Play Dirty (Blackwater Falls: Fighters #3)

Chapter 1 - Reckless

The sun's bleeding out across the horizon when I pull into the parking lot, painting everything the color of old bruises.

My knuckles ache. Not from the fight two nights ago, but from the memory of it.

That's the thing about pain I can't feel properly anymore.

It shows up late, like a ghost knocking on a door I stopped answering years ago.

I kill the engine. The sudden silence makes the buzzing in my ear louder. It's always there, that high-pitched whine that's been my constant companion since Kandahar. Some days it's background noise. Today it's drilling into my skull.

The gym was busy. Too many people, too much noise layered over the noise already living in my head.

I spent eight hours correcting form, spotting weights, making sure nobody snapped their spine trying to bench-press their ego.

Rampage pays me well for it. More than well.

The man gave me a lifeline when I came back and didn't know how to be a person anymore.

Still doesn't mean I enjoy the crowd.

I grab my bag from the passenger seat and shoulder my way out of the truck. The apartment building looks the same as it did this morning: tired, worn-down, but standing. Like me. Like my brother. Like everyone in Blackwater Falls who's got more past than future.

Three floors, twelve units, and I've lived here for two years without learning a single neighbor's name. That's how I like it. Clean. Simple. No complications bleeding into the few hours I get to myself before the nightmares start.

I'm halfway to the entrance when I see her.

Small. That's my first thought. She's small and she's pressed back against the door like she's trying to melt into the brick. Two men in black wearing tactical pants, boots, shirts that fit too well to be casual have her boxed in. One on each side.

The buzzing in my ear sharpens.

"Please." Her voice carries across the parking lot. Quiet but clear. Desperate. "Please just leave me alone."

"You know we can't do that." The one on her left is tall, built like he spends his life in a gym. Not like fighters though. Like someone who lifts to look good, not to survive. "Mr. Castellano wants you home."

"I'm not going back." Her voice cracks. She's trying to sound strong but fear's bleeding through every word. "I won't."

"You don't have a choice, sweetheart."

The other one reaches for her arm.

That's when I start moving. Fuck having no choice. Everyone deserves to choose what they want for themselves.

I've crossed half the parking lot before the tactical thought catches up to the instinct. Before I remember that I'm not supposed to get involved. That other people's problems aren't mine. That I came back from war specifically to find some goddamn peace and quiet.

Too late now.

My boots are loud on the asphalt. All three of them turn. The men see me first, six-foot-four of muscle and bad intentions heading straight for them. I watch their postures change. Watch them assess the threat.

They should be more worried than they look.

She sees me last. I catch a glimpse of her face. Hazel eyes wide with fear, auburn hair falling loose from under a gray hood. Pretty. Even terrified, she's pretty.

"Problem here?" I stop three feet away. Close enough to matter. Far enough to give them a choice about how this goes.

The taller one—gym-rat—looks me up and down. "Private conversation, friend. Keep walking."

"Didn't look private. Looked like two grown men cornering a woman who's asking to be left alone."

"This doesn't concern you." The second one steps forward. Shorter than his partner but meaner. I can see it in the set of his jaw, the way his weight's already shifting. He wants this to get physical.

Fine by me.

"She's my neighbor." The words come out flat. "That makes it my concern."

The woman makes a small sound. Not quite relief. More like she's trying to figure out if I'm another problem or a solution.

"Your neighbor." Gym-rat says it like he's tasting the words, trying to figure out if I'm lying. "That right, Nora?"

Nora.

So that's her name.

She doesn't answer. Just presses harder against the door, like she's trying to disappear into the bricks.

"She doesn't look like she wants to talk to you." I take another step forward. The buzzing in my ear is almost gone now. It always quiets when violence gets close. Like my brain finally has something real to focus on instead of phantom noise. "Looks like she wants you to leave."

"Listen, friend—"

"Not your friend." I let them see my hands. See the scars across my knuckles. The one that splits my left eyebrow. I'm not trying to intimidate them. I'm giving them information. Letting them make an informed choice about what happens next. "And she already said no. You should listen."

The mean one's hand moves toward his waistband.

Gun.

The assessment is automatic. Military training that never shuts off. He's carrying and he's thinking about it. Wondering if I'm worth the complication of drawing down in a public parking lot.

"Don't." The word comes out quiet. Almost gentle. "You pull that weapon, this goes a direction nobody walks away from clean."

"You threatening us?"

"Informing you." I shift my weight. Not aggressive. Just ready. "She said no. Said she's not going back. You can accept that and leave, or you can make this harder than it needs to be."

