CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN #2
“Because”—he glides his arms across my waist, securing my undone top to my breasts and me to him—“Rena and her family mean the world to me, which is why I’m grateful that she has Ty and the other couples who protect her.
Between that and us, she’s well cared for.
And you have me and my family to do that for you. ”
My pulse goes haywire. This man.
“That only strengthens my answer.” I spin to face him, zipping up the bandeau-style top while responding with something he’ll relate to.
“You told me shooting those men was the easiest choice for you. I’ve had time to digest that, and it would’ve been for me too.
Not because murder is ever something I’ll be comfortable with, but because if it was them or you, there’d be no hesitation.
” I glide my fingers along his lapels. “Using my skills to do a job I’m already hired for so your sister and her family can be with all of you again is like taking the easiest shot. ”
He kisses my forehead, his lips lingering there to convey his gratitude. “Thank you, baby.”
“Of course.”
“I’m going to take care of some work things. I’ll be ready when it’s time for you to train me and the rest of the yahoos.” He grins and lifts my chin, his lips commanding mine in a parting kiss.
Every swipe of his tongue sends a bone-deep chill through me.
I let myself believe this could be real—that this could be always.
That we’ll survive. And be free. That I’ll meet Rena, and she’ll join us for family dinners, and all of it will be the result of me defeating my father’s killer.
He’d be proud of that. Because as much as he wanted me to be an Olympian, he cherished family most.
With that thought still lingering in my mind, I finish getting ready. But when I’m about to head to Axel’s office, my phone beeps with a FaceTime from my mother.
I plop onto the bed and answer. “Hey.”
The blackout curtains and skylight blinds are open now, so the room is illuminated in a sandy haze of sunlight with a gorgeous sliver of NOLA behind me.
Her face fills the screen. “There’s my sweet girl. Look at the view. You’re glowing.”
I skip over her maternal compliment and address my nonsensical blathering from our previous call. “I’m sorry about last night. I was overwhelmed and a little frantic.”
“I share that response.” Her curls are piled on top of her head today—a necessity when the Florida humidity strikes, even as she sits in her air-conditioned office.
“Although I’m not completely shocked. I knew the help E gave your father came at a hefty price.
I just …” She trails off, reluctant to allow herself to spiral into the grief of missing my father. “I spoke with Axel last night as well.”
“Oh good. You called Flora though, right? I don’t want her to be afraid.”
“I told him the same.” She roots around her desk drawer, probably for a cigarette. “She’s here with me, and there are five plain-clothed friends roaming our street.”
“I bet you love that.”
She pats her curls theatrically. “I feel very important.”
“Well”—I arch an accusatory brow—“it’s a good thing you didn’t rent the house out.”
“It led to better plans indeed.” She peers down the bridge of her nose with her brand of unapologetic smugness before switching gears.
“Flora wants to talk to you. I haven’t given her any details because I wasn’t sure what you would or would not approve of.
But she obviously knows things are escalating. And she’s stressed.”
I’m well versed at reading between the lines. “Is she sick?”
Heightened stress makes Flora’s blood sugar difficult to manage. It’s detrimental to her overall health and leaves her feeling lousy.
“She’s okay, but …” Her green eyes spear me—warning me not to regret anything.
All my thoughts about possible outcomes come rushing back. “Sure. I’d love to say hello. Put her on.”
Thirty seconds later, Flora’s pretty face fills the frame. “Hey.” Her voice cracks, and her hazel eyes well with tears. “I missed you. What’s going on? Are you okay?”
“I am. I’m good.” I pause there, but her demeanor brightens, and I remind myself that she wants me to be happy, that we aren’t enemies; we’re just broken. “How are you feeling?”
She shakes her head. “No one wants to talk about that. Tell me something good.”
“I made some friends.”
“Oh.” Her jaw unhinges dramatically with a throaty laugh. “That’s … different.”
A smile creeps onto my face. “I am not that bad at making friends.”
“You’re not that good at it either.” She tucks her light-brown hair behind her ear, probably wondering if we’ll be capable of razzing like old times. “Competitive. And antisocial.”
And untrusting, with valid reasons, but I don’t add that. Maybe we can find our way back to one another.
“Well, they’re nice. I’ve been staying with them for a while.”
“Friends that you’re staying with …” She peters off for a beat, processing the parts of my life I’ve kept from her as she wanders out toward the water in my mother’s backyard. “Is that because of the mess you’re in or because you’re that close with them?”
“Both.” I move to the floor-to-ceiling window, aware this is all hard on her. “I know being uprooted isn’t the best situation for you, but I’ll be on the other side of this in a few weeks, and hopefully, everything can go back to normal.”
“Back to normal,” she repeats. “Will you return to New York or come to Florida?”
“No,” I sigh. “I’m thinking about staying here.”
She nods, anguish and regret engraved in her features. “Mom didn’t tell me where you’re staying.”
“Hey, Sly, I couldn’t stand being away—” Cash stops abruptly, probably worried that I’m talking to E, so I turn around, and his eyes drift to my phone, noting it’s a video call. “Sorry to interrupt.”
“Who’s that?” Flora asks.
The last thing I want to do is introduce her to him, but I wave him over, accepting the collision of my worlds. “Flora is staying at my mom’s, so we were catching up.”
He struts over to me, and before he ever greets her, he loops his arms around my waist from behind and buries his face in my neck—prioritizing me with kisses and nips and reassurance through a suggestive inhale.
He may be giving a subtle middle finger to the sister who hurt me.
I do want to fix things with her, but he’s never been sexier.
“Well, well, well.” Flora belts out a laugh, one as boisterous as what she bellowed back in high school when a boy would hit on one of us. “That looks like more than a friend.”
“I’ve been telling her that since we met,” Cash gloats against my cheek, finally acknowledging her.
And the moment their eyes meet, something’s off. Cash appears to be piecing a puzzle together, and Flora pales. Neither one of them speaks. For at least ten excruciating seconds.
Cash clears his throat. “Hi, Flora.”
My sister doesn’t respond to him. Her eyes shift to mine. “La Lune Noire—that’s where you’re staying?”
She knows him. This can’t be happening.
A tremor racks through my chest and limbs, and my heartbeat ricochets from my temple to throat to sternum to ribs with a thudding crash.
Cash moves his lips to my ear, his scruff scratching my cheek. “I’ve got you, baby.” Then he peers back into the phone. “I’m not sure what Sylvie has told you, but I’m Cash Noire. I think we’ve—”
“Met,” Flora finishes. She sounds nauseous. “At Caf—”
I end the call, unwilling to hear the details of how they know each other. I can probably substitute the encounter she had with Danny for reference. Tossing the phone on the bed, I slither out of his arms and pace aimlessly.
“I can’t do”—I flip my hand between the cell and him—“this.”
“It’s not what you think. Stop and listen.”
My hands smack over my face as I collapse onto the love seat because I don’t want him to witness the absolute mental breakdown I am on the verge of having.
“Save whatever fucking story you’re going to feed me.
It was written all over your faces, and it’s fine.
I mean, it’s not. But you didn’t do anything wrong. You didn’t know me. I just can’t—”
“Sylvie, I didn’t sleep with her. I’ve never touched her.”
That does grab my attention, so I pop straight up to my feet, panting as I chew on that admission. “She looked at you like … like she was guilty.”
“Probably because of your history.” He raises his palm, coaxing me to stay put. “You know that story you heard about the girl who turned me down in Café L’Ambroisie? It was her.”
My arms fly out, flung by rage and soaring with indignation. “So, the girl you repeatedly talk about as the one who got away was Flora?! That’s the silver lining?”
I’m shouting, and I don’t shout.