The blue and white ceramic pots are still lined up as I had them. Rosemary, Little Basil, and Minty. Fallon agreed with the placement choice, and I’m proud.
But there’s a new plant on the stand wrapped in a redbow, and fucking tears well up in my eyes. What the hell is happening to me?
This is Cami. Chamomile is great for calming down after a night of murdering people. Inhale, relax, and release.
Love, Fallon
Murdering. People.
She knows what I do? How?
This is bad.
I scrub a hand over my jaw, trying to chase down the sharp breath that left me. Then it hits me. Years ago, Fallon stole my mail.
She must have read that letter from my mum.
Fallon knows I murder people.
Bollocks…
Then weeks pass, and the plant situation escalates.
I work. I kill. Murder people as she says.
Not for Ares. His squatter has possibly moved on.
But I keep coming home to more plants. Not the fucking Feds or a SWAT team, so I know my nosy neighbor is keeping my occupation to herself.
My kitchen looks like a greenhouse. But I’m enjoying my new tribe.
On a bitter October evening, a chill rattles my bones as I hand over my Audi to the garage attendant. My nerves are frayed from a long night in Connor’s tunnel, the kind that leaves blood under your nails from a brand of violence that questions my morality.
I just need a shot of Jameson to silence the trouble spearing my brain like thorns. They’re spreading like weeds in my head. God, all my thoughts keep leading back to plants!
I step out of the elevator and don’t register the empty hallway or look for a plant on my doormat anymore. Fallon just breaks into my flat to add to my indoor jungle herself.
Once inside my kitchen, I fucking freeze seeing movement on my window ledge.
Outside.
My brain detects the glint of metal, and my gun is in my hand before the thought even finishes forming. I creep close to the window, see the shadow of an intruder, raise the barrel and…gasp.
It’s her. Fallon.
She’s clinging to the slick stone ledge fifteen stories up, hair plastered to her face, fumbling to get my window open.
“Jaysus Christ,” I hiss, shoving the gun into my waistband.
Movement startles her, and she slips.
My heart slams against my ribs, and it happens in slow motion. I wrench the window open just as she loses her grip, and grab her, pulling her full weight into my arms.
“Bloody hell, woman.” I drag her inside.
She’s trembling, so I cradle her to me. Feeling her against my body stirs feelings I’ve not entertained since… God, I don’t even remember when.
“Daddy Basil…” Fallon whispers against my neck, as if that explains everything. “He wanted to talk to his little brother.”
