I jam my legs into my jeans and grab the mug Ellie left me from the tray, then stalk out to the living room with Sloane on my heels. We sit on the couch together as I open the first package slowly, peeling back paper that's already been disturbed by Varen's investigation.
Inside is a small, ornate music box, the kind a child might treasure. The lid is broken, its hinges twisted. And there's unmistakable blood spatter across the front of it.
I know this music box and the woman I was forced to take out. She wasn't innocent, but she didn't deserve what I did to her. But even when Sloane's hand finds mine, I can't bring myself to speak about it. The man I am today isn't the same man I was when I did these things. I've never felt guilt like this in my life.
"Go ahead," she says, nudging the second package toward me.
This one is a watch. It's an expensive piece that I recognize immediately too. The crystal is shattered, and the hands are frozen at 4:12 PM.
"Fuck…" My voice is hollow as I grunt. I press my eyes closed and feel her hand lightly on my shoulder.
"It's okay, Dane," she whispers, but I know it's not.
I've killed so many, taken lives of people I never knew for crimes they weren't necessarily guilty of. This one was a car bomb that had multiple casualties, innocent bystanders. And the one before, she was a mother, even though she was also an embezzler. And never once did I stop to think of my future or how I'd feel looking back at the wretched things I've done.
"Hey, shh," she says, and I feel her hand on my face. She wipes away moisture, and I realize I'm crying.
"I… I've…."
"It's okay," she tells me again, and she has no understanding. It's not okay. She shouldn’t say that to me, but her arms wrap around me knowingly and I bite back the tears that want to spring free. "It's alright. I understand." I can't believe she isn't pulling away or looking at me in disgust. She sees the worst parts about me and she's still here to try to help me.
After a few moments, I take the last package. It's just a padded envelope this time, and I tear it open. This one's different. There's no object inside, just a photograph. But it makes my jaw tighten and Sloane's hand on my arm grip harder.
It's us. Sloane and me at the Halloween party at the diner. We're on the dance floor, her arms around my neck, both of us smiling. Someone caught us in a moment of genuine happiness, and it's obvious looking at the image that whoever took this knew at that moment that Sloane and I weren't siblings.
Sloane's face has been drawn around with a red marker, in the shape of a heart. And across the bottom, written in the same red marker,She's beautiful. It would be a shame if something happened to her.
"Oh, God." Sloane takes the photo from my hands, staring at it. Her hands shake slightly, and that surge of protectiveness makes me pull her against my chest.
"Look at me," I tell her, and I find myself being a little forceful with her so she doesn’t start spiraling. "Look at me now."
Sloane's eyes track up to my face and her skin has gone pale. "Dane?—"
"Do not let them intimidate you." My hands grip her harder than they should, but she doesn't wince. "I will never let them touch you. Do you understand?"
Tears well up in her eyes and she shakes her head no, so I pull her against my chest again and kiss her forehead. "I mean it, Grady. You belong to me now and I never let anyone touch what's mine. Okay?"
If ever I had something worth fighting for, it's now. They're not going to send me shit like this, threatening her, and get away with it. I'm not sure how I'm going to fight them. It's basically one man against a small army. But that doesn’t mean I'm backing down.
I may not be the ruthless assassin I once was, but I'm not afraid to slit a man's throat for touching what's mine.
I just hope Sloane still feels the same way about me after she sees the monster inside me rear its ugly head. Because there's no way in hell I'm gonna be able to stop it now.
22
SLOANE
The Christmas tree in Ellie's living room is modest but beautiful, white lights wound through artificial branches, ornaments collected over years hanging at varying heights, a gold star perched at the top that's slightly crooked. Garland frames the windows, and stockings hang from the mantel above a fireplace that's currently dark. The whole room smells faintly of pine from a candle burning on the coffee table.
I stand at the window, careful to stay back from where passing eyes might see me, and I stare at the decorations with an ache in my chest. I'm homesick and I crave something normal for this time of year. We missed the damn Thanksgiving feast, and the reminder that life goes on for everyone else while mine has been suspended in this nightmare just makes me irritable and grumpy.
Erin's probably walking through Rockefeller Center right now. It's what we do every December—make a day of it, hot chocolate and window shopping and taking terrible selfies with the massive tree in the background. She'll be bundled in her goodcoat, the navy one with the fur collar, complaining about tourists while secretly loving every minute of it.
"You're thinking too loud." Dane's voice comes from behind me, then his arms wrap around my waist, pulling me back against his chest. "I can hear the gears turning from across the room."
I lean into him, letting his warmth chase away some of the chill. "Just looking at the decorations. Thinking about home."
"New York?"
