Chapter One
Christine
I woke up in his arms. My legs stretched out across his kitchen floor, but my body was cradled against him. Slade's breath caught when he realized I was awake.
"Just take it easy, Christine," he said.
His eyes looked so worried, so wide, and a smile cracked my dry lips. "Not used to women falling at your feet?" I asked. A harsh buzzing grew louder in my head.
"There's no rush. You don't have to get up yet," Slade assured me.
I was tempted. His arms were wrapped around me, warmer than a blanket, and his strong chest was the perfect pillow. I shifted, and our bodies slipped closer. I fit against him like we were made to touch.
The noise in my head hit a volume that made everything ache, and I reached up to rub my temples. "What happened? Did I faint? I might have forgotten to eat again."
"You haven't been eating?" Slade lifted me up and leaned me against his kitchen island. He checked my balance and held me steady as he glanced at his refrigerator. "I can make you something, if you want."
I shook my head and winced. "I'm pretty sure I didn't come here to watch you microwave week-old takeout. Wait."
It all flooded back and as much as I wanted to push Slade away, I needed his strength to stay on my feet. Anya's murder, Balducci's foothold in the club, and Slade's betrayal. He was the one who swept into my club and took over. Slade had the capital we had needed, but it was dirty money. Then he let the mobster run illegal poker games from our private rooms. And it was Slade who’d convinced me there was no footage of my sister's murder.
The picture was still where I had dropped it. Slade blocked me, but one look made him back off. I clung to the kitchen island and looked down at the security footage printout.
"That's him? You're sure?" My voice wavered.
Slade was pained but he answered. He owed me that much. "The time and date stamp match."
I nodded and bent to pick up the picture. "You lied to me."
Slade snatched the printout up and handed it to me. "I didn't know how to tell you. What good can this do?"
The man's face blurred under my tears. My hand trembled, but I held the picture up. I got a clear look at my sister's murderer before the room tilted and the printout slipped out of my hand. It fluttered across the kitchen island, but I knew I would recognize that face anywhere.
Slade's hands hovered near my shoulders, waiting to catch me if I fainted again. I slapped them aside and tried to charge to the door. His loft apartment felt the length of a football stadium and the edges went gray before I took three steps. I caught the back of a counter-height stool and hung on.
"Christine? What is it?" Slade grabbed up the picture. "Do you know who this is?"
I wanted to sink back down to the floor. I wanted the floor to open up and dropped me down, down, until there was nothing but darkness and silence. Instead, I clung to the stool with white knuckles and forced in another breath. "His name is Darren."
"How did he meet Anya?" Slade asked.
It hit me like a truck. "This is all my fault."
"What? No." Slade dodged around the kitchen island and reached out for me.
I pried my fingers off the stool and edged away from him. "It's all my fault. I introduced Anya to Darren. I thought he was a good kid. Just a nice young man who didn't really know anyone in New York. How could I be so wrong? How could I set Anya up with a monster?"
Slade caught my arms as my knees gave way. He held me at arm’s length as I pushed hard against his chest, but he didn't let go. Instead, he leaned down to me and shook his head. "What if he's not a monster? What if he had no choice?"
My strength came back in a flood of rage. "You want me to feel sorry for this piece of shit? He murdered my sister!"
Slade struggled to hang on to my arms without squeezing too hard. "Christine, wait, just think about it. What if he had no other options? You said he didn't really know anyone else in New York. I know what happens to kids like that when they meet the wrong kind of people."
"You mean Balducci," I said. The fight drained out of me and Slade loosened his grip. "You think Balducci got ahold of this kid and forced him to murder my sister?"
"He puts people in a corner, makes them desperate," Slade said.
I broke free of Slade's hands. "I guess you would know. You're still working for him, aren't you?"
Slade looked as if I'd punched him in the gut. "Christine, that's not what happened. I was trying to help."
"By hiding the evidence I needed to catch my sister's murderer?" My blood boiled, and I welcomed the strength of my anger. "Just like you were trying to help when you invested in the club, and again when you invited Balducci to use our private rooms for his illegal deals and shady games."
"I'm not working for Balducci. I'm done with him."
"As of what, five minutes ago?" I shoved Slade out of my way and headed for the door.
Slade tried to stop me. He caught my elbow and pulled, but I yanked myself free with one violent move. The only reason I didn't disappear right then was I needed that printout.
"Give it to me," I snapped.
Slade handed me the picture. "I want to help, Christine."
"Why?" The question overwhelmed me. Why did Anya have to die? Why did Darren have to be the one who killed her? And why had I ever thought I could trust Slade?
That question echoed over and over as I left Slade's apartment and walked out into the cold, dark night.