I lay curled in my bed, curtains drawn, a cold towel over my eyes to reduce the swelling. Three days had passed since I’d confronted Nic, and I’d spent most of that time locked in my room, crying. Everything hurt. Not just my heart, but my throat from where he’d grabbed me, and my shoulders and back from getting slammed against the wall. Add to it the pain of betrayal, and I couldn’t gather the strength to get out of bed for anything besides going to the bathroom and showering.
My roommates had brought me food, but most of it remained untouched, carried away by them later. They’d been hovering, concerned, because they’d seen the marks on my neck and thought I’d been mugged or something. I couldn’t bring myself to tell them the truth, that I’d trusted the wrong man, again, and this time, he’d done the impossible: hurt me even worse than he had when we were kids.
I’d also kept my mouth shut because I didn’t want to endanger Ryan and Taylor. The one thing Nic had said that I wholeheartedly believed was that if word got out that I knew about his family, I might be the next one to go missing. So I held it all inside and suffered in silence. And, yes, I was scaring my roommates, but I’d rather have them scared than dead.
I rolled over, curling into Walter, who’d been glued to my side this whole time. He let out a low whine and wriggled closer, and I threw my arm over him and burrowed my face against his neck.
How had I not seen this coming? My instincts had tried to warn me, tried to get me to break things off with Nic every time he let me down, but I’d ignored them, because whenever I got around the man, my brain abandoned ship, and my hormones took over the helm.
I felt like a fool now. Nic had killed my father. Or, at the very least, had something to do with his disappearance. Hid his body, maybe. Cleaned up the scene where he was murdered. I’d imagined countless scenarios over the past several days, couldn’t stop picturing all the horrible, gruesome things Nic might have done. And, no, I didn’t like my father, had barely spoken to him over the past decade, but that didn’t mean I wanted the man dead. That I’d be okay with my . . . whatever Nic was, having something to do with it.
He’d been lying to me, the whole time. Hiding so much. And I’d just blindly walked right into his clutches like the horny little idiot I was. I’d gone against all my better judgment and given him a second chance, and then a third. I’d begged him not to betray me, and he’d promised he wouldn’t. I’d started to trust him, started to feel hope that there might be something more between us, that maybe I wasn’t as unlucky in love as I’d always believed.
I’d handed him my battered, bruised heart and told him to be careful with it, and instead, he’d crushed it in his fist.
God, he must have thought I was so stupid, so gullible, so easy. Had he been secretly laughing at me? Toying with me? Having the time of his life while he strung me along?
I squeezed my eyes shut and rolled onto my back, trying to turn my mind off, trying to force it out of the constant loop of self-doubt and recrimination it had been stuck in, trying to forget the fury in Nic’s face when he screamed at me that he’d done it, that he’d killed my father and then fucked me just to spite him.
As much as that image was burned into my brain, the one that followed was equally unforgettable. The way Nic’s expression had crumpled, shoulders slumping, regret replacing rage. I couldn’t stop replaying it in my mind. It was the one thing tripping me up. Because if he’d really done everything I’d accused him of, if he was really as big of a bastard as I feared, then why had he looked so distraught?
A noise came from downstairs. It sounded like the front door closing.
Walter bounded from the bed to go check it out. No doubt it was Taylor coming home from Jackson’s, or Ryan getting back after meeting with Ben.
Walter let out his usual whines of hello, followed by a series of squeaks that told me he’d grabbed his elephant. I heard a murmur and assumed it was Ryan even though the pitch was lower than their normal register. My senses were all fucked up from crying so much. I couldn’t smell anything, and food had become tasteless, so of course sounds would be the next thing to go.
Footsteps thudded up the stairs. I rolled toward my door, straining my ears. They sounded heavier than Ryan’s, too.
“Hello?” I called, my voice hoarse.
No answer.
“Hello?” I said again, louder.
Still no answer. My roommates would never ignore me like this.
Fuck. Someone else was in our apartment, and since Walter wasn’t barking his head off, I assumed that meant he’d met that someone before.
Nic?
I scrambled out of bed, looking for a weapon. My purse with the taser in it was downstairs, hanging from its usual hook on the entryway wall, and the bat was still propped by the front door. I had nothing in my room to defend myself. Nothing except sex toys, that was.
