Chapter 19
Tammy
The first interview request came through Alana.
Then the second.
Then too many to count.
Everyone wanted the woman with two names.
That was how the email subject lines looked.
Survivor.
Daughter of Savannah Vega.
Key witness in Cross-King ledger case.
I hated all of them.
Not because they were untrue.
Because none of them were my whole name either.
I declined most.
Then I chose one local journalist Alana trusted and gave one statement on my own terms.
I wore a black dress. Simple earrings. No red scarf. That belonged to Savannah now.
Damian came with me but stayed off camera.
Kira came too because she said somebody needed to make sure the lighting was not disrespectful.
Rico waited outside with flowers for the grave because family, apparently, had schedules now.
The journalist asked if I felt angry.
I said yes.
She asked if I wanted revenge.
I said no.
She asked why.
I thought about Damian's gun at Bishop's head. Rico's hand on Savannah's box. My mother telling me through a cassette not to turn my life into her grave.
"Because revenge keeps the person who hurt you in the center," I said. "I want the truth in the center. I want victims protected. I want names handled with care. And I want my life to be bigger than what happened before I was old enough to remember it."
The journalist got quiet after that.
Good.
Some truths needed room.
? ? ?
That night, Damian took me on the night drive we never got to have.
No destination.
No men following close enough to make me feel watched.
Just the city lights, the low hum of the engine, and music that sounded like silk over pain.
He wore black, of course.
I wore jeans and one of his jackets because I liked the way it smelled like him.
He noticed.
"You stealing my clothes now?"
"Borrowing."
"That jacket is not coming back."
"Then you understand."
He smiled.
We drove past blocks that had held danger and kept going. Valentino's was boarded up now, federal tape across the door. St. Agnes had become evidence. The meatpacking warehouse was sealed. The city looked the same and not the same at all.
At a red light, Damian reached for my hand.
"What are you thinking?"
"That I used to think peace would feel louder."
"How does it feel?"
I looked out at the street.
"Unfamiliar."
He nodded.
"We can learn it."
That was becoming our language.
Learning.
Trying.
Choosing.
He pulled into an overlook near the river. The skyline glowed in the distance.
We sat there with the windows cracked and the music low.
I watched him watch the city.
Danger had made him beautiful in a way that should have frightened me. But peace made him more human. His hand rested on the wheel. His scar pulled when he shifted. His face softened when he looked back at me.
"You still scared?" he asked.
"Sometimes."
"Of me?"
I answered honestly. "Of what love can make you do."
He took that without flinching.
"And now?"
"Now I think love can also make you stop."
He leaned over the console and kissed me.
Slow. Warm. Like we had finally found a piece of the city that did not belong to anybody else.
I touched his face. "Take me home."
"Yours or mine?"
I smiled. "Not yet."
His hand tightened on the wheel.
"Tammy."
I liked the way he said my name when he was trying to stay in control.
I unbuckled my seat belt and leaned closer, kissing him again until his breathing changed. The music played low. The river moved black and silver outside the windshield. For once, nobody was chasing us. Nobody was calling. Nobody needed Damian King to be dangerous.
I needed him to feel good.
My hand slid down his chest, over his stomach, to the front of his pants. He was already hard, and the feel of him made heat move through me.
His head tipped back against the seat.
"Baby," he breathed.
That was all he got out before I opened him and lowered my mouth to him.
The sound he made went straight through me.
I took my time at first because I wanted to feel him lose that control piece by piece. His hand found my hair, not pushing, just holding on like I had become the only steady thing in the car. My head moved over him again and again until his breathing turned rough and his hips shifted beneath me.
"Tammy."
My name sounded broken in his mouth.
I looked up once and saw his head back, eyes closed, his face loose with pleasure he was not trying to hide from me. That did something to me. Damian was always guarded, always thinking, always carrying the weight of every room.
But right then, he was mine.
I kept going until his hand tightened gently in my hair and his whole body went tense.
"Baby, I'm about to-"
I did not stop.
He came hard, moaning my name like the city could not hear him, like the whole world had finally gone quiet enough for him to feel something besides danger.
When I lifted my head, his breathing was uneven. His hand came to my cheek, thumb brushing over my skin with a tenderness that made the heat in the car feel even heavier.
"You trying to ruin me?" he asked.
I smiled and wiped the corner of my mouth. "No. I'm reminding you who you come home to."
He stared at me for one long second.
Then he pulled me up and kissed me deep, like he did not care that he could taste himself on my mouth.
By the time he started the car again, the windows were fogged and my pulse was still beating between my thighs.
"Now," I whispered, "take me home."