As I emerge from the basement apartment, I blink at the bright sun and sneeze.

“Bless you, Cassie.” Kam stands there, hand up, ready to thump on my head. He looks sheepish, lowers his floating fist, and pockets it. “Sorry, I wasn’t going to knock on your face.”

“No, of course not.” I try not to laugh. For such a big guy, he’s acting adorably bashful.

Kam's wearing dark cargo pants with a tight-fitting light gray t-shirt. It hugs his chest revealing every muscle the man has—and he’s got a few. Okay, he has a lot. My first impression wasn't overly observant. I wasn’t breathing right and didn’t notice the way his oblique muscles tighten around his ribs when he moves. I can practically see muscle definition through his shirt.

Kam turns and walks up the steps, talking over his shoulder as he goes. “Yours is a pretty face, by the way.”

I don’t know what to say. Guys have said this kind of thing to me before, and it usually means they need something. “What do you want, Kam? I’m headed out.”

He feigns hurt, pressing his hands to his chest and staggering back a few feet. Beaming that bright smile at me, he says, “Nothing at all. I thought you might want—” His words die in his mouth when a head of dark brown hair appears in the bottom of the stairwell.

Jon bounds up the steps, talking without realizing Kam is standing there. “We need to find you a better apartment, Cass. You picked the worst possible street in the worst possible neighborhood.” He blinks rapidly, focusing on the other man.

“Jon, this is my neighbor, Kam—” I step back to introduce them but am frosted over.

“I know. Kam O’Brian, Irish mob.”

I glance at his dark skin and blurt out, “Irish?”

“I could be Irish,” Kam says. “It’s not an island of only white people with red hair, you know.”

Jon laughs.

Kam shrugs. “Fine, I was adopted by a loving family.”

“Yeah, don’t let that fool you. This guy is just as Irish as the rest of them, adopted or not.” Jon stares at Kam like he might kill the man. “So, why do you have a house in the 'hood, Kam? Need a place to torture victims where screaming is part of the background noise? Can’t rip off fingernails in Dix Hills? The neighbors might talk, and then what would we do?” Jon’s arms fold over his chest while he’s talking. His shoulders square and his feet spread a shoulder's width apart, his whole body preparing to fight.

Kam remains calm, maintaining his less guarded stance. He strokes the hair on his chin, pinching the short chin rug between his pointer and thumb. “Exactly, Ferro. What would WE do? You’ve got just as much blood on your hands as us. No need to play dumb with me. I know that shit in the papers is a smoke screen.”

“You think they pegged me wrong?” Jon sounds amused.

Kam nods, tucks his hands in his pockets, and swaggers toward Jon. “I do, and it gives you an unfair advantage. People think you're soft, stupid. They don’t see the wolf hiding beneath the surface, ready to rip them a new one. Underestimating the enemy kills people, and I’m not losing none of my guys to a pasty freak like you.”

Jon's lips slowly pull into a smile that covers his entire face. Chin tucked, he glances up at the guy. “Thanks for the compliment. I’m not here for you or your men.”

Kam looks at me, then back at Jon, his eyes widening. “Is she your bitch?”

“Hey!” I snap and lightly kick Kam in the shin, still acting like he’s my neighbor and not some nut job mobster.

Jon’s eyebrows bunch together like I shouldn’t have done that, but Kam hops back, a smile pulling at his mouth.

“Sorry, Cassie. I thought you’d own the fierce bitch persona. My apologies.” Kam bows to me, then turns back toward Jon. "Is she your girl?"

“Cut it out, jackass," I say, commanding his attention. "Only call me a bitch when I’m acting like one. If you two are finished peeing all over the place, I’d like to eat breakfast.”

Kam slips his hands behind his back and suppresses a smile. “Awh-righ',” his accent thickens, and he kicks the grass beneath his boot before looking up at me. “No need to tell me twice.” His tone drops an octave and the smile fades. He walks straight up to Jon and speaks in a lethal voice. It’s so quiet I can’t make anything out, except that he’s clearly threatening.

By the end, Kam is nose to nose with Jon, grinning. “Don’t test me, Ferro.”

“Never give me a reason to, Kam.”

“Then we have an accord?”

Jon makes a face. “Who the fuck talks like that? Yes, we have an agreement. You stay on your side of the street, and I’ll stay on mine.”

---

Jon drives down the parkway at twice the legal speed limit. The engine purrs as he slams the gearshift up and down, bobbing and weaving between cars. I’ve nearly peed myself twice. I keep reaching for the oh-shit-strap, but there isn’t one. Maybe rich passengers don’t scream and cling to a leather strap when the driver accelerates too fast.

I’m trying not to shriek. Or curl into a ball on the seat. “Can we slow down?”

He looks over at me and wrinkles his forehead like it's a ludicrous suggestion. “Why?” He revs the engine as we duck between two cars with only a hair of clearance on my side.

“I’m going to puke. That’s the main reason. The second reason is I don't want to die today. Why are you going all Speed Racer on me?” Jon’s always been an aggressive driver, but I’ve never seen him like this. He seems to be sinking into his thoughts and merging mentalities with the car.

“Sorry,” he slows a little and stays in a straight line for longer stretches of road than before. His lane changes are less abrupt now. “I don’t like Kam being that close to you.”

“How do you know him?”

He shrugs. “How do I know anyone? Alliances, family, connections, and money. Kam handles the dealers from here to D.C. He’s the one who makes them fall in line or deal with the consequences. He doesn’t live in that house, and you should never go in there. If you'd wandered in looking for him, his men would have killed you.”

“I didn’t. And I’m alive. Besides, I’d never roam around his house uninvited or even go out with some random guy.”

Jon glances at me, confusion pinching his face. “He’s not some random guy—you know him. At least, it sounded like you did.”

“I do a little bit. I still wouldn’t go anywhere with him.”

Jon pulls off the parkway and merges into more traffic. His knuckles are turning white as he strangles the wheel. “Why not?”

“I don’t know. I just wouldn’t.” I don’t see it coming. Jon pulls over, stops the car, and flicks his hazard lights on. “What are you doing?”

“How many guys have you gone out with since we broke up?”

“What?” I roll my eyes. “What kind of question is that?”

“Answer me, Cass. How many?”

“It doesn’t matter.” I fold my arms across my chest and refuse to look at him.

“How many?”

“Less than you.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“That’s not a question! What do you want to know? Did I fuck the guys I stripped for? Did I take a few lap dances too far? Did I—”

He cuts me off, “Did you go out with a guy on a regular date after we broke up?”

I ignore the ominous pounding of my heart. This is only one shoe falling. The other will drop and kick my ass. I stiffen in the seat. “Yes.”

“Was it Mark?”

“Yes.”

“Did you go anywhere with any guy alone again after that?”

I feel sick. A jittering sensation builds in my gut, working its way into my stomach, and trying to come out of my mouth. I lock my jaw and stare straight ahead. I can’t tell him what he wants to know.

“What did he do to you, Cass?” Jon’s voice is a caress. His hand is about to touch my face, but I snatch it and jerk it away. Jon doesn’t let go. “You can’t tell me, can you?”

My eyes are glassy as memories collide inside my skull. Pulse pounding, I try to swallow, but my mouth has gone dry. I reach for the handle, ready to throw open the door and run, but Jon’s grip on me loosens and slips away.

I remain in my seat, rigid, frozen with a fear of memories that feel more like nightmares. The corners of my mouth twitch as I try to hold the fake smile on my face.

I feel dead inside, and before I know what I’m saying, I’m answering his original question. “None. I’m never alone with men. Ever. I avoid it. You’re my exception.”

“Why?”

I glance at him. My eyes sweep his beautiful face and drink in clearly evident concern. His pink lips part in shock. I expected him to want to bury the man who did this to me, but he doesn’t focus on that right now. His full attention is on me, and I know he’s wishing he could erase the past. I know because I recognize that look. I’ve seen it too many times on my face in the mirror.

I press my lips together and try to put what I’m feeling into words. Something about confidences and trust. He never used me, but that’s not it. It’s not what Jon didn’t do. It’s what he did do. The man wanted me from day one, but he went at my pace and never made me feel like I had to do more.

Jon waited for me.

Mark was a monster in comparison. My thoughts are dark, so laced with anguish and regret I fight to force them below the surface. But here they are, displayed in the daylight, making me sick to my stomach. A shiver coats my skin, kissing me with cold that has nothing to do with the temperature. It works its way past the surface and slivers into my heart.

“You were the only one who didn’t…” I can’t say it. The words don’t come. I press my fingers to my eyes and look down.

I feel Jon watching me for a long time before turning back to the windshield and staring down the street. Car horns blare around us as my head fills with the sound of Jon’s breathing. I’m so tense, so nauseated, I almost miss it. I almost don't hear him.

His voice is barely a breath, a soft acknowledgment, “I know what you mean.”

He glares at the road with hatred on his face. His knuckles are white as he clutches the steering wheel with one hand and the gear shift with the other.