Chapter 23
twenty-three
The hinge on the rusted door sighs and the sound swims through the hollow ribs of the warehouse. Space heaters hum like distant generators. Adrian will have heard the creak three seconds before I touched the handle.
“Stay close,” I murmur at the threshold.
“I always will,” she answers, voice as soft as her dress under my hand.
Uncle Leven is already planted by a barrel that passes for a bar. “Mrs. Ashenheart,” he says first, as it should be. Velvet over iron. “I’m surprised you talked Cassius into walking you in here.”
“Leven,” she says, and every man listens for what’s next.
“I didn’t have to talk him into anything.
The man is lost without me.” She winks. I take her coat.
Pull her chair close to my right. I like her where I can touch her inner thighs anytime I want.
My fingers trail up her tights, find the warmth between her legs, and cover it with my palm.
“You’re ridiculous,” she whispers.
“I’m yours,” I correct, brushing my mouth to the hinge of her jaw.
Claiming her here feels right; the cost tags along anyway.
I can keep blood off her hands. I don’t know if I can keep it out of her eyes.
I will carry the weight of the most terrible things that live in this world out of her sight; but I doubt I can keep it out of our life.
The moment will come when the knife is in my grip, and she either leans closer or leans away.
If she ever watches what I do to men who deserve it, she may never forgive the part of me that likes how quiet they get.
And if we’re counting sins, mine scale different.
Maybe she sees the dead. Maybe she doesn’t.
Maybe she’s lying. If she is, why? To own a piece of me I’d already given?
If she isn’t lying, then she handed me something precious, and I split it open.
Either way, my worst day will always be heavier than her worst lie.
So I make a quiet choice with my hand under her dress and a room full of men watching me not blink.
If she ends me one day, then she ends me.
I’ll take the risk, because lying or not she’s my creed.
I carry the blade, and she’s the only thing sharp enough to slide between my ribs.
The Accord fills the room in shades of morally gray menace.
Dominic, Vex, and Havoc take their seats first. Marco next.
The door sounds again and Kostya, Nikola, and Dmitry come in on cold wind.
Adrian’s cane clicks as he finds his seat.
Caleb doesn’t sit until he does. Mavik paces the perimeter with a tablet.
“Who’s losing to whom?” Atlas asks, walking in last.
“Vex is donating,” I say.
Vex salutes with a chip. “It’s tax-deductible.”
We run through hands fast. I let Dominic drag me once, then take two clean off Nikola, who only plays because Kostya raised him to respect the ritual.
Cards slap and chips sing. I stack mine in odd heights. Three. Five. Seven. Nine. Because she’s watching.
“Focus,” Nikola says, grinning.
“I am,” I answer, and cut the deck.
Three more hands in, Adrian tips his chin. “We’ve got a lurker,” he says to the air, not to anyone in particular.
“Not inside,” Mavik replies from nowhere. “Outside ping. Camera four.”
Caleb has the feed on his phone before anyone asks.
He angles it so Lindy sees what I see. A van idling two blocks off, doors shut.
I drum my knuckles on the felt. Three, Five, Seven.
Lindy’s breathing shifts to match. “We stay inside,” I tell the table.
“This stays a game.” Then, to Mavik, “Park a drone.”
“It’s up,” he says. Of course it is.
Leven clears his throat, and the room lowers a notch. “Business,” he says.
Nikola slides a single chip to center. “International leg moved a shipment through Canada yesterday.”
“Where do they go next?” Kostya asks.
“Private landing strip from what we can tell,” Marco replies. “All over once they get on that plane.”
“We get someone on the goddamn plane then,” Leven says. “I’m tired of finding them too late.”
“I’ll go Uncle,” Atlas says and then looks at Adrian and Marco. “Gimme times.”
“You still chasing that kid?” Dominic asks.
“Her and all the others,” Atlas says. “If I find her, great, but even if I don’t there’s always more.”
Lindy’s hand finds my thigh and squeezes. “Don’t worry, darling,” I tell her without looking away from the table. “I’m always the scariest man in the room.”
Evie materializes, and the shit-grin on her face has me second guessing bringing Lindy here.
Evie is pure sin in lipstick, the craziest of us all.
There’s absolutely no fear in her. Evie never just enters a room; she detonates it.
If you don’t look, she throws something shiny until you’re forced to.
Leven’s already up. “Evie,” he hugs her, keeping his palm on her shoulder. “What are you doing here, sweetheart?”
“I’m not staying, Dad,” she says, ducking out of his hold. “I’m just delivering.” She slips a manila envelope into Leven’s coat, then flicks a flash drive to Caleb. He snags it midair and hands it to Adrian.
“What is it,” Adrian asks, plugging it into his tablet.
“An idiot who thought a burner and a dumb fake mustache could beat me,” Evie laughs. “Can you believe that? Anyway, it’s shipping crate numbers.”
“It couldn’t wait?” Leven asks.
“Check the ones I highlighted. I wouldn’t be here if it could wait. I think they’re storing kids in those. There’s no air in a fucking shipping container, Dad.”
Leven kisses the top of his daughter's head. “You did good, sweetheart.”
“I know,” Evie says and then because obviously God is upset he hasn’t been able to smite me, “Want to see your husband at work?” She smiles.
“Relax, Cassius, this is just a little Ashenheart orientation quiz. Let’s see if she spooks.
” She tosses a folder down and a dozen photos fall out.
They’re over six months old. I haven’t had time for jobs since Lindy, but she doesn’t know that.
Fuck. They’re glossy runway shots. A model who needed a bodyguard for some fashion shit she was doing in New York.
Melinda stills.
