Nick settles on the mat. “Isaiah’s done more than murder your father, Cass. His actions have split the organization. He has to answer for that. That’s the reason why my father and my uncle agreed to this plan.”
I arch a brow. “You failed to mention the part where we were supposed to report to them what was happening.”
“Had you stuck with the original plan, there would have been no need. One day, hit ’em all, and it’d be over. Not easy to cover up, but doable with advance notice. We’ll come up with a new plan, and I highly recommend you cooperate.” He points behind me to the exercise area. “In the meantime, feel free to use whatever you want. If you want to go to the shooting range, let me know, and I’ll arrange it.”
Arrange it. I feel like I’m trapped in that old song—I can check out any time I like, but I can’t leave. “Why are you doing this?”
He gets to his feet, and for the first time, I see the anger behind his bland expression. “You abused my trust. You pushed too far, too hard, too fast. Right now, I’m the only one standing between you and the rest of the family. I’ll help you, but it will be done my way.”
I’d do it again, too, and that brings on a wave of guilt. Not that I’ve used him, but that I’d do it again. “How long are we staying here? Where is here?”
“When you stop acting like a selfish, immature girl, I’ll tell you.” He stands and heads for the door.
Shame burns through my veins long after he’s gone. Nick’s right. I’ve been selfish and immature, too focused on that hideous beast called revenge to care what my choices did to others.
The burn flares hotter as I realize I don’t care, and I wouldn’t change a thing. Flopping over onto my back, I stare at the ceiling high above. Does it make it better, knowing I’m ashamed of my actions, even though I wouldn’t change them?
No. Because the fact remains I wouldn’t do anything differently. Each kill has been a brick in a wall, separating the old Cass from the new. What Nick wants will tear that wall down, and if he succeeds, I will become a babbling, incoherent mass of grief and pain.
I roll onto my side and prop myself up on an elbow. Somehow, I’ll have to get out of here. The easy way is to allow Nick to help me take out Isaiah. The idea has its appeal. The only thing holding back the aching loneliness is that half-built wall, and if we do this together, I won’t be alone.
Physically, anyway.
The hard way involves finding the damn key he’s promised me, not getting caught, and most likely destroying whatever’s left of my relationship with Nick.
I wish revenge wasn’t such a greedy fucker.
Chapter 3
Most of my life with Nick is crammed into this cabinet. When I left Constantine’s for my old apartment, all I took with me were some clothes, my phone, and the weapons Nick bought me. The gun’s locked in a box on the top shelf, next to the one holding the whetstone and oil I use to clean the knives. The knives themselves are stored in their original box, next to the supplies.
Three little boxes and a bunch of nearly new jeans and shirts. It’s so far from a complete picture it’s laughable. It doesn’t show the quiet evenings full of getting-to-know-you conversations, or his casual acceptance of my ability to take care of myself. There’s nothing of the meals I’ve made for us or the hells we’ve gone through.
Then with one move, one choice, he screwed it up.
I grab a sweatshirt and shut the cabinet doors. Maybe I’m overreacting. Maybe Nick did when he doped my coffee. Whatever the answer is, it’s not one I have time to search for. Isaiah’s still alive. I pull the sweatshirt over my head and go back downstairs.
The refrigerator is full, as are the cupboards. Everything I could possibly need to feed myself a healthy, nutritious meal is in this kitchen. I take out a glass and fill it with water from the tap while I debate my dinner choices. Part of me wants to be annoying and contrary and make Nick pick up take-out. He deserves it for locking me inside.
“Dammit!” Water slops over the sides of the glass as I slam it onto the counter. I promised Mom I’d stop by to see her today. She might be a member of the walking dead, but I promised. On the off chance she notices I haven’t been around, I don’t want to cause her any more worry.
Any other time, I might have waited until Nick gave me my key, shown him I’m not the selfish, immature girl he says I am, but this is my mother. The only family I have left. She trumps proving anything to my boyfriend. He’s got to have it squirreled away in one of the rooms upstairs.
The door swings open with a loud squeak as I’m hurrying toward the stairs. Nick shuts it behind him and twists the key in the lock.
“I told my mother I’d stop by and see her today. You said there was a key I could have?” I ask.
“I dropped by your parents’ house and told her you would be out of touch for a few days,” he responds. “She said she was going to visit your aunt for a while and would call you when she got there.” He starts up the stairs. “Come on.”
So Mom will talk to Nick, but not to me? The hits won’t stop coming. I follow him to the second level while trying to wrestle the hurt into place.
He opens one of the two closed doors and waves me inside. The long, narrow room reminds me of his study and the second bedroom at the condo. A U-shaped desk sits in the near corner, three monitors cluttering its surface. When he reaches under the desk and boots up the computer, the monitors flare to life.
I wander farther into the room. There’s not much else. A couch is pushed against the far wall, a neatly folded blanket topped with a pillow on one end. A duffle bag is tossed in the corner, the top of it zipped tight.
Something about the blanket and the pillow throws me. I stare at them, trying to understand what they mean. He fucked up, yes, and he hurt me, but I assumed we’d still be sharing a bed, like we have all the other nights.
I don’t want him in here. I want him next to me. I want everything to go back to the way it was. Before Turner was killed.
The only way I’ll get that is to kill Isaiah.
I relax my shoulders and turn around. “You’re still willing to work with me?”
He regards me steadily, his face giving nothing away. “Have a seat.” He points to a chair beside the desk. “Yes, I’m still willing to work with you. That was what should have happened in the first place.”
I pick up the stack of papers on the chair and sit, searching for the words to tell him why I’d done what I had. “Before,” I say quietly, slowly, “it was personal, but not…overly so, I guess. Like there was still some distance. Isaiah already admitted he underestimated me, and up until he shot Turner, I thought he’d keep doing that. After? It wasn’t enough for his men to die. I needed him to be afraid. I need him to fear me. I want him to realize that I don’t play by his rules and he made a huge mistake thinking he could get me to do things his way. If you and Constantine helped, it became too much like a business transaction.”
I look down at the papers in my hands. “You didn’t even try, Nick. You said there was an easy way and a hard way, and the hard way was talking me out of it. If you really meant to try, you wouldn’t have gone straight for the drugs. How do you know I wouldn’t have listened?”
He sighs. “Because you wouldn’t have, Cass. You plowed through those nine men with a singular focus. The Cass I know, the Cass I love, would have hesitated. That lack of hesitation proved I wasn’t dealing with her anymore.”
He’s right. There was no hesitation. My timid, remorseful