Nix Noland may be five-foot-nothing to Caleb’s six-one, but it’s not physical strength that has me whistling. She could chew Caleb up and spit him out. At first, I thought maybe she was using him because girls like that don’t go for guys like my brother. But getting a peek into her home life with Kira, I can see the appeal.
Caleb is soft, something someone who’s only endured hardship would appreciate. And Nix Noland has probably dealt with more hardship than one should. She probably craves his gentleness, clings to it even.
But Kira? Kira’s not looking for softness.
She didn’t have herself as an older sister, she did it on her own. And she’s angry. The kind of angry that sits under your skin and simmers, just waiting for someone to burn. She’s survived too much to crave peace.
And she wants someone to take it out on.
She can take it out on me—all night, every night, until the fight drains from her body and she’s too exhausted to keepswinging. She can claw, bite, scream—hell, she can put a knife to my throat—and I’ll let her. I’ll stand there and take it because I know it’s not really me she’s angry at. It’s everyone who failed her. And I can bear her anger. I can be her punching bag.
I’ll take it.
I’ll take all of it.
Just like she took all of me.
“Isn’t that the bar Kira works at?” Caleb asks, pulling me from my thoughts.
Taking my eyes off Layton’s bumper—four cars ahead and one lane over—I look around and, sure enough, one block ahead is the Bell’s sign, dingy in the daylight. The letters are flickering, only half working, and the tinted windows show the bubbles of age.
“Shit,” I curse.
I had hoped that maybe he had some other lead, some other possible suspect, but unfortunately, he’s predictable. Dog with a bone.
Anticipating his move, I hook a left and pull into a convenience store on the opposite side of the street. It has a vantage point on Bell’s and a busy parking lot to blend into.
“He’s pulling in,” Caleb says, as if I’m not aware. “He’s parking. Shit. He’s parking.”
“Little less obvious, brother.” I eye the way he’s leaning onto the dash, face almost smashed against the windshield.
“Oh.” He frowns. “Right.” He pulls his hands off the leather like it’s burned him.
Putting the car into park, I cut the engine and lean back, already exhausted with this. I hate having to deal with the police, but it seems like that’s exactly what I’m going to have to do.
Almost every cop walks around like they’re above the rest of us, like a badge gives them permission to hold their chin high—proof they’re righteous. But they’re not gods. They don’t walkon water. They skate on thin fucking ice. And all it takes is the right tap—a number, a threat, a favor—and suddenly they’re dick-deep in corruption, no better than the people they pretend to stand above.
Still, they fight it. Clutch that tin-starred moral compass like it’s a life vest, like it’ll keep them afloat. And I hate how long it takes to find the cracks worth tapping.
“He’s getting out,” Caleb says. “Oh God, he’s going inside.”
Layton disappears inside Bell’s dark entry, and I rub my chin. It would be easier and quicker to just go to James. One call to the captain and this investigation gets shut down. But all that does is trade one problem for another.
For some reason—probably future blackmail—Arnold hasn’t tipped James off to Kira’s existence. But he probably can’t piece together how to use it against me yet.
“What do you think he’s doing?” Caleb asks, hands back on the dashboard.
“Nailing down Kira’s whereabouts on the night Marshal went missing,” I drawl absently, still weighing the consequences of letting James in on this.
Sure, he would have the investigation shut down based on the pure fact that Caleb was involved, and that would get the police off Kira and Nix’s backs, but that doesn’t get them out of hot water. James would want them dealt with—want the loose ends tied into a neat bow.
The options are prison or death.
Unless I can get Detective Layton to fuck off on my own. And killing him isn’t an option, as much as that’s my first go-to. The case will just be passed on to the next idiot, along with the mounting suspicion of another dead cop.
“Damn it,” I sigh.
“What? Is this really bad?” Caleb turns to me.
