Shelby
“Just keep your eye on the time,” Jaxson reminded me a short while ago, after I checked my messages only to discover Madelyn’s call: Wherever you are, pay attention to the weather. Come home when you can, okay?
“She’s not answering my calls. And it stormed something fierce last night.”
Jaxson gave me a wicked smile before growing more serious. “She’s your sister. You said she sounded worried. Go find out why. We’ve got this, fireball. I’ll have Veronica to keep me company,” he added with a wink.
Yeah, the man isn’t the least bit naive to how damn attractive he is. And I have proof of his virility all over my body.
There’s a bruise on my stomach and a hickey on my neck; my ass smarts from Jaxson’s “I like it rough” belt marks. I can’t help the mad grin plastered on my face as I hurry toward our trailer, failing miserably at composing myself before I do the strut of shame before my sister’s ever-curious eyes.
But as I race across the trailer park and approach the single cement block we’ve been using as a step, reality bowls me over as brusquely as a door slamming in my face. Literally bowling me over—the significance of the dead man in the polyester tracksuit I almost trip over nearly bringing me to my knees.
No. NO.
“Madelyn!”
Paying little heed to the dead mobster lying facedown in the dirt and half hidden in the shrubbery to the right of the step, I fumble with my keys. Drawing in a breath, I manage to unlock the door. My heart races as I try to calm my thoughts. The door is locked . . . is still locked.
I burst inside our trailer, calling, “Madelyn, Madelyn.”
“I’m right here.”
I spot her standing inside our small kitchenette and immediately notice the cupcakes on the countertop. In the Smith family, on special occasions like birthdays, it’s our custom to bypass cakes in favor of smaller, individualized cupcakes. As I’ve no tolerance for baking, Mama passed down her recipes to Madelyn.
Oh crap. I missed her twentieth birthday.
She rolls her eyes at me. “It’s no biggie you forgot. A lots been going on . . .”
“Holy mother of God, are you okay?”
“Yes. Don’t worry. The storm blew out as quickly as it rolled in.”
Don’t. Worry.
I rush toward her and pull her into my arms. She’s okay. She’s okay. And seemingly unaware of the dead man on our doorstop.
“I can feel your heart beating. It’s fine. There’ll be other birthdays.”
Damn right there will be.
I pull away and place my hands on her arms.
“You’re crying,” I hear her murmur.
“You didn’t answer the phone.” Which is the least of my problems. God, no way can she understand how our world has twisted topsy-turvy. How could she? I’ve done everything in my power to keep her out of my business. Only to have Franco’s man show up here. Which can only mean Franco’s acting on his curiosity about me and Madelyn. Or worse, he knows I’ve been spying on him. But who killed his man? And how long ago?
“I forgot to plug it into the charger after I called you to warn you about the storm. Luckily, it was all bark with no bite. Matter of fact, it was just like—”
“Please tell me you stayed inside?”
“From the storm? Of course. You worry too much. I’ve been sorting through boxes and busy packing up for school. Believe it or not, there’s something liberating about condensing a life’s worth of junk into three duffle bags. I’m taking Mama’s afghan, if you don’t mind?”
My cell phone vibrates in my pocket and I quickly retrieve it, thinking it’s Jaxson. Goddamn it. Of all the rotten timing—it’s Francis.
I hear Madelyn say, “I have to tell you something you’re not going to like.” But I wave her off.
“Give me ten minutes, okay? Stay here. I need to take this call,” I tell her, rushing outside and closing the door behind me as I withdraw my gun and hit Talk on my cell phone.
“Now is not a good time,” I snap, while working my way around our trailer, adrenaline spurring me onward, my focus more on clearing the area and making sure no more of Franco’s men are lying in wait than on Francis. “What is it?” I demand, already anticipating what he’ll say.
He begins to stutter, spitting mad. “Novák is at Franco’s place looking for Veronica. An anonymous caller—a woman—rang him up, saying his playmate was with another guy. He’s tearing the place apart looking for her. Is this your doing, Kylie?”
