“I miss being out there,” I say quietly.
Anthony grins from the driver’s seat. “You mean cracking skulls and chasing trouble?”
“Yeah,” I murmur. “I’m hungry for the violence. Sitting behind a desk isn’t me.”
He chuckles, eyes on the road. “If you’d carried on down that path of destruction, you’d be rotting in a cell right now.”
He’s not wrong.
Growing up, I was a ticking time bomb. I’d watched my father treat my mother like dirt, learned every cruel habit like it was a rite of passage. Violence was how he solved everything, and I soaked it up like a sponge. Every punch, every scream, every broken thing etched itself into my brain until there was nothing left but anger.
When my mother died, he told us it was an accident. I’ve never believed him. My theory? She tried to run. And he made sure she didn’t make it far. And it never bothered me. I didn’t cry a single tear, and still to this day, I feel nothing but numb when I think about her. She was weak. I lost respect for her many years ago, angry she didn’t get out. Pissed she didn’t take us away from it all.
Anthony’s voice breaks the silence. “That secretary of yours is pushing your buttons.”
He says it lightly, but there’s weight behind it. He’s ten years older than me and thinks he’s full of wisdom. Maybe he is.
I glance into the back seat. Leoni’s slumped against the door, fast asleep. Her head lolls with the movement of the car, hairtumbling over her face. Even drunk, she’s beautiful, but she’s chaos. Unpredictable.
“She’s too volatile for my liking,” I mutter. “I’d never be able to tame her.”
Anthony smiles faintly. “Maybe she doesn’t need taming. Maybe that’s exactly what you need. And she is definitely the one to do it.”
I scoff, shaking my head. “I don’t need anyone complicating my life.”
The car rolls to a stop outside our building. I get out and open the back door, the cold night air hitting me as I lean in.
She stirs slightly when I slide my arms beneath her. Her head falls against my chest, soft and warm, a small sigh escaping her lips.
I look down at her, this messy, infuriating woman who somehow slipped under my skin, and something tightens in my chest.
“Goodnight, Anthony,” I say quietly.
He nods, watching as I throw her over my shoulder and carry her inside.
I step into the elevator and scan my card. The doors slide shut and carry me up to Leoni’s floor.
At her door, I shift her weight slightly and fumble through her bag for her keys. It takes me a minute as I sift through lip gloss, receipts, God knows what else, before I finally find them. I slot one into the lock, but before I can turn it, the door gives under the slightest pressure.
Unlocked.
My chest tightens.
Using my foot, I nudge it open slowly. The door creaks on its hinges, spilling a thin strip of light into the apartment. Everything looks normal at first glance. I step inside cautiously, every sense on high alert.
Then I see him.
Isaac.
He’s slumped forward beside the couch; his body folded awkwardly like a puppet whose strings have been cut.
For a moment, I freeze, unsure if I’m just seeing him passed out drunk. I consider laying Leoni on her bed and leaving, but something about his posture—it’s too still. Wrong.
I move closer, lowering my voice. “Isaac.”
Nothing.
I nudge his arm gently with my foot. No response.