Taking a page out of Taylor’s book, I wrenched open my closet and grabbed my favorite whip, the same one Walter had chewed on all those weeks ago.
My door creaked. I turned toward it just in time to see Nic slip inside and close it behind him, shutting Walter out. He looked terrible, face drawn, expression grim. In his usual head-to-toe black, he could have been the grim reaper come to collect me. My eyes dropped to his gloved hands, gloves that would prevent any fingerprints from being left behind. Oh, god.
“Please,” I said. “I haven’t told anyone. You don’t have to do this.”
He shook his head and reached into his jacket, where I assumed a gun was strapped to his side. I’d love to say that’s when I snapped the whip at him and fought my way free, but I’d never faced such a threat of violence before, and I froze, staring in horror, unable to move a single muscle despite everything in my being urging me to scream, to run. I think maybe I was in shock that the boy I’d loved as a teen was about to end my life.
Nic pulled out an envelope instead of a gun, stepping forward to set it on the edge of my bed.
“W . . . what is that?” I rasped. It looked too small to be a bomb, but I couldn’t rule out the threat of anthrax. He was wearing gloves to handle it . . .
“It’s the deed to Velvet’s building,” Nic said, his voice as raw as mine.
My hands started to shake, the whip falling from my numb fingers and clattering across the hardwood. He wasn’t here to kill me?
“I bought the building from McKinney,” he said. “That’s why I had to leave the other night, that’s what I was doing the day you snuck into my apartment. I’d planned to use it to help me get free. I wanted to lower the rent back down, expand Velvet, help it grow.” His eyes slid away from mine, looking bleak. “Show you how serious I was about building a life with you. I realize that’s probably impossible now, so I want you to have it.”
My head swam, and I had to sit down before I fell down, lowering myself to the floor.
Concern swept over Nic’s face. He took a step forward, but something in my expression must have given him pause, because he stopped several feet away, breathing hard, his gaze running over me.
“I didn’t kill your father,” he told me. “But I understand if you don’t believe me, especially after what I said to you. I was hurt and scared of losing you and my fucking temper.” He balled his fists and took a deep breath, visibly trying to get ahold of himself. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I know that’s not enough to make up for what I put you through, but I have to say it anyway.”
My eyes shifted from him to the edge of the bed. Quickly, because I was still afraid he was feeding me more lies, I leaned forward and snatched the envelope off my duvet. It was heavy in my hand, stuffed full of paper, and when I opened it, the deed tumbled out, or at least a convincing copy of one.
I brushed my fingers over the notarized seal at the bottom, my thoughts churning. It certainly didn’t look fake, and why would Nic go through all this trouble to set me at ease if he was planning on hurting me? The dates next to the signatures confirmed his timeline, official-looking stamps beneath them with the city seal in stark relief.
I lifted my gaze, searching his face, looking for any sign of duplicity or malice, but instead, I might as well have been staring into a mirror. He looked just as exhausted as I felt, just as wrung out, just as depressed. Like our fight had hurt him as much as it had me. I set the deed back on the bed, frowning. Even if he hadn’t killed my father, he’d been lying to me, and I wasn’t about to let him get away with it.
“Tell me what happened to Tommy.”
Nic’s shoulders dropped, some of the tension leaching from his body when I didn’t immediately order him out. “Can I?” he asked, motioning toward the bed.
I nodded, and he sat, facing me, elbows braced on his knees. His green eyes met mine before slipping down to my rumpled T-shirt and sweats. I looked like hell, but from the way he drank me in, you’d never know it.
His gaze returned to mine. “Tommy was last seen with my father.”
“So he’s dead?” I asked, my heart breaking all over again. Some stupid, small part of me had been holding out hope that one day, my father would change, become a better person, or that I’d at least get closure on our relationship. With his life cut short, the chances of either of those things happening disappeared.
Nic shook his head. “We don’t just disappear dead bodies. We hide live ones, too.”
I blinked at him, fighting back a wave of disbelief, trying to determine if I had heard him correctly. “What do you mean?”
“Your dad cooked the books for a couple of the higher-ups, including Lorenzo,” he said. “The feds were moving in on him, hoping he was a weak link they could exploit. Tommy went straight to Lorenzo with the news, which is probably why he’s still alive. Instead of Lorenzo putting a hit on him, he decided to get him out of here. He’s back in the old country working for one of Lorenzo’s cousins.”
