Now

Carys

STEPPING OUT OF THE cab with my mind on my bed, I misjudge the curb and falter. My vision swims with fatigue, my hand scrambling to hang on to the car door to steady myself.

I closed the bar tonight, and it was a later night than usual. Even though I only do it once a week, it always kicks my butt. I’m not as young as I used to be, and while thirty-two is still young, it’s moments like these that are a glaring reminder that time is the enemy.

Just thinking about Evan brings home the full impact of that truth, all the wasted years, the countless times I let him make a sacrifice for noble but stupid reasons. I shudder at the many months, weeks, and days and what it would amount to. I want to stop the clock, take back the time we lost. It’s fruitless, but something I wish for.

It’s only been a few days since the confrontation with Greg and I haven’t seen Evan since, but we talk daily. He’s busy figuring out how to give Franco what he promised, so Anna will be free.

But he’s told me that no matter what they do, he doesn’t trust Franco and feels he’ll double cross or renege on any deal they make. He’s looking at this as a way to buy time. I only hope it works and no one gets hurt.

He’s called a few times and tried to see me yesterday, but it didn’t work out. Also, I’m still reeling from discovering that Greg used me. Putting aside how yucky and angry that makes me feel, I’m a hypocrite because on some level I used him, too. It just hurts to think all of it was a lie. It leaves me feeling dirty and incensed at how I’m partly to blame for how messed up everything turned out. If only I’d ended things months ago.

Greg’s emphatic assertion — that he started out using me but his feelings grew and our relationship became more — doesn’t help. He’s supposed to have picked up his things from my place tonight while I was working. I hope all trace of him is gone. I don’t want to speak to him ever again.

Stepping out of the elevator, I yawn, long and deep. Sleep is what I need. As I near my apartment door, a creepy chill skitters along my shoulders and the hairs on the back of my neck stand at attention, akin to when you’re being watched.

I examine the hallway ahead of me, then look back in the direction of the elevator, and I appear to be alone. The corridor is empty, silence my only companion.

Shaking off the eerie vibe, I unlock my door, and upon entering my place, I notice the air is stagnant and almost ominous. Without any tangible indication, my sixth sense tells me something’s wrong.

Flicking on the light, I study my home. Nothing looks out of place—in fact, that’s what’s wrong. A stack of Greg’s books remains on the coffee table and the garbage bag filled with his clothes is on the floor where I put it this morning before leaving for work.

He didn’t come. I let out a frustrated puff of air as I stifle the urge to growl or scream. He was adamant about wanting to talk to me. Is this his way of making it happen? Of dragging things out?

If he thinks this will change my mind or he can orchestrate a run-in, it’s not going to happen. We’re over, and any explanation he has isn’t going to change a thing. I don’t care if he wants my forgiveness; there’s nothing to forgive because he means nothing to me.

I toss my messenger bag and keys on the table, then my shoes come off and I head for the kitchen. Water, then bed. I can’t wait. I quickly send Evan a one-word text to let him know I’m home.

Since the Franco incident, he has insisted on having someone follow me, but I flat out refused. Ry tried to reason with me too, and while I stood my ground, my brother has shown up at odd times the past few days. I know what he’s doing, making sure I’m safe, but I just let it slide.

With the glow from the hallway, I don’t turn on the light, which makes it all the more jarring when with my next step, my foot skates through something wet, warm, and thick. Unable to regain my balance and stop my trajectory from going vertical to horizontal, I’m suddenly flat on the floor.

Ouch! Dammit, that hurt like a mother. What the hell?

A tinny, almost stale coppery stench wafts through the air as I scramble to get up. My hands slide through the slick, sticky substance and I can’t figure out what the hell spilled on the floor.

I’m almost standing when I see the body, or more accurately, the head and shoulders. The counter blocks the rest of the body—the dead body. It’s… Greg?

I catapult up with a scream and frantically race to flip on the light. It is Greg. He’s on the floor, blood pooled around his head and spreading out from there, across the tiles. His skin is pallid, almost grey-tinged, lips slack and eyes open, eerily vacant.