“I was working,” I say before Lindy doubts me. Evie breaks tension by creating it, has ever since London. Light the fuse, watch who jumps. My hand twitches toward my knife. Uncle Leven is already moving in front of her. Kostya’s chair scoots, and he’s standing.
Dominic barks a laugh. “Fuck Evie do you have a death wish?”
Uncle Leven doesn’t raise his voice. “Enough, Evelyn. Must you bring chaos with you everywhere you go?”
“I don’t give a fuck about them,” I say before Evie can open her mouth and make this worse. “I keep them alive. I barely speak to them. I haven’t even taken a guard job since before I met you.”
“She had her hand on your arm,” she says.
“Never again, Lindy girl. If someone is brave enough to touch me again, I’ll chop their hand off myself.” Everyone hears.
“Sit down you crazy bastard,” Vex chirps. “Let’s lose some money together.”
Across the table, Kostya takes his seat but his eyes never leave Evie.
Evie feels it, because her and Atlas have that sixth sense and she drifts past him.
I don’t laugh much, but this is going to be fucking hilarious.
With the kind of fingers that would make a priest reconsider their vows, she lifts the steel from his wrist. The Pakhan’s watch gleams in her palm.
“Dyavolitsa,” Kostya says, but he’s smirking so the table stops holding its breath and the room erupts in laughter. “Put it back.”
She meets the king’s eyes and winks. Then she steps close, too close for the type of men who sit at this table, and buckles the watch back on his wrist without looking down.
“If you think making her,” Kostya eyes Lindy, “or anyone else hate you before they leave you will help heal that sister-sized hole, you’re wrong. ”
“And what? Loving them and spewing poetic shit will make it go away?”
“No. It doesn’t fix it. Nothing will. But, it makes the noise quiet enough to wonder what you’re like when you’re not trying to bite.”
Leven points at the door. “Time to go.”
“Going.” She backs away, still grinning, and tips two fingers at Lindy.
“He’s insane for you, and he was already insane.
Nice work.” At the exit she looks over her shoulder at Kostya.
His face doesn’t move. His attention doesn’t, either.
I glance at Uncle Leven who is doing a terrible job masking his anger over what we just witnessed.
“Cards,” Dominic says, breaking the silence.
“Cards,” Adrian repeats and deals.
Another hour passes and music Havoc swears isn’t in his pocket coughs to life. Old, blues scraped on concrete. I rise and offer my hand.
“Dance with me,” I tell her, more order than question because I’m already pulling her in.
“In here?” she questions, eyes bright.
“In here,” I confirm, an arm around her waist, her hand at my throat. We make a slow circle under the bulbs. The warehouse is so fucking quiet I bet even Adrian is struggling to place the room.
“Everyone’s staring,” she whispers.
“They’re staring because I’m holding the only thing in this room that matters,” I answer. “Let them learn the shape of what they will never touch.”
Her laugh vibrates quietly in my ear. She straightens her spine a hair taller and lets me show her off.
When the song dies, I kiss her mouth and steer her back to the table, then drop to a knee to fix the strap of her heel. The whole room sees it. I swear to God jaws drop. Of course they do, she’s magnificent.
“Whatever she drugged you with,” Caleb says, “keep that shit far away from me.”
Her diamond kicks a strip of light across the felt. I like seeing it here. Cards down. I take a breath and watch the room watch my wife. Lindy leans a fraction toward me. “Vex hums before he bets heavy,” she whispers. “He taps the table twice when he hates his hand.”
I don’t look at her. I don’t look at Vex. I wait for the hum to appear, call light. Watch for the taps and then press. Vex groans, flips nothing. Dominic chuckles and winks at Lindy, unknowingly telling me that she shared a tell we both already knew.
I squeeze her knee once under the table.
“Good eyes, darling.” I swallow my smile, my pride at her attention to detail better than the pot I just won.
I drag the pot in slow, let the chips clack as I stack them.
She didn’t just catch Vex; she caught the rhythm I play.
She maps people the way I map exits. It lands, heavy and right.
She’s not behind me. She’s beside me. The part of me that shields wants her closer; the part that hunts wants her at my shoulder.
I leave my hand on her knee a beat longer, not to keep her still but to remind myself to keep up.
She shifts like she’s about to stand.
“Where are you going, Lindy girl?”
“To get a drink,” she says.
“Darling,” I say to her, never raising my voice, “don’t ever lift a finger when I can lift it for you.” I reach behind me and grab the thermos I brought. Pour tea, add the sliced lemon from the bag on the same counter. I hand her the mug, brush my mouth along her jaw, then cut the deck.
We’re playing our last hand when my phone buzzes twice. Fucking Travis. I swear to God the man prides himself on having the worst timing. I don’t get up from the table.
“What.”
“Those numbers Evie dropped off are legit.”
“How the hell do you even know about those?”
“Adrian sent the file.”
“Is one quiet night too much to ask?”
“It’s hanger B-14.”
“Window?”
“Nine-minutes. My guy can blind the camera once more after that, anything else you’ll have to have Adrian hack it.”
“I hate you.”
“The guard out front, ballcap, beard, is mine. Don’t kill him.”
“No promises.”
“I’ll text you the code for the lock they have on it. Sava is five minutes out, she’ll meet you by the north fence.”
“She got supplies?”
“Yeah, blankets, O2, med kits, all the shit.”
“No headlines, Travis.”
“No fucking bodies on the tarmac, Cassius,” he shoots back.
I end the call, bending to Lindy’s ear. “You’re with Adrian until I get back,” I tell her. “He’ll get you home safe.”
Her mouth tips. “Okay.” I kiss her.
“Go be scary,” she says. Behind me, under bulbs and smoke and the click of a cane, my wife sits high, tea in hand, ring lit, spine straight. The scariest thing in the room isn’t me anymore.
It’s what I’ll do for her.