“Can you prove that?”
He nodded and pulled his phone from his jacket, turning the screen to face me.
It took a second for what I was seeing to sink in: my father, sitting at a table drinking wine, the rolling hills of Tuscany spread out behind him. As far as I knew, he’d never been to Italy before, and he looked decrepit in the photo, even worse than the last time I’d seen him, so it couldn’t have been an old picture.
“I have more proof, if you need it,” Nic said. He tapped the screen a few more times and turned his phone back to me.
This time, a video played, Tommy smiling, his arm around the waist of a much younger woman. “Thank you, Lorenzo!” he said, looking like he was having the time of his life.
The video ended, and Nic slipped the phone back inside his pocket. “We use videos like these to blackmail the people we help, remind them who they owe their lives to and what will happen if they don’t fulfill their end of the agreement.”
“He’s alive,” I said.
“He’s alive,” Nic confirmed.
I shook my head, pissed. Forget it. I no longer needed closure. Tommy Marchetti might have been alive, but he was officially dead to me. “That motherfucker. He didn’t even think to tell us so we didn’t worry?”
Nic tipped his head sideways. “No offense, but were you worried?”
“Well, no, not at first. But when I thought he might be dead? Yeah, obviously.”
“I’m sorry for how everything unfolded. At first, I thought this thing between us was only temporary, and it wouldn’t matter in the long run, and then I was distracted with other shit, but that’s not an excuse. I should have been the one to tell you about Tommy.”
“Yes,” I ground out. “You should have.”
He glanced away, looking mollified, and I didn’t know what to believe anymore.
“Tell me now,” I said. “Walk me through everything that happened. I just . . .” I paused, fighting against a wave of exhaustion and hurt. “I need to know.”
His eyes came back to mine. “It has to stay between us.”
“It will.”
“I mean it,” he said. “Even if you never speak to me after this.”
I clenched my jaw and nodded, bracing myself.
Haltingly, he recounted the night that he and his brothers disappeared my “father” down at the docks, Greg stealing a corpse from the morgue he worked in, and them cutting its head and hands off to keep it from being easily identified if Tommy’s car was ever found.
“But the DNA . . .” I said.
Nic shook his head. “The DNA backlog in this city is one of the worst in the country, and without dental or fingerprints, it would take forever for the cops to get a positive ID, if they even pursued it. The police don’t really prioritize solving the murders of criminals.”
I frowned, snagging on something he’d mentioned. “And that’s how you spent your birthday?”
His expression hardened. “That’s not even the worst one I’ve had.”
Damn it, I was not going to feel bad for him.
“Is there a tracker on my phone?” I asked.
He winced. “Yes.”
“Any others?”
He shook his head.
“What happened with McKinney?”
“He’s a gambler,” Nic said, filling me in on all the work he’d put in after the night I told him about Velvet’s financial woes.
I sat there, stunned, listening to how he’d gotten Josh to do some hacking for him and then hired a whole ass merc team to hunt McKinney’s bookie down. My jaw dropped when he told me the bookie was Josh’s douchey friend Tyler, of all people.
“And then I went to McKinney’s place and convinced him to sell to me,” Nic finished.
I eyed him. It couldn’t have been that easy. I’d met McKinney, and he was as selfish and greedy as they came. “How, exactly, did you convince him?”
His eyes slid away from mine.
“The truth, Nic,” I said. “It’s the least you owe me.”
With a sigh, he nodded. “I may or may not have used force.”
Unease wormed its way through my stomach. “How much force?”
He winced. “I took his finger off.”
“You what?”
His tone turned placating. “He got it reattached.”
I gaped at him. “That doesn’t make it any better!”
“Look,” he said. “It was the last awful thing I ever plan on doing, but I would have done much worse to get free from my father, because taking a finger off is a fucking cakewalk compared to most of the shit I get told to do. I can’t keep this up anymore, Lauren.” He tapped his temple. “I can fucking feel myself dying, feel pieces of my soul withering up every time I get a phone call. At this rate, I’ll either be dead or incarcerated or beyond all hope within a year or two, and I don’t want that to happen. I don’t want to become my father.”
