“Breathe,” he orders.
“Logan—” I choke.
“At his mom’s,” Cassius answers.“He’s fine.”
The Bolo-Hat man tips his brim and fades like breath on glass.
The lights stutter once.The air holds Wyatt’s shape a beat too long, like the space is trying to learn his outline.Echoes like that don’t fade.They come back.When Wyatt’s body hits the ground, it echoes.
thirteen
Motherfucker.
fourteen
I didn’t wantto kill Wyatt.I actively avoided killing that dumb fuck.
Melinda is wide-eyed, covered in the asshole’s blood.I don’t bother saying anything more to her; she’s in shock.I scoop her up.She’s shaking in a bra and panties, skin hot with someone else’s blood.I strip off my jacket and wrap her in it, sleeves swallowed in her hands, then put her in the front seat of her car.I remove her keys from her fist and pocket them.I grab a towel from my trunk kit, wipe the worst of it from her face and throat, then call Adrian.
Adrian picks up, but doesn’t say anything, so I do.“I need a clean-up crew now at Melinda’s work.The parking garage.”
“I fucking told you.”
“There’s time for that later.I need you to send a couple of guys who can get this shit cleaned up before anyone else comes down here.I also need you to get rid of the security footage.”
“I’m already in,” he says, cane tapping.“I’ll ghost-mail his boss and HR, family emergency.That’ll buy you time.Get out of there.I’ll do the rest.”
I watch her through the glass while I talk, and the car window throws my reflection back at me.Machinesuperimposed over the woman who in the blink of an eye became everything to me.Blood freckles her lashes, a red thread in her hair.I’ve seen men beg with less ruin on their faces.I swore she’d never see this part of me.Knowing it is one thing; wearing it is another.It’s theory when I say what I am.It’s proof when she’s breathing through the spray.
Good men show up with flowers.I bring corpses.I could disappear her.Have Adrian give her a new name, new state, and a house in a safe town with men who would buy the flowers.But I’m already too far gone for mercy.Letting her go would only change the view, not the fact.I’d still watch her.I’d still kill for her.
She presses my jacket tighter around herself, aligns the edge with the seam.She saw me open a throat.She knows what I am.It cements what I’ve always known.I’m not good enough for her.And it changes nothing.I’m the man she gets whether or not I deserve to be.If that’s weakness, then I’ll be weak.If the cost is hell, I’ve already been paying in advance.
I won’t let her go.I can’t.
There will always be a piece of me that whispers letting go is the right thing to do.I can live with that.
“Thank you, Adrian.”
“I hope she’s worth all this.”There’s an unmistakable bite to his tone.He’d never tell me no, but I know he wants to.
“If she wasn’t I wouldn’t have called,” I say, and hang up.I get into the driver’s side of Melinda’s car.Adrian can fuck with getting my car out of here.I wanted to surprise her, take her to dinner.Be normal.So much for that.Goddamnit.This is so far from the way I wanted this to go.I drive.One hand on the wheel, one on her wrist.I match her pulse and set the count to what steadies her.In for five.Out for seven.When she stutters, I squeeze on the odd beats.One, three, five.She copies me.Good girl.
I maneuver Melinda's car out of the parking garage, the weight of silence pressing down on us.The events back there, still fresh and raw, hang between us, unaddressed.I'm acutely aware of her presence beside me, her quietness not of peace but of turmoil, mirroring the storm inside me.I keep my eyes on the road, navigating through the Vegas night with my mind racing as fast as the city lights that blur past.
I’m driving home before it’s a conscious decision.It's a fortress of solitude in the midst of Vegas's chaos—one far removed from the ordinary, steeped in shadows and secrecy.The drive is both too short and agonizingly long, filled with unspoken questions and the palpable tension of shared trauma.
Turning into the gated driveway of my estate, the quiet opulence of my surroundings stands in stark contrast to the darkness of the night's events.The automatic gates glide open, revealing the path to a modern mansion that's more a refuge than a home.It's designed with privacy in mind, nestled away from prying eyes, a necessity given the nature of my work and now, a safe harbor for Melinda.
Parking her car, I finally break the silence and give her two truths.One I can live with.One I can’t.“You’re safe here.But if you want out, say the word and I’ll drive you somewhere else.Hospital.Police station.”
She looks at the door, then at me, then past me.Her fingers fist the edge of my jacket and then let go.Her expression isn’t gratitude.It’s triage.Her throat works.She doesn’t say yes.She doesn’t say no either.She just opens her car door and stands there, waiting.It feels less like choosing me and more like choosing the only option left.
I will protect her regardless of what it costs me.Her safety and happiness are my only priority.I want to give her everything, and I’m not talking merely material items, though I’ll give her those too.I want to give her confidence.I want to give her the freedom to fly knowing that I’ll forever be grounded to catch her.I want to be better for her, be a man who she trusts, who she’s proud of.I’ve proven I’ll kill for her, now I’ve got to prove that I can live for her too.
The moment stretches, filled with all these things unsaid, before I exit the car too, close both doors, take her hand, and lead her inside.
I don't take her to a guest room.I take her to mine.The pull to keep her close is too strong.Door stays unlocked, on purpose.The space is clean lines and quiet.The minimalist design defines not just this room, but my entire home.Yet, it's the personal touches I'm curious to see her react to.The things that make this space mine.
