20. Kade
Kade
The guy's name is Matthew, or Martin, or some other fucking M name that I stopped giving a shit about three busted knuckles ago.
He's from Southside, and that's all I need to know.
I've got him on his knees in the alley behind the dive bar where he and his boys were meeting up, and his face is a picture-perfect example of what happens when you pick a fight with the wrong guy. I happen to be the wrong guy today.
My hand cramps around the grip of the brass knuckles I'm wearing. I flex my fingers under the metal and shake them out. The sting of split skin across the third and fourth knuckles keeps me from getting too far ahead of myself.
"Please," he tries to say, but the word's a little garbled with all the blood and missing teeth that were in the right places a minute ago. "Please, man, I don't know what you want."
I crouch in front of him. His left eye is swelled shut and the other is wild and unfocused, so his brain's probably already halfway out the door. His hands are zip-tied behind his back.
"Who funds you?" I ask calmly.
"What?"
"Who funds you?"
His mouth opens and a string of blood drops from his lip to the asphalt. I watch it pool there, and I think about Ellie's face under my hands three nights ago.
The knuckles come up again.
He starts to scream and I put my other hand over his mouth, my leather glove pressed hard against the busted remains of what's left of his teeth. I'm about to make the question even clearer when my phone rings in my jacket pocket.
Muttering a string of curses under my breath, I pull back to fish it out with my clean hand. Fucking Jinx.
I put the call on speaker and set the phone on a trash can lid so I can keep my hands free. "The fuck do you want?"
"She's awake."
The alley goes quiet except for my target's wheezing and the plopping sound of his blood dripping on the ground.
"Awake or awake and coherent?" I hear myself asking.
"Coherent and mildly pissed," he answers. "Cy says her vitals are good. Where are you?"
I glance at Matthew or whoever the fuck he is and realize his eyes are rolling back in his head. "Just finishing something up."
I hang up before he can question me further.
My knuckles throb under the leather and there's a fine red mist on the cuff of my jacket that I'll have to burn later depending on how the rest of this goes.
"Where's your boss meeting next?" I ask, rising to my full height.
He mumbles a time and a place and a name I already knew. Guess he's not so clueless anymore.
Then I knock him out all the way. One shot to the temple with the grip of my pistol, because I'm not a monster and also because a murder would attract the kind of attention I don't need tonight. He crumples sideways onto the pavement.
I get back on my bike and somehow resist the urge to head straight for Todd's office and go home instead.
Cyrus is sitting at the kitchen table when I come in through the side door.
He looks up, glancing over the state of my jacket, and doesn't say anything before he goes back to his laptop.
Jinx is lounging on the couch in the next room with his legs slung over the armrest, and he doesn't blink either. "That's not Todd's blood, is it?"
"What do you think?" I mutter. "Where's Tank?"
"In the shower."
"And Ellie?"
"Awake, fed, and still annoyed with all of us." He nods toward the stairs. "You're up."
I scrub my hands at the kitchen sink first, getting the blood and dirt out from under my nails. When I'm done, I leave my bloodied jacket in the laundry since Jinx is the expert at getting out the stains, and head upstairs.
Ellie's door is cracked open for the first time since her detox started. She's propped up against the headboard with a water bottle in one hand and a saltine in the other, her hair a wreck of blonde and pink knots.
She's wearing Tank's shirt, but a different one.
Why is it always fucking his shirt?
"You look like shit," she says.
"Back at you, Princess," I say, which is a damn lie and we both know it. Even with her hair a mess and rumpled, sweaty clothes, she's still the most gorgeous woman in any room.
She flips me off without missing a beat, taking another sip of water. She pauses to look me up and down. "Did you kill someone?"
I look down and realize there's some blood on my t-shirt I missed. "Define someone."
"Kade."
"He's not dead," I say. "Not that anyone would miss him if he was."
She rolls her eyes, and I hate how that little sarcastic expression makes me putty in her hands. I've had women throw themselves at me ever since I became the self-proclaimed king of the underworld, but this woman's scorn turns me on more than anyone else's attempt at seduction ever has.
"Glad to see you're back to your usual charming self."
"Glad to see you haven't bled out in a ditch." She sets the cracker down on the plate beside her half-eaten. "Although I reserve the right to revise that opinion."
"Noted."
I think about sitting on the bed but pull a chair out of the corner instead. It's the too-small one Tank camped out in for most of her recovery.
She watches me the whole time.
"How are you feeling?" I ask.
"Like shit."
"You're gonna feel like shit for a while, Princess. Weeks, probably. Price said the taper's going to be slow on purpose." I lean forward, elbows on my knees. "Benzos don't let you go easy."
"No," she mutters, drawing her knees up to her chest. "Guess not."
"Why didn't you tell me?" The question is out before I think better of it, but impulse control has never been my strong suit.
She blinks. "Tell you what?"
She really doesn't remember, I realize. The things she said when she was out, the tantrums she threw… and the panic attack in her sleep.
Maybe it's for the best. But there's one thing I need to be clear on, because it affects everything moving forward.
"When you were out of it," I say carefully, "you thought I was someone else."
Her expression flattens.
She looks away and the water bottle trembles slightly in her hand as she sets it on her nightstand.
"I don't remember much."
"All right, then." I flick the lighter out of my pocket because my hands need occupation since they can't choke Todd out and Matthew wasn't a great substitute.
"I'll just have to work my way down the list of every man you've interacted with, starting with Todd, until I'm sure the bastard responsible is dead. "
"You can't—"
"I absolutely can. I've got a list, Princess. So does Cyrus, every asshole you've so much as partied with. All I have to do is start crossing names off. And yes, I'd rather kill a hundred innocent men than let the one who touched you keep breathing."
"You're fucking insane."
"Who was it, Ellie?"
She looks at the ceiling, obviously counting in her head, her fingers moving against the blanket. "It was Todd," she finally says through her teeth. "It was Todd. Okay? Are you happy?"
"No, Ellie," I say quietly. "I'm not fucking happy."
The lighter clicks once more before I pocket it.
"So that's why," I say. "That's why you came to us. It wasn't because you wanted the inheritance, it was because he hurt you."
"Does it matter?"
"Yes, it fucking matters."
"Why?" She finally looks at me, and her eyes are bright and furious and tired. "You already decided who I was, Kade. When I walked into that warehouse, I was just the girl who left. The spoiled princess who chose a life of luxury over the four of you. You already made up your mind."
"What was I supposed to think, Ellie," I grit out. My voice rises even though I'm trying really fucking hard to stay calm and collected. "You promised. You said you'd stay in touch, that nothing would change. And then you were just… gone."
She starts to say something, but shutters it. Not that it matters. She already said enough in that fucking letter. No taking it back now.
But it doesn't change the fact that I still would have killed him if she came to me and just told me what was happening. It doesn't matter that she didn't want us. She's still ours and always has been, and I still would have put the man who hurt her in the ground pro fucking bono.
But I can tell from the look on her face we're not getting anywhere rehashing the past tonight.
"Todd will be handled," I tell her, standing. "If you'd told me the truth back then, I would have done it for free."
"Does that mean you're letting me out of this stupid contract?" she asks.
I scoff, stopping at the door. "Not a chance, Princess. You're already here, and you've proved you can't be trusted on your own. Consider it a favor, for old time's sake."
She throws something at the door next to my head, but it's a plastic mug that just bounces off. Apparently, we've learned our collective lesson about leaving her with glass.
I smirk as I shut the door and she mutters, "Asshole."