2. Shiloh #3
“We knew there was an assignment,” I say. “We knew who it targeted. We did not know the details of where or when after we refused. We were cut out.”
“It was Deacon who brought the assignment to you.” It's not a question. Her perception is uncanny.
I nod once. She closes her eyes, and another tear slips down her cheek. “And he still did it.”
“Deacon stayed,” Ever says. “We don’t know exactly what happened after that.”
“But he was there.”
Neither of us lies. “Yes,” I say.
Her hand goes to her throat. “And that was...the end...of your time with the Syndicate. And Deacon?”
“That was the end of us with him, too,” I say. It’s a bitter truth. Nothing with Deacon ever ends cleanly—it frays, it stains, it waits in dark corners. But that night was the break. The moment the four of us stopped being four.
Reva stares at the tile between her feet, steam curling around her calves. “One daughter collected,” she says slowly. “One daughter killed. How were you supposed to choose?”
It’s such a Reva question. Practical. Horrific. “We weren’t given that information,” I say.
“Someone was.”
“Yes.”
She swallows hard. “Mother Superior?”
“Most likely.”
“And Deacon?”
“I don’t know. I’m telling you the truth, Reva. I don’t know how much he knew before the job went bad.”
“Went bad.” She laughs under her breath, a hollow sound. I deserve that. What else do you call the destruction of a life? “What should I call it?” I ask quietly.
Her head snaps up, eyes shining with a sudden, fierce light. “My family dying. My sister being taken. Me being left in a closet with bodies under sheets. You all walked away, and then what? You never checked? Never asked what happened to the family?”
Ever flinches. I don’t. “No,” I say. “We checked. We couldn’t find enough. Mother Superior locked it down. The official story was a home invasion. By the time the smoke cleared, the trail was ash. We were out, hunted in our own way, cut off from the channels that would have told us the truth.”
“And you accepted that?”
“No,” I say, my voice roughening. “We survived it.”
That stops her. She knows the difference. Ever stands and reaches over to shut off the water. The sudden quiet makes the room feel far too small. The bedroom door opens, and all three of us turn, instincts sharp and ready to draw blood.
Then Homer trots in. The absurd little orange menace pauses just inside the bathroom door, tail high, white cross bright against his fur. He lets out a tiny, demanding mew.
The sound cracks the tension. Reva looks at him, her face changing so slightly someone else might miss it, but I don’t. Homer mews again, offended by the lack of immediate worship. Ever bends and scoops him up. The kitten protests for half a second, then melts against his chest.
“I’m going to check on Nash,” Ever says. His gaze moves to me—a warning and a measure of trust. “I’ll be right outside.”
He leaves with the kitten tucked in one arm. Reva and I are alone. For several seconds, neither of us moves. Then she says, “I don’t know what to do with any of that.”
“I know.”
“No, you don’t.”
“You’re right.” I step toward the tub and check the water. Warm. “I don’t know what it’s like to see your dead sister alive. But I know what it’s like to learn the people who made you also planned to use you.”
That reaches her. Her eyes lift. I don’t explain my own wounds; they can wait. “Come here,” I say.
She looks at the tub. “I don’t want a bath.”
“I know. But you smell like Noir Night, and if I have to smell that place on your skin while you’re hurting, I may go downstairs and make several decisions Nash will find inconvenient.”
A tiny breath leaves her, something between a laugh and a cry.
Reva stands, the shirt slipping from one shoulder.
She catches it, then lets it fall. I watch her undress because she doesn’t ask me not to, and because pretending not to see her would be its own kind of lie.
But I keep my hands to myself. I give her the only thing worth a damn from a man like me.
Restraint.
She steps into the tub and sinks down with a soft hiss. I toe off my shoes, strip out of my socks, and pull my shirt over my head. Reva watches me warily. “What are you doing?”
“Getting in.”
“No.”
“Yes. If I sit on this tile like a martyr, my knees will make noises neither of us is emotionally prepared for.”
“That is the stupidest argument I’ve ever heard.”
“And yet you’re distracted.”
Her mouth moves, the corners twitching upward almost despite herself. I strip off the rest of my clothes and step into the tub behind her. She settles against me, leaning back until her shoulder blades brush my chest. I go still. She notices.
“Don’t make it weird,” she mutters.
“I would never.”
“You always make it weird.”
I slide one arm around her, holding her in place. My other hand finds hers under the water. Her fingers are cold. I curl mine around them, pressing my mouth to her wet hair. I don’t tell her it will be okay. I don't tell her she's safe. I just tell her the only truth I have left.
“We’re here. Right now, Yank, we are here.”