There’s a black hole in the center of his forehead with what looks to be burn marks—a bullet wound. His blood is everywhere.

I choke back my tears and my stomach rolls as I fumble for my phone. I can’t seem to grab hold of it. My hands are covered in blood—Greg’s blood. It’s all over my bare legs and dress.

When I said I wanted all trace of him gone, I never wished him dead, and murdered no less. My lungs beg for air and the taste of fear sours in my mouth. What if whoever did this is still here?

Hastily backing out of the kitchen, I dial Evan, all the while alert, darting around the place to make sure I’m alone.

“Sweetness.” His warm, deep voice blankets me, instantly warming me by degrees.

“Evan, oh my God, please come.” My tone is frantic and breathless.

“What happened?” There’s rustling and his breath quickens, and I can only guess that he’s on the move, running.

“He’s dead…” I start to say. My tears spill down my cheeks and my voice shakes.

I leave my apartment and there’s a man standing by the elevator.

“Who’s dead?” Evan’s even breaths are heavier. He’s coming to me.

The man is tall, broad, and looks vaguely familiar. Is he one of Franco’s men? He starts to walk toward me.

“Evan, come quick! There’s a man here—” I choke on my sobs, my breathing choppy and labored.

“Get out of the apartment,” he orders. “Ghost should be in the hall.”

I’m hearing what he’s saying, but it’s not making sense. The man briskly walks toward me as I violently tremble and drop the phone.

“CARYS!” Evan shouts through the phone, and I prepare to die.

“You okay?” the man asks me, as he kneels before me and picks up the phone. His hand hesitantly hovers over my shoulder, uncertain if he should touch me or not.

I scramble backward like a crab and hit the wall.

“Hello,” he says into my phone. “Looking right at her, boss.”

He now comes closer with the phone outstretched. “I’m with Van, I work for him. I’m Ghost. It’s going to be okay.” His voice is soft but strong. “Van wants to talk to you.”

He places the phone to my ear. With a ragged breath, my stomach lurches but quickly steadies at the sound of Evan’s voice

“Sweetness, I’m a couple minutes away. I’ll be there soon. Talk to me. Tell me what happened.” His tone is calm and soothing.

My thoughts are jumbled and disjointed as I tell him things out of sequence. My eyes are fixed on the stranger, who’s still crouched beside me. He’s alert, constantly checking the hallway, no longer attempting to touch me.

While I hurriedly and incoherently ramble, Evan is patient, reassuring me every step of the way. He explains that Ghost has been following me. He didn’t listen to me when I said no. I should be mad, but right now, staring into the dark eyes of my guardian, I’m grateful he didn’t.

Finally, the stairwell door bursts open and Evan steps through. He’s at the other end of the hallway as I scramble to get up, to get to him. Before I’m fully standing, he’s on me. His iron arms band around me. Immediately, the hammering of my heart slows somewhat and my breathing eases.

“It’s okay, Sweetness, it’s okay.” He rubs my back and picks me up, carrying me to my apartment.

“Someone could still be in there.” My outburst startles him as he steps back and looks down at me. “Ghost’s gone in and is checking it out, but it’s not likely. If they’d heard you come in, they’d have come out after you,” he says solemnly, squeezing me tight. As the realization sinks in, I’m even more grateful for having been watched by one of Evan’s men.

§

Evan

SHE’S SHAKING EVEN ENCASED in a blanket. While Ghost sweeps the place, I get her showered, changed, and now wrapped in my arms, waiting for reinforcements. She was a mess, and getting her into the shower wasn’t easy.

She didn’t want to be alone, and being in the bathroom with her wasn’t enough. I ended up joining her, and it was my hands that washed away all the blood.

At the first sight of her, my heart stopped and my stomach twisted. She was covered in blood, trembling in the hallway, and even knowing it wasn’t her blood, I was ready to destroy someone or something for the fear in her eyes.

