Chapter 21 Lincoln
LINCOLN
RICHARD, WHO?
Follow her!
Drag her into her truck and put her back on the road.
For every second she’s still in this godforsaken town, she’s at risk.
So I stride into the hall, her perfume acting like a siren’s call that sets my blood on fire.
Her scent—our scent—as I barge into my room, is almost enough to put me on my ass.
My messy sheets are a cruel, welcoming invitation.
Lie down and remember how it felt to have her.
Bury your face in her pillow and smother yourself, because dying with her in your lungs is a damn good way to go.
I want to travel back an hour and change everything. Not tell her who I am. Not break her heart and shatter her trust. If I could go back, I might keep the secret a little longer.
If I could go back an entire week, I would sweep her up and get her out of town.
Even if she kicked and screamed the whole way.
Even if she fought every touch and denied every word I spoke.
Even if it meant forfeiting what little time we’ve had to simply be.
If it meant keeping her safe, it’s what I would do.
Fury and fear battle in my veins, warring with each other for dominance as I stalk toward my closet and snatch out a shirt, and after it, a coat—because I’m probably not coming back tonight.
Or possibly ever.
I rip the shirt over my head and walk to the drawers beside the bed.
Not the one she already searched, but the other.
The one that, if she had, would have sent our evening spiraling in an entirely different direction.
I yank it open and pull out my gun. Then a second.
I grab shoes and socks, then sit on my bed to put them on.
Sweeping up the knife she already discovered, I tuck it under my jeans at my ankle.
I check my ammo and slip as much into my pockets as I can fit.
Then, chambering a round, I stand and slide one gun into the back of my jeans, and the other into the thigh holster I pull from the drawer.
How could I have explained an entire arsenal if she’d found it?
I couldn’t.
How can I keep her safe, while keeping Scarlett safe, for as long as Richard Aster lives?
I can’t.
Which means he’s gotta go. But not until I get Nova back on the road, driving toward the house her brother prepared for her.
Finishing with the strap on my thigh, I straighten and stride back to the hall, leaving us behind and making a beeline for the front door.
I said I would wait outside and watch her lights come and go, but what’s another lie in a stream of so many?
And is it really a lie when, at the time I spoke it, it was the truth?
I don’t fuckin’ know, but I wrench the car door open and drop into the driver’s seat so heavily, the entire vehicle rocks on its chassis.
I leave all the lights on inside my house.
The door unlocked. Dinner on the porch. The bed, unmade.
I leave an entire life, fake as it is, on hold and start my car.
Slamming it into reverse and tearing out of the driveway, I skid onto tar and slip the gear into first.
My loyalties have changed. But unlike Nova, I still have family Aster might like to fuck with, so I drive one-handed and type with the other.
LINC
1703.
I send those four digits to my sister; code for Get the fuck out of town until I say otherwise.
LINC
1449
I send a second text that means danger is coming.
But this isn’t her first rodeo, and unlike Nova, Scarlett takes my warnings seriously.
She’ll go on vacation until I say she can return, so beloved by her employers that she’ll still have a job when this is all over.
And because she loves me as fiercely as I love her, she’ll only get a little pissy at my interrupting her life.
Again.
Taillights shine red about half a mile ahead, slowly winding around the curving road and disappearing into the distance. I push it out of my mind, pull into Nova’s driveway instead, and toss my phone down as I skid to a stop behind her shiny new RAM.
I said she had ten minutes.
It’s been about that long.
I shove out of my car, dust wafting high in front of the still-lit headlights. With balled hands and a heart sick with worry, I shout into the darkness. “Nova? Babe!” I jog up the front steps and pound my fist against her door. “Time’s up, Nichols. Get your ass in your truck. Now.”
I expect her to call out. To tell me to wait, or, more likely, to get the fuck off her property.
Maybe our ten minutes apart has allowed her sensibilities to snap back into place.
Maybe she swells fat with rage and storms through her home, fueled by anger.
Or worse, circles back to naivety with plans of returning to work on Monday, like her life isn’t in danger.
But when she doesn’t respond at all, I bang again until the entire wall vibrates and my stomach flips with nerves.
“Nova! Open the door, so I know you’re safe.
” I didn’t bring my tools, so I can’t pick her lock.
