One of the lines of her note came back to him as he bit into the brownie and savored the burst of flavor on his tongue. She’d referred to her father in the past tense. Was he no longer alive, then? Remembering that she’d listed no one on her application under the emergency contact section, he wondered if she was truly alone in the world. Like him.
But no, he wasn’t completely alone. He had his family. Even if he preferred solitude most of the time. He could no longer get away with appearing when he was needed and then disappearing, staying away for days at a time. Evangeline would have none of that. In addition to their weekly takeout date, she insisted he and the others come to dinner, lunch, sometimes breakfast. Basically any time she deemed it was “family” time, they all gathered at Drake’s apartment to be spoiled and pampered by Drake’s wife.
Who did Hayley have? Did she have anyone at all to look out for herand watch over her? He had the sinking feeling that she didn’t, and why that should bother him, he didn’t know. He only knew it bothered him a hell of a lot. A girl like her alone in the city? A woman whose goodness and innocence shone from her eyes like a beacon? It might as well be a welcome sign for every predator within a ten-mile radius.
He cursed savagely. He was not taking her under his wing, damn it. But even as he made the fervent vow, he knew that he could no more turn away from her than he could ever turn away from Evangeline or any of his brothers. He didn’t have to be close to her in order to protect her. Didn’t have to be within touching distance.
Even if every part of him ached to be just that.
6
Silas opened his bedroom window as had become his habit during the last week and then settled onto his bed in a comfortable position, his gaze fixed to the ceiling as he waited.
And then it began. He closed his eyes as the first beautiful, heart-rending strains of the violin spilled into the night and slid into his bedroom, wrapping around him, capturing him in their sensuous web.
Hayley was extremely talented for one so young. He was well acquainted with fine music, and he knew talent when he heard it. This woman was destined for greatness, of that he was certain.
Every night since the night she’d first slept in the apartment next to his, she’d played her violin, her window open to allow the music to blend with the sounds of the city and the night. Before, Silas would have only heard the sounds of traffic, only slightly quieter this late at night, but now he only heard the exquisite melodies she played and the poignancy with which she captured every note.
He wondered if like him she seldom slept. She was rarely at home and only late at night, and then she spent hours practicing, her music soaring in power the longer she practiced. Some nights she didn’t sleep at all because she played until the first streams of light bathed the skyand then he saw her leave the apartment building on the surveillance cameras he had installed when he’d first purchased the property.
He knew she only attended classes part-time. The rest of the time, it appeared she worked. He frowned at the unwanted distraction from the peace that had descended the moment she’d begun to play. She was always either attending class, working or practicing her violin. When did she sleep? When did she simply take time off to enjoy life? It didn’t appear as though she had any sort of life beyond work, school and practice.
Yet she’d found the time to make him homemade brownies. Her father’s favorite.
A peculiar sensation settled into the region of his heart, and it was habit to reach for the note she’d written him, one he’d taken out many times in the week since he’d received it. He handled it with utmost care, reading again her written words, tracing every line and curve of her letters with his fingers as if he were in some way touching her. Even now he simply rubbed the thin paper between his thumb and fingers. He found comfort in it and he was at a loss as to why.
No one had ever done something so unselfish for him. Except Evangeline, who was forever going out of her way to spoil all of Drake’s men rotten. But apart from her, no one had ever made anything for him.
But this... from Hayley. It was different. He loved Evangeline like the sister he’d never had. Yes, he’d warned Drake that if he fucked up things with Evangeline again, he’d step in, take care of Evangeline and ensure that she never lacked for anything the rest of her life, but he hadn’t meant in a romantic sense. And Evangeline’s kindness, as well as her homemade gifts and her cooking, were for all of Drake’s men. She didn’t grant preferential treatment, though Silas knew that he and Maddox had a closer friendship with Evangeline than the rest of Drake’s men did.
Hayley’s gift was solely for him. Not something she’d done forothers. And somehow he knew that it wasn’t something she did often. It was an arrogant assumption but he clung to it, needing it to be true whether it was or wasn’t. That she’d taken the time to make him something she’d said was her father’s favorite, to write her sincere thank-you and to share something so special and intimate with him, made him feel... worthy?
Even as the thought crossed his mind, he shook his head. He wasn’t worthy. That was something that could ever be said of him. His soul had been damned when he was a mere child. A child who’d for all practical purposes died when he was but eleven years old, and from the ashes had arisen a monster, far older than his eleven years, with knowledge of evil no child should ever have. But when had he ever been just a child, innocent and filled with the knowledge that he was safe, cherished and loved?
He’d seen more as a child than most people ever saw in a lifetime. And since then he’d killed when necessary, never suffering a useless emotion such as remorse when the men he’d executed deserved far worse than his swift mercy. He did his job coldly and without emotion, knowing it was kill or be killed, knowing he must protect those he’d sworn to protect and also knowing that while his actions could hardly be justified and he would never receive absolution for his sins, the men who’d died by his hand deserved far, far worse than quick death.
They were animals. Undeserving of life and of the power they so carelessly and brutally wielded. They rose to power on the backs of countless men and women and on the suffering they so casually inflicted. The rare times Silas slept, he could hear their screams. The victims all crying for justice. They preyed on his mind and his consciousness, at night in the dreams that would forever torment him, but also during the day, always there, a weight he couldn’t get rid of.
It was as though they were solidly ingrained in his psyche and silently judging his every action, holding him accountable for the deeds he’ddone and the sins he’d committed in the name of brotherhood, loyalty and justice. No, his wasn’t the kind of justice held up by polite society. He had his own brand of justice, a code he adhered to and never deviated from. He’d lived by his own set of rules ever since gaining freedom from the horrible slavery that was his childhood and from his very earliest memories of his life. Never again would he be in subjugation to another. Never would another wield such power over him. He was his own man first. Drake’s enforcer second. Of all Drake’s men—brothers—Silas was the only one Drake never gave orders to. He knew well the folly of doing so. Silas offered his loyalty and protection to Drake freely, and Drake knew that. He also knew that if at any time Silas was no longer content to remain in the shadows, an instrument for the kind of justice he and his brothers believed in, there was nothing Drake could or would do to stop him.
Silas’s thoughts stilled and he tuned back in to the notes that flowed from the violin. She was playing something new. Not a melody he’d heard until now. A cold shiver slid down Silas’s spine at the sheer, haunting ache that seemed instilled in every note. It wasn’t a selection that was light and airy or even melancholy, as some of her choices were. What music poured through his window each night seemed to be a reflection of her current mood.
He sat up, drawn to the grief that almost seemed tangible in the air. The melody reverberated over the walls, over him, leaving him awash in the innate sadness the tune was heavy with. And yet it was the most beautiful song he’d ever heard. Nothing she’d played until now even compared, and everything she played was perfection. But this... this was so much more... personal. Yes, that was what he’d been grasping for, an explanation or rather description of what the music sounded—felt—like to him.
The grief and sadness embedded within each individual stroke of the bow were heavy and suffocating, blanketing his entire bedroomwith the forlorn sound. Chill bumps erupted and prickled a path across his skin. Was she, like him, all alone in this world? Did she have no one to share her grief with? And who or what was she grieving for?