There’s no doubt who did this and why, but I don’t share my thoughts with her. At this point, she’s not in a frame of mind to comprehend, let alone talk. Coop, Ry, and Tommie arrive not too long after.

Tommie brings her laptop to me, muting and angling it so Carys can’t see when she plays the recording of Greg’s death. The cameras in her apartment are still operational and while I no longer watch the feed—I’ve been meaning to have them taken out—now, I’m glad we never got around to it.

Before leaving, the killer makes a point to look up at the camera. He knew where to look and the fucker smiles. It’s one of Franco’s no-necks, like I thought.

“I figured as much, that and the dice.” My eyes flick to the pair of dice resting on the coffee table—Franco’s calling card, a message for me. The dice make sense, since my father was a gambler. He wants us all to know that he can get to Carys whenever he wants. Our offer is interesting and possibly something he’ll agree to, but his real enjoyment is this shit, wielding his power and tormenting us. He’s messing with us. This is all a game to him.

“What?” Carys’s voice croaks as she looks up at me, puzzled.

“The dice are from Franco, letting us know it was him. You know, my father was a gambler, dice.” She nods and frowns.

“Anyone call Tripp?” Coop asks. Tripp was watching Anna tonight.

“Shit, no,” I swear, frustrated with myself for not thinking about it sooner.

With Franco behind this, she’s in danger. Out of all of us, she’s his most likely target. Coop’s already calling and before I can think the worst, he’s talking to Tripp and giving me the thumbs up.

“They’re good. Tripp’s headed to your place now with Anna. If you don’t need me, I’m going to check out her place and make sure nothing’s off.”

He’s already shrugging on his jacket. I nod and he’s out the door.

“Why Greg?” Carys asks out of the blue.

Ry gingerly sits beside her, taking her into his arms. “Greg was no longer useful to him. In fact, depending on what he knew or discovered about his sister or otherwise, he may have been a liability. He served his purpose and this way, Franco also gets to send us a message.”’

“What message?” Carys’s brain is likely in a fog, crashing from the rush of adrenaline.

Tommie crouches in front of her, placing her hand on Carys’s knee, and gives her a warm, reassuring smile.

“Carys, don’t worry about that right now. It’s going to be okay.”

Carys’s gaze finds mine and immediately settles. She slides back into my arms and sighs as I squeeze her to me.

Ry leaves to close ranks like we talked about and get his mother. He’ll take her to stay at his house. We’re not taking any chances. We’ll have to deal with Franco soon.

As Tommie calls the cops, we settle in for the long haul. It’s hours of endless questions before we’re allowed to leave. The sun’s rising and it looks like it’s going to be another warm day.

At my dingy apartment, I make her take a hot bath. Afterward, even though the day has begun, I insist we take a nap. As we lie in my bed, I pull her back tight against my front, arms wrapped around her. Her thighs clench; it’s subtle, but knowing her better than I know myself, I don’t miss a thing.

She rolls over in my arms and peers up at me with the smallest of smiles. Her hands roam lazily along my back, sending delectable shivers up my spine, and my cock twitches in response.

Her lips rove over mine, tasting, curious and unhurried. My pulse hammers and my cock hardens with her in my arms. Our kisses become frenetic, her tongue licking and sucking along my jaw, neck, and chest as she rubs against my hardening erection and emits breathless whimpers.

I let her lead, let her take as I savor her mouth and hands worshipping me. Her touch is hot, like flames licking at my skin. As her hand slips into my boxers, she curls her fingers around my cock. I hiss as she squeezes and clasp her hand.

“Sweetness, you need sleep.”

“I need you,” she whines.

“You have me and I promise, I’ll make it up to you. For now, we need sleep.”

With an eye roll, she kisses me with a tease of her tongue before huffing and relenting. With a smirk, her gaze softens and for a moment, we simply stare at each other.

She leaves me ravenous, greedy and needy for our future. I could have her now, but she needs love and comfort, not sex. I can wait. The struggle is real and never-ending, but the worst is behind us. We’re together, and I don’t plan on ever letting her go.