But I can kick a hole in the wall if she forces my hand.
“I’m coming in, Nova.” I back up and study the lock.
The one Ryan put in, which means it’s more secure than those at my house.
Less likely to collapse under the pressure of a single kick.
So I cast my eyes to the hinge side instead.
He didn’t replace those, and if they’re anything like mine, they’re already rusting and ready to give out.
“Nova! Last chance.” But I don’t give her time to argue.
I lift my leg and chamber it back, then I stomp forward, slamming the heel of my boot near the flimsy bottom hinge until wood splinters and metal pings to the floor.
“Nichols!” I back up, preparing for the second hinge, then I charge forward, throwing my shoulder into the collision.
The not knowing isn’t nearly as horrifying as stumbling into her living room and finding her things everywhere. Her bookshelves tossed. Every page torn from every book. Cupboards destroyed. Drawers obliterated. Silverware spreads from the kitchen doorway to the couch.
But worse. So much fucking worse, is the spray of blood on the floor.
My stomach heaves as I lower into a crouch and drag my finger through the mess.
It’s still fresh. “Motherfucker!” I straighten and spin, sprinting back onto the porch, then down and across the lawn to the road.
I look left, searching for taillights, then right for the same reason.
I need some indication of where he took her.
One fucking clue. A single second alone with Richard Aster and my blade. “Goddammit!”
I snatch out my phone and quickly open my tracker app, the one she unknowingly allowed to access her data when she called me that first time and connected our devices.
But when I tap her name and wait for the satellites above to locate her device, it sticks a pin right where I already am. Her fucking truck.
I stride across the lawn and look inside the cab, only for my heart to sink when I find her cell lying on the passenger seat.
“Fuck!” I exit the app and go to my call log instead.
Selecting Aster’s name, I slam the phone to my ear and stalk back into the house, pushing through the destroyed door and standing amongst the chaos.
Her things, cruelly tossed to the floor.
Her couch, not only flipped, but torn to shreds so her intruder could search inside.
“Lincoln Castro,” Aster answers with a sly smirk bubbling in his tone. Pure glee, knowing he’s this much closer to what he thinks is a complete code. “It’s kind of late to be interrupting my evening, don’t you think?”
“You gave me seven days! We’re only on day six.”
He clicks his tongue, smug and infuriating. “You failed. You didn’t bring me the code.”
“My deadline hasn’t arrived! You sent Tank in before our agreement.”
“You asked for more time. You’d failed, even before the seven days were up.”
“I was doing the fucking job! She trusts me now.” Don’t tell him she knows. Don’t tell him he’s a dead man the moment I get a chance. “She was in my bed tonight, spilling her guts about these numbers her brother gave her.”
“Really?” His cheerful tone drops away to curiosity. “So, what were the numbers? What device are they hidden on?”
“I don’t know!” I do fucking know. But if I tell him the code is gone, she’s dead anyway. “I was getting to it. But now you’ve gone and fucked all that up. She’s not gonna give us anything now.”
“Oh, well…” He sighs, so fucking nonchalant. “That’s alright. I’ll have her here by morning. Then I’ll strip the skin off her bones and let Tank do what Tank does. She’ll give up the code or die a proud woman.”
Rage surges in my blood like a tidal wave of pure, poisonous fury, touching every nerve, every muscle, every fucking limb I possess.
I pull the phone from my ear and crush it in my palm until it crackles under the pressure of my grip, the inner components protesting their newer, tighter confines.
But I keep my mouth shut and my words locked away from the man who will use them to fuck with us both.
“You’re done now.” His voice is tinny and barely touches my ears, so I bring the phone back, smoothing my exhalation and bottling the all-consuming desire to end his life. “Don’t worry about our deal. And don’t worry about those files. Scarlett’s secret remains safe for now.”
“Aster—”
“I’d rather keep them for the next time I need your services. Hope you had fun.” The click-click of a cigarette lighter echoes along the line. “To have her in your bed willingly…” He whistles. “Sounds delicious. She’s a treat to look at.”
I’ll slit your throat and pull your stomach up through the gap in your skin.
“I might speak with her privately,” he ponders out loud. “Before Tank takes a swing at extracting her secrets, I might try the old Lincoln Castro Way.”