Gym-rat touches his partner's arm. Smart man. He's reading the situation better than mean-and-stupid. "Mr. Castellano's going to want to know about this."

"He can know whatever he wants." I don't take my eyes off them. "Won't change the answer."

"She belongs—"

"She doesn't belong to anybody." The words come out harder than I mean them to. "That's not how people work."

There's a long moment. The kind that could tip either direction. I can feel Nora behind me, hear her breathing too fast. Can feel the mean one deciding if his pride's worth bleeding over.

Gym-rat makes the choice for both of them.

"Come on." He pulls his partner back a step. "We'll report back. Let Mr. Castellano decide how he wants to handle this."

They're backing away now. Slow. Watching me like I might rush them.

I won't. Not unless they make me.

"This isn't over," the mean one says. Looking at Nora, not me. "You can't hide forever."

Then they're walking. Crossing the parking lot to a black SUV with tinted windows. Very subtle. Very low-profile. I don't move until they're pulling out onto the street. Don't turn around until the taillights disappear.

When I finally do, Nora's staring at me.

Up close, she's younger than I thought. Mid-twenties maybe. Curvy in a way her oversized hoodie can't quite hide. Her hair's coming loose, falling around a face that's too pale, too scared.

Hazel eyes locked on mine like she's trying to figure out if I'm safe.

"You okay?" Stupid question. She's clearly not okay.

"I—" She swallows hard. "Thank you. You didn't have to—"

"Yeah, I did." I shift my bag on my shoulder. The adrenaline's starting to fade and the buzzing's coming back. "You need to call the police?"

"No." Too fast. "No police."

Red flag. Big one.

I should walk away. Should go upstairs to my apartment, crack a beer, and forget this happened. Other people's problems aren't mine. I learned that the hard way. Learned that trying to save everyone just gets you broken.

But she's looking at me like I'm the only thing standing between her and those men coming back.

"They know where you live," I point out. "They'll come back."

"I know." Her voice is small. "I know they will."

"This Castellano. Who is he?"

She flinches at the name. Actually flinches.

"Someone I was supposed to marry." The words come out bitter.

Jesus.

"You ran."

"A week ago." She's still pressed against the door. "I've been hiding ever since."

"Not doing a great job if they found you already."

She flinches again, and I feel like an asshole.

"I'm sorry." She's apologizing. To me. "I didn't mean to bring trouble to—"

"Don't." I cut her off. "Don't apologize for running from something you didn't want."

She blinks. Like that's not the response she expected.

"I'm Marcus," I hear myself say. "Marcus Cole. Third floor, unit 3B."

"I know." She says. "I've heard you. Through the walls. You and your brother."

Great. Thin walls and a neighbor who's been listening.

"Nora," she adds, like I might have forgotten in the last three minutes. "Nora Hayes. Unit 3A."

Right next door then. The apartment my brother mentioned. The one he said had a pretty new tenant I should meet.

"You need to get inside," I tell her. "Lock your door. Don't open it for anyone you don't know."

"Okay." She fumbles for her keys. Her hands are shaking so hard she drops them.

I pick them up before she can bend down. Our fingers brush when I hand them back. Hers are ice cold.

"Thank you," she whispers. "Really. Thank you."

I nod. Don't trust myself to say anything that won't sound like I'm making promises I shouldn't make.

She gets her door open. Disappears inside. I hear the deadbolt slide home. Then a chain. Then what sounds like a chair being wedged under the handle.

Smart girl.

I head to my own apartment. The empty space feels emptier than usual tonight. My brother's still gone. Two more days on a logging job upstate. Just me and the buzzing in my ear and the memory of Nora's face when those men cornered her.

I drop my bag. Grab a beer from the fridge. Stand at the window looking down at the parking lot where this all went sideways. They'll come back. Men like that always do. And next time they might bring more friends.

Not my problem.

Except she’s, my neighbor. And I told those assholes she was, which means I made it my problem whether I meant to or not.

I drink my beer and try to convince myself I did the right thing.

Try to convince myself I won't do it again.

The buzzing in my ear says I'm a liar.

Through the wall, thin enough to hear through, apparently, I catch the sound of movement. Footsteps. A cabinet opening and closing. The quiet sounds of someone trying to feel safe in a space that isn't safe anymore.

I finish my beer.

Tomorrow I'll mind my business. Tomorrow I'll go to work and come home and pretend I never saw Nora Hayes getting cornered by men in tactical black.

Tomorrow.

Tonight, I stand at my window and watch the parking lot until the sun finishes dying and the darkness is complete.

Just in case.