“Like I didn’t know that. We were twenty feet from one another for fifteen fucking months, Ry. I heard every punch. Every scream. Every time they dragged you back to your cell barely alive. And we vowed to get out. Planned every single day we had the strength to speak. Every day we could move well enough to tap out cryptic messages during shift change. We were brothers. In all the ways that counted. And then—”
“You couldn’t walk,” I snap. “The infection in your calf? You were half-out of your mind with the fever, and we had—I had—one shot. One night without a moon. And how many times did they let us suffer when our wounds got infected? How was I supposed to know they were going to force a couple amoxicillin down your throat? I went through with the plan because I was fucking terrified I was going to lose you too!”
Dax’s silence threatens to choke me. Without the glasses, the shiny, mottled skin around his eyes is obvious. The deep azure irises have faded to a pale, arctic blue. I know he can’t see me, but his stare bores into me, as if he’s trying to figure out if I’m full of shit or regrets.
When he pinches the bridge of his nose, pain deepening the lines around his mouth, I take step closer. “For a year, I picked up the phone every damn day. Trying to find a way to tell you how sorry I was. And every day, I failed. I failed you in Hell. I failed all of them.”
“You didn’t fail me in Hell, Ry. You failed me after we got out.That’swhen I needed you. Your five minutes are up. Go back to wherever the fuck you came from.”
If he’d shot me in the heart, I’d be in less pain than I am at this moment. But he’s right. And nothing will give us those six years back.
“If you ever need—”
He growls an oath and lunges for me, grabbing my arms hard enough to leave bruises. “Get gone. Now. Or I won’t be responsible for what happens next.”
When he releases me, I do the only thing I can. Double-time it out of the office and into the elevator.
5
Ryker
The elevator doors snick open, and I pull out my phone as I shoulder my way through a small crowd milling around the building’s information desk. The device clatters to the ground as something slams into me, and I see only red curls and a heart-shaped face with big, pale green eyes.
“This is becoming a habit.” I’m done with Boston—and with this day—and a rough edge creeps into my tone. But I steady her with an arm around her waist. “Are you all right?”
“Wh-what…are y-you…doing?” Honeysuckle twists out of my grasp, her hands balled into fists at her sides.
“Just making sure you’re not going down.” I bend to scoop up my phone, taking a quick glance at the screen to verify it’s still intact. When I return my gaze to her, she’s backing away warily, glancing at the revolving door to the street like it’s a fucking lifeline.
“Hey. It’s okay. I’m not following you. Stalking you. Whatever. I was just leaving.”
Her brow scrunches, and as she processes my words, those eyes darken with streaks of amber. “Get over yourself.” She shakes her head, bringing another whiff of her sweet scent to my nose. “Men. Not everything’s aboutyou.”
Shock steals my continued apology, and instead, I frown. “Then what’s got you so worked up that you run into me twice in fifteen minutes? Because where I’m from, we watch where we’re going.”
“You seriously expect me to tell you?” A little feminine snort wrinkles her nose. “It’s none of your business, jerk.” She starts to stalk towards the elevator, but then turns back to me. “Wait. You’re not…like…a new client, are you? Second Sight?”
“No,” I say bitterly. “Look at me, sweetheart. Do I look like I need help? I fix problems for other people. Even if Iwassearching for someone to fix my problems, Dax wouldn’t give me the time of day. Not anymore.” She flinches, and I’ve hit a nerve with something. Dax, probably. “I take it you know the guy?”
“He’s…my boss.”
“Lucky you. I used to behisboss. He was a lot nicer back then.” I run a hand over my bald head. “Sorry. I shouldn’t…I don’t know him at all these days. He’s probably the boss of the year.”
She takes a step forward, those eyes no longer wary, but curious, and I can’t look away. “You…fix problems?”
“Yeah. Sometimes.” Studying her, I notice the dark circles and swollen lids. The tiny lines of strain and exhaustion around her mouth. She wears no make-up, and she toys with a green pendant hanging low between her breasts. Short, unpainted nails. No rings. Just a single purple and green beaded bracelet around a slender wrist. “You have a problem?”
A single nod, and she takes another step closer. “I…I’m Wren. Wren Kane.”
“Ryker McCabe.” I offer a hand, and her cool fingers curl around mine. “You want to get a cup of coffee and tell me about your problem, Wren?”
At her nod, I gesture towards the lobby door. “Pretty sure I saw a shop on the corner. They any good?”
“Passable. And quiet.” Wren pulls her jacket tighter around her shoulders and meets my gaze. Uncertainty swims in her eyes, and her chest stutters as her respiration rate hitches up.
“I won’t force you, sweetheart. You can change your mind.”
There’s that term again.Sweetheart.Why can’t I stop with it?