My heart stuttered in my chest. “You’re not your father.”
The fact that he was so tortured over the possibility of turning into him proved that. And while I might not be ready to forgive Nic yet for everything he’d done, there was no way in hell I was letting him sacrifice his freedom for me.
I picked the deed up and held it out to him. “I can’t take this from you.”
He made no move to accept it. “Why not?”
“Because as mad as I am, I won’t steal your chance to get out.”
“You’re not stealing it. I’m giving it to you.”
I shook the papers. “I don’t want it.”
He pushed them back at me. “Your happiness means more to me than my freedom. And don’t worry about me. I’m sure I’ll find some other way to get out.”
Yeah, but will it be too late by then? I wondered.
“You have to take it back,” I said, trying to stand. My head swam again, exhaustion and hunger and dehydration winning out as I started to tip sideways.
Nic caught me before I fell. The world tilted, and suddenly, I was flat on my back on the bed, with him rising above me. His hands stroked my hair from my face, so gentle, like he would never hurt me. “Lauren? Are you okay?”
He looked so worried, so helpless, that I finally let myself accept the fact that he hadn’t come here to harm me; he was only trying to make things right.
“Please,” I implored him. “Take the deed. If you don’t, I’ll just find some way to give it back to you.”
His hands stilled, cupping my face. “I don’t want to ruin your feelings about the club by being the building’s owner.”
I shook my head. “Nothing could ever ruin my feelings about Velvet. This is your chance, Nic. You have to take it.” He frowned, but I could see the hope building in his eyes, so I pressed on. “If you’re really trying to make me happy, then keep the building. I could never live with myself if I knew my gain led to your continued misery.”
He bumped his forehead against mine. “Why are you so good to me? I don’t deserve it.”
“Because even after everything, I care about you.” More than I was willing to admit. “I don’t want you to turn into your father. I don’t want you to have to hurt anyone else ever again.” I gripped his biceps, squeezing, trying to make him see reason. “It’s not worth losing more of yourself, not now that you have a chance to escape.”
His expression shifted into remorse. “I’m sorry for keeping so much from you.”
I nodded, unable to speak, my head and my heart and my body all warring with each other.
“I don’t want to lose you again, Lo.”
A tear slipped down my face.
He saw it and swore, gathering me up in his arms and turning us sideways on the bed.
“You really hurt me,” I said.
His arms tightened, face pressed to my neck. “I know.”
He was so big, so warm against me, felt so good that I couldn’t help but snuggle closer. His hand rubbed over my back. Whispered apologies fell from his lips.
“I hurt you, too,” I said.
“I deserved it.”
“No, you didn’t.” I finally gave into the need to touch him back and wrapped my arms around his shoulders. “I should have known better than to take my sister’s word as gospel. I should have at least heard you out before accusing you of killing my father.”
“Lauren, stop,” he said. “No one could blame you for how you reacted.”
“I blame me,” I said, more tears wetting my cheeks.
I’d spent my whole life waiting for people to hurt me. And not just because of what Nic had done. Because of what my parents had. Because of what Principal Michaels had. Kelly. All our classmates. My sister. Every one of those betrayals was another brick in the barrier I’d built around my heart, walling it off from the world. I’d convinced myself that if someone hurt you once, they’d do it again and again. So I’d stopped letting them, looking for any excuse to push people away the second things started to get real or messy or hard. Now, seeing how hurt Nic was, I looked back and wondered how many other people I might have harmed with my behavior.
I held Nic tighter, willing myself to let my baggage go, to stop making assumptions and instead let Nic’s actions speak for him. No, he wasn’t perfect—he’d lied and made mistakes, and his methods of protecting me were questionable at best—but here he was, showing up for me, fighting for me, ready to sacrifice himself for me.
“I’m sorry,” I said again. “For how much I tried to push you away.”
“You were only protecting yourself,” he said. “And I went about this the worst way possible. I should have just approached you after Tommy fled and laid all my cards on the table, told you that he’d threatened to kill me and that’s why I lied about us being together back in high school.”
I went completely still against him. “He . . . what?”
Understanding washed over me, the puzzle pieces finally clicking into place. All this hurt, all this heartache, a decade’s worth of baggage, and somehow, it all came back around to my fucking father.