Yeah, it is. Jaxson and I anticipated that Novák would head straight to Franco’s. I glance at my watch. Right on time for my second call, one that now, thanks to Francis, I won’t need to be making. It’s purpose being simply to confirm how many men Novák has in tow. Information I hoped to trick Franco into revealing . . . Franco, who sent a man to my trailer . . .
I stop short, the hairs on my arm standing up like tiny soldiers. Another dead man wearing a polyester tracksuit in lying just behind our trailer. In the faint light, I search the perimeter of the trailer park for clues. For the life of me, I can’t figure out what happened here. Except I’m grateful, so damn grateful Franco’s men didn’t get to Madelyn.
Franco knows. He knows.
Both hands shake as I struggle to stay calm. Freaking out right now won’t help matters. A litany of must-dos sounds off in my mind. Secure the trailer. Get Madelyn out of here and to somewhere safe—Jesus, is there somewhere safe? Haul ass back to the Palace, to Jaxson, to our hit in play.
“Listen and listen closely. Our orders are to terminate Novák. I need you to wait a half hour, keep Novák at Franco’s, then tell him Veronica is at the Palace.”
“Hayden authorized a hit? Who is making it?” Francis demands.
“Jaxson . . . and me.”
“I’m your partner. After everything I’ve done for you, covering for your absence with Hayden, and you exclude me from this?”
“I’m including you right now, Francis.” I kick at the dirt, immediately regretting bringing him into this. “How many Pricks are with Novák?”
Francis pauses and for several seconds, there’s silence. “One. It’s just him and his bodyguard.”
A cold wind kicks up. And I swear all I can smell is polyester and blood. Mobster blood. Blood not from my own hands . . . Who clued them in? Who knows about my situation, my sister . . . Hayden . . .
Francis.
My head is spinning, with no time to think. “Just his bodyguard?” I demand. God, there’s no reason Francis would send Franco’s men after me. If he wanted me off this job, he wouldn’t have covered for me with Hayden at Mama’s funeral.
“That’s what I said.”
I sigh with relief. “In thirty minutes, you’ll tell Novák?” I repeat.
“Yes.”
“Francis. Sorry I didn’t bring you into this. We’re still a team, right?”
“You bet.”
He disconnects first and I quickly text Jaxson:
Two men—Novák and his bodyguard prick.
They’ll be leaving Franco’s in thirty.
Be there ASAP.
There’s no sign of anyone else lurking about. No additional bodies, either.
Get Madelyn out of here.
I reenter the trailer to find her sitting on the couch in the living room. “Hurry up and grab you bags. We’ve got to go.” I rush down the narrow hallway and into my bedroom. Then grab and stuff whatever I can into a small duffel bag. “Five minutes is all I can afford,” I shout, hoping she catches on to the urgency in my tone.
“What’s going on, Kylie?” she replies from the doorway.
“No time,” I say, scooping up the few stray pictures on the bureau and shoving them inside my bag.
“Will you stop for one second? I have to share something with you. Late yesterday afternoon, I heard a strange noise, like kids shooting off fireworks. Pop. Pop. Pop. Almost like a gun was being fired. I thought about calling the cops, then calling you. I peeked outside the living room window but didn’t see anyone or anything suspicious. I waited for the slightest sound . . . which never came. Things grew quiet then I went back to sleep.”
My throat hitches yet I manage to get out, “It was probably the storm.”
She sighs. “No. This happened before the storm. I’m only bringing it up because of what happened next.”
I freeze, then swing my full attention her way. “Next . . .”
“Don’t go ballistic. I invited a stranger in.”
“Inside the trailer?” I hiss.
“Is there another inside?” She rolls her eyes. “He was sitting on our cement block. Like he was waiting for something. I asked him if was here for you.”
“What did he say?” I ask in a tight voice.
“No.”
What the hell? “Quickly, Madelyn. Then what happened?”
“The storm rolled in. I . . . checked on him. He was still out there, dismissing the storm entirely. I don’t know why but it felt like he was guarding the place. He . . . um . . . had a knife.”
“How . . .” I pause to draw air into my lungs. “ . . . big was the knife?”
“Let’s put it this way, it was no Swiss Army knife.”
Oh my God. No. NO.
“What did he look like?”
“Handsome.”
