I’d spent more hours defending criminals than most lawyers clock in a full year. That wasn’t an exaggeration. I’d counted once, then I’d stopped, because what was the point?
I wasn’t complaining. Well, at least not out loud. Money was money, and good money was even better. These guys were generous, if not always honest. But honesty had never been a prerequisite for paying my bills.
I knew what I was signing up for when I took Remy’s offer. I said I wouldn’t stay, but that was just me bluffing. He’d handed me a folder full of apartments as if it wasn’t an ultimatum; as if it was just an option he was putting on the table. And for some reason, despite every instinct telling me to turn around and walk out that door, I’d flipped through it eventually, nodded once, and said yes.
So here I was, living on the top floor of a building nicer than I deserved, with big windows and shiny floors, far removed from anything I’d ever known growing up. It wasn’t exactly the worst situation even if I pretended it was.
I’d stayed for Remy. That was what I kept telling myself anyway. He had a knack for pulling me into his world everysingle time he found himself neck-deep in something ugly. It’d been that way since we were kids, scraping together to survive in places where boys like us never lasted long. He was my brother in every way that mattered, even when I wanted to strangle him. Even when he deserved it.
But deep down I wasn’t fooling anybody, least of all myself. Remy was a convenient reason, an easy excuse I’d gotten comfortable repeating. The truth was something I didn’t like to admit, even in the privacy of my own head.
I was here because of something I’d done. A decision I’d made without hesitation—orders were orders—and consequences I’d never given a second thought to until they were staring me dead in the face.
That was the thing about consequences: you could pretend they didn’t matter right up until they came knocking, and then suddenly, you couldn’t sleep at night. Suddenly, you were lacing your shoes at four in the morning just to keep yourself from losing it.
Running was supposed to clear my head. Savannah used to insist on it. “Focus on something tangible,” she’d say. “Something you can control.”
She was right, of course. She usually was, even if I never told her. Running gave me rhythm, a routine. It quieted some of the noise in my head. My knee and my shoulder were constant reminders that the body had a habit of keeping track, and mine wasn’t about to forget anytime soon. But it wasn’t the physical pain keeping me here. Pain, I could handle. Pain was familiar, almost comfortable, in a twisted sort of way.
What kept me in this apartment, in Remy’s world, was a different kind of ache—one that stuck in the back of my mind and wouldn’t leave me alone. I had debts I couldn’t repay by running laps around the city. Debts I’d racked up without even realizing it until they were too heavy to shake off.
The real reason I couldn’t leave this city was messier.
And it had her name written all over it.
The office hummed with the kind of passiveness that always came with Max’s tasks.
The glass walls in here didn’t do much to maintain the illusion of privacy. Everyone could see everything, which was probably the point. Transparency bred fear more effectively than secrecy.
I sat in one of the side chairs, my elbows resting on the smooth, cold surface of the desk as I went over the latest terms of a contract. Across from me sat a client named Terry. Terry fidgeted with his watch too much, and nerves twitched in his leg constantly. He was certainly guilty, but I didn’t care. Everyone was guilty of something. It wasn’t my job to determine if it was unlawful or not.
“You’re fine,” I said, trying to get his attention back to the documents, where I needed it. “This is only going to hold water if I get specifics. Give me exact dates. No last-minute changes, got it?”
Terry glanced up, his eyes shifting nervously to the glass walls and back. He swallowed hard and nodded. “Right, right. Exact dates.” He scribbled something down hastily, barely legible, but I didn’t say anything. I’d learned long ago, clarity wasn’t usually a luxury these men could afford.
My phone buzzed on the desk, lighting up with Remy’s name. Again. It felt like he was checking in more than usual lately, making sure I was still here, still on track. Or maybe he was just worried I’d vanish one day and leave him to handle Max alone.
The idea wasn’t entirely unappealing, but I was still here, and he knew exactly why—even if we both pretended it was loyalty keeping me chained to this desk.
“Anything else?” Terry asked, fidgeting again.
God, the man was a mess. Fear practically dripped off him.
“Yeah,” I said calmly, sliding the paperwork toward him. “Stop looking so guilty. You’re making my job harder.”
He froze, eyes wide, then slowly nodded, swallowing again. “Got it.”
I leaned back in the chair, ignoring Remy’s missed call and Terry’s shaking hands. If I was lucky—and I rarely was—Terry would keep his head down long enough for Max to forget about him.
But I wasn’t counting on it.
When I waved him off, my gaze followed him out the glass-walled room, all the way to a familiar pink coat.
Valentina.
She stormed in wearing those red-bottomed heels, walking right past Terry as if he wasn’t even there. Hell, judging by the look on her face, I doubted anything could’ve stopped her—not Terry, not the glass walls, not even Max himself.
She passed right by me, close enough for me to smell her lavender perfume. I’d hated the smell at first. I’d thought it was too sweet for someone as prissy as her. It was starting to grow on me though—so much so that just yesterday, I’d stayed three stops longer on the subway simply because the woman beside me was wearing the same perfume.
