“No, seriously, noz fixed me.” I use Nz822’s street name and flex my scrawny arms playfully as we stroll the bank of the Lackawaxen River that snakes behind Jester’s secluded property. “And staying here is only mildly awkward.”
Jester is on his best behavior—and he’s a fantastic cook. I expected stressful meals since mine are so regimented. Instead, the infuriating man pulled a whammy on me. When he said this was my home, he wasn’t kidding. He even produced a cookbook titled1001 Delicious Diabetic Recipes. Who does that? Him, apparently. We’re seven days in now and blazing through them one by one in his spacious, remodeled kitchen with an unobstructed view of the river.
Much to my chagrin, hanging out together has become one of my favorite pastimes. Jester is much the same as when we were teenagers, but different in about a million ways, too. He’s still an arrogant shithead who finds it amusing to make my life miserable until he gets what he wants. But he’s matured into someone whose company I (grudgingly) enjoy.
Things were simpler when I straight-up loathed him.
Or, at least, pretended to hate him, because if I genuinely despised Jester, I wouldn’t have called him the night of the break-in. Nor would I be here now. Not when Havoc’s house was open to me.
And speaking of...
“You can keep glaring at me, but my answer won’t change.” I tell Havoc because he’s sadly mistaken if he thinks he’s intimidating me. Jester tried threatening to “put me back in bed” and keep me there like I’m a fragile piece of glass. Apparently, he and Havoc have the memory of gnats because they seem to have forgotten how they knocked me around to hell and back when we were kids.
And how I gave as good as I got.
“Fuck me for worrying, is that it?”
I bite back a smile at his grumble. “I love how you worry about me. Truly. But other than being a little shaken up—and I admit I am—I’m fine.”
I still can’t wrap my brain around how anyone thought sending people to beat up a woman to send a message to the Unholy was a sane idea. Well, they heard it. Loud and clear. I know this for a fact because I spent the last week with members of the Unholy checking in on me. Each of them coming by to pay their respects, and one by one, they vowed to avenge me. Not because Jester implied that I’m his woman (I didn’t correct this wrongful assumption), but because I was hurt doing their business.
I’m also Mayhem, and they protect their own.
I nudge Havoc with my shoulder. He doesn’t budge. “Grumpy.”
“Stubborn.”
We go quiet as we walk beside each other, same as we did when we were kids. Both lost in our thoughts. I admit I’m conflicted over my feelings about Jester. On one hand, I want to pack up and run far away from him. On the other, I can’t imagine being anywhere else. Could be the way he has my two types of insulins prepped when I need them. Or how he constantly checks the CGM app on his phone, counts my carbs, and has everything I need at the ready to keep me healthy. He turned a spare bedroom into an office. Even went and got my home computer. We go for walks along the river every night, and we talk. God, how we talk. About everything and nothing. Of the past and what Davenport did, and Christ, Jester was furious. But it’s out in the open, with the burden of secrecy finally lifted.
The first two nights after the attack started off with me in the guest room. They ended with me in Jester’s bed. I’m not too proud to admit I was afraid to sleep alone. It’s nice, normal even, to spend my nights with him. I figure it’s a shame to put so much mattress to waste—
“…look like shit.”
“Huh?” I frown up at Havoc, oblivious to what he’s saying because my mind drifted a bit too far.
“I said, you look like shit.”
“Wow. You accented each one of those words.” I pick up a rock and toss it in the water. “And here I thought I missed our little heart-to-hearts.”
Havoc stares straight ahead, suddenly tense and uncomfortable. “I did.”
Dread pools in my gut, and I stop him. Grab his hands and extend his muscular arms. He stares over my head at nothing as I examine him. I expect him to pull away. Growl at me. Get angry. Do something. Anything Havoc-like. Instead, he lets me study the fresh damage hidden beneath the tattoos that decorate the suntanned skin of his arms.
“Havoc.” My voice is a broken whisper. “What did you do?”
He tugs his hands free, his mouth twisted in a sneer. “It helps with the pain.”
I swallow the lump glued to the back of my throat. Havoc will resent me if I shed even a single tear on his behalf, so I blink them back. It’s not easy, though. I stare down at the dirt, a million regrets ripping through me. Finally, I find the fortitude to look back up at him without withering under the weight of his dark stare. “I’m sorry I never called.”
He’s quiet for a good, long while. “Same.” Then he grabs me and hauls me in for a tight hug before shoving me away. His affection is rough and angry, like when we were young. “Friends again?”
“You’ve always been my best friend,” I admit, as one more piece of my life slides into place. I walk to the edge of the river, taking in Mayhem’s majesty after years of suffocating in Brighton’s manicured perfection. My Vans sink in the mud as I stare out at the Appalachian Mountains. They scrape the cloudless sky and extend as far as I can see. “It feels good to get rid of the anger.”
“Lucky you.”
I turn back to him, struck for a moment by how the rustic backdrop frames him. He’s in his element here, wild and free. A frightening figure who, if I hadn’t known him all my life, would terrify me. “The weight became too heavy a burden.”
Again, he’s quiet as he walks up beside me. He narrows his gaze on the landscape, his presence chewing up the surrounding space. “You know we’re going to kill them.”