“What?”
Madelyn flashes me a smile. “Big. With a broad, well-muscled chest . . .”
My eyes widen to the point they hurt. “His chest?”
“I invited him in from the rain. It was coming down in buckets, what else could I do?”
She touches her fingers to her lip, and the cool, calm, collected person I’ve been trying so bleeding hard to become goes berserk.
“Are you out of your goddamn mind? Inviting a stranger inside? With all the riffraff floating around Shelby? You should know better, Madelyn.” First Franco’s men, now him. “What color hair did he have?”
Please say black. Or brown. That right now, Franco is all I have to worry about.
And Jaxson. Crap. Oh crap.
“Blond. He was a bit stiff . . . aloof is a better word. And kind of fierce.”
“What did he say?”
“Not a whole bunch.”
Blond. Aloof. A tight-lipped asshat. Declan.
Fuck.
“He asked if I was your sister.”
I squeeze my eyes shut, and when I open them, I’m staring at her acceptance letter to San Diego State University, which she’s proudly hung on the refrigerator door.
“Who is he?”
“No one you want to know. Grab your bags. We’ve got to get out of here.”
“What’s going on, Kylie?”
“I can’t tell you.”
“Can’t? Or won’t?”
I block out that sweet tone of hers. My bossiness never seems to rattle her. Then I shift into deep-panic mode.
She tries to reassure me. So innocent. So unaware of the danger she’s in. I’m in. Not only is Franco on my tail, it seems Declan might be after me.
I swear to God, I’m hyperventilating. Panting like a sick dog. I glance at the kitchen clock. I can’t leave the trailer with dead bodies lying around. “Call a cab to pick us up, okay? And for the love of God, stay put.”
“Kylie . . .”
“Please. I’m begging you. There’s very little time left . . .”
“Time for what?” she asks.
Jaxson.
It takes me ten minutes to drag the dead bodies to the corpse of trees behind the trailer park. If the police investigate, if Declan did kill these men, then TORC is at more risk of exposure. Thankfully, Madelyn didn’t go outside, that by the grace of God she didn’t see them.
By the time I’m done, I’m frantic. I’m cutting things close. Far too close for comfort.
Two men, I remind myself. And Jaxson is a professional.
A few minutes later, I’m ushering Madelyn into the cab. Pausing briefly on the stoop, trying to see through his eyes. Staring at the two lone trees sitting side by side directly ahead of me. If I were going to shoot someone outside this trailer, that’s the spot I’d set up shop.
It felt like he was guarding the place, Madelyn had said. Declan killed Franco’s men.
It takes less than five minutes for the cab to pull up in front of the Pitt. “Please, just do as I say. I’ve got to go. Wait inside the Pitt for me.”
“Come on, Kylie. Tell me what’s going on.”
“Promise me that if I don’t return, you’ll head to California straight away,” I say, brushing her off. Someday I’ll make it up to you, sis. “Follow your dreams without worrying about me.”
“Why wouldn’t you return?”
“I’m begging you, Madelyn. Just do as I say. Promise me.”
She sighs. “I promise.”
I pull her into me and hug her tight. “I love you.”
“Be safe, okay?”
“You got it.” I inhale sharply. “Jesus, I’ve got to hurry.”
“It’s a guy, isn’t it?” I hear her shout, but I’m slamming the door shut.
Go. Please go.
On the drive through Shelby, switching gears physically and mentally—I’ll deal with Franco as well as the Declan issue later.
I contemplate texting Jaxson. But I’ve ten minutes to spare. I swallow hard, trying to reassure myself.
We practiced for this. He’s prepared. Jaxson’s a master manipulator, an ex-Marine, a trained killer. Novák and his bodyguard won’t know what hit them.
What’s hit me is how deeply I love him. My falling in love with him began as a summer shower, the kind you wiggle your toes in and dance along with the raindrops. A nourishing rain refreshing me after a painful drought. It’s hard to pinpoint when my love for him changed, morphing into something greater, coming on like a gully washer, overtaking me and sweeping me clear off my feet. The day he pulled up on his motorcycle? Or earlier, the day he claimed me next to that tree stump by outlining his J on my muddied cheek?
