I yank the two from my pocket, finding the one clearly not from Cade—and the V within a circle etched below the compliment. A mark, and the same one he had on the back of his hand.
“Aspen?”
Of course, he’s come.
ELEVEN
CADE
Aspen isn’tin the main area of the shop, and squelching noises coming from the back urge me straight down the hallway to her, finding her with the same pull that first brought us together.
I’ve seen men die bleeding out painful deaths. Fatal wounds from weapons. Men gritting their teeth and screaming. And have felt nothing.
But finding her bent over with her head in the toilet actually fucking terrifies me. She was fine last night; why is she sick now? What changed in the twelve hours that I haven’t been by her side. It’s all the more proof she needs me with her, always.
“Aspen?” Concern tightens my tone, seeping into the truth no matter that I attempt to shield her from it. Her head jerks upright, spots me, and pushes to her feet, but I cross to her before she can speak. “What’s wrong?”
She doesn’t pull away when I grasp her arms, reminding us both she’s alright now. “Flowers.” More of a gasp than anything, as she reaches into her pocket and pulls out the note I left her this morning.
It’s a delayed response for something she found hours ago, but I take it to entertain her concerns. Before unfolding the paper, her hand comes down on top of it.
“H-he…hewas in my house. He wasthere.”
He?Someone will die today if she’s saying what I think she is. I unfold the paper, reading the two words messily scribbled—and the symbol beneath it. The sign of impending pain—theirs, when I get my fucking hands on them.
Fury mixed with uncertainty has me studying her face. If they’re around, they’re coming for me—indirectly. I’m a fucking idiot who made her a target the minute she walked into my life, when she was seen and marked as someone to keep an eye on. Her second visit only confirmed it.
It’s not a coincidence so soon after getting out, they’ve come for her. It’s not her they’re after, though; it’s me. They’re using her to warn me about their own retribution.
If I were a good man, I’d let her walk now. Take the note and stay away from her. Show anyone watching that she’s not mine anymore.
But I haven’t been a good man for a long time. She chose me—and all the poison of my life. Now it’s up to me to protect her from being poisoned because there’s no way in hell she’ll be taken from me over this.
“Where did you get this?” Needing her eyes on me, I push a finger beneath her chin to angle her face up. I count the tear streaks, memorizing the amount so I know how many marks to leave on them. “Don’t leave a single detail out.”
“You left flowers.” Her tongue swipes her bottom lip, dampening it, but it doesn’t seem to have the intended effect. She’s quivering and doesn’t even notice when I rub her arms. “I kept them, but not the ones on my doorstep.”
The card crumples in my hand as I try my hardest not to snap while something as fragile as her face is in my grip. “What was on your doorstep, Aspen?”
“Roses. A small bundle of them. I thought they were from you, even if it made little sense. And then—” She swallows, licks her bottom lip again, and tries to pull her face away, though I don’t allow it. “He came here, I think. He…he posed as a customer buying flowers. Roses. And then said something about not leaving them out in the cold, and I knew. He touched me. And he…oh god.”
For a moment, she gets heavier in my hold—but not for any good reason. For reasons amounting to someone’s death. They frightened her, and for that, they’ll pay. She’s seeking comfort I’m only too happy to provide, and I stroke her jawline while bringing her closer to my chest until the beast inside me pauses roaring his death threats to comfort her.
“What did he look like?”
She describes in as much detail as she can, which gives me nothing to go on since too many of us all look the fucking same. But it’s definitely only one of his crew—a runner—and no one important. Which makes sense, because there’s no way he’d risk doing the delivery himself.
“He had a tattoo on the back of his left hand.” She rips the note from my hand and stabs a nail into the symbol, which I’d already put together but the confirmation of her drop-in having the same mark guarantees my victims.
If she looked closer, she’d see the similar marking on the inside of my wrist. Something she may have gotten a glimpse of during her visits to me in prison.
“It’ll be okay,” I tell her, since it will be. I’ll make sure of it.
She searches my face and slowly draws away. “You know who this is.” Her fear shifts towardsme, something I will not stand for.
“They won’t touch you, so don’t worry.”
“They?”She inhales sharply. “Who’s doing this?”
