeze gently.
"But with you?" I look down at our joined hands. "With you, there's... silence. Peace. And that terrifies me more than any gun pointed at my head ever could."
"Why?" she asks softly.