I’m yours. Always, Jaxson.
Shelby’s got one thing going for it. It’s a small town, and I make it to the Palace without incident. I check out the other cars as the cab drops me off. A Mazda, a pickup truck, and the BMW Novák gave Veronica are parked there as well. My racing heart slows. Thank God. Not a Mercedes in sight. I glance at my watch. I made it with roughly ten minutes until show time.
The Palace is quiet for midmorning. Nothing out of the ordinary as most of the rooms are vacant. Forgotten, given the lack of visitors vacationing in good ole Shelby. I cautiously make my way around to Jaxson’s room—our room—frowning as I notice another room’s window curtain falling back into place. Not so alone, after all.
I pause outside our door.
I swipe my room key, the lock light changing from red to green. Then I enter the room.
A pungent, metallic smell, like freshly carved iron casings, hits me first. Blood. Oh God, blood.
It’s . . . everywhere. Covering the carpet and the thirteen steps it takes me to get to the bed. The sheets, the pillowcases, the comforter. Soaking the carpet and the seven steps it takes me to reach the bathroom. The open door, the grimy tile floor, the sink. Veronica moans. She’s slumped over the bathtub, bleeding . . . or splattered head to toe in someone else’s blood?
I fall to my knees beside her and raise my hand to nudge her. But I’m shaking, hard. No matter how I try, it’s no good. I can’t steady myself. I manage to poke Veronica on the arm with a finger.
She jumps, then whimpers. “Kylie?”
“Where’s Jaxson?” I choke out. It’s all I can get out. I’m panting, hyperventilating, drawing short inhalations of air into my lungs and keeping the dizziness at bay.
“Novák and his men found us together.”
I blink, chasing away the image of Jaxson and Veronica together. Focusing on that one word that sends me into a blind panic. Men.
“How . . . many . . .”
“A shitload. Seven, including Novák. I should have been more careful, not given into temptation . . .”
Seven. Seven. Not two.
My knee touches her thigh but I can’t feel her. I can’t feel anything. Ask her, I berate myself.
In a low, unrecognizable voice, I manage to ask, “Where’s Jaxson?”
“Dead.”
No. Oh sweet Mary no. I fall back onto my ass, drawing my knees into my chest, and bury my head in my arms.
Jaxson, oh Jaxson.
“We almost escaped. He wounded Novák’s beast of a bodyguard and had Novák pinned to the carpet by the throat. Then five more men charged into the room, knives and guns drawn. They cut him up, then killed him. All this blood is”—she holds out her arms—“his.”
I’m dying. Can’t draw air into my lungs. Can’t breathe or think or do anything except rock back and forth, back and forth. I held my papa’s head in my lap as he passed away. I took Mama’s hand in my own as she fell into an endless sleep. And Jaxson?
It’s my fault. My mistake . . . in trusting Francis.
“It’s you,” Veronica exclaims.
I drag my head up but can’t see her. She’s a distant shape in a cloud of tears.
“It’s you,” she repeats. “You’re the woman he told me about. I used every tool trying to seduce him. Flirted. Acted pissy. Begged. And you know what he finally told me?”
No. No. No.
“‘Although your offer is tempting, I can’t take you up on it. I’m madly in love with a fireball. If I touch you, fuck you, whip you with my belt, and put you over my knee, I’ll only be thinking of her.’ You’re . . . her?”
I stare at her, not seeing her. Replaying last night over and over in my head. Jaxson kissing me. Jaxson smirking down at me and telling me I’m a naughty girl. Jaxson murmuring “I love you” before I fell into a deep sleep within his arms.
Dead. He’s dead.
I slowly stand, placing a hand against the wall to steady myself. Reaching into my pocket, I withdraw my cell phone, dial 911, and toss it to her. “You need an ambulance.”
She nods, her eyes widening before I turn and stumble for the door.
“Where are you going?” she asks.
Nowhere. Nowhere fast.
I’m numb. Lost in a sea of endless emotion. Everything I’ve been through has all come to this. The exact moment my life turns inside out and leaves me empty.
Jaxson.
I killed my lover, my heart.
I’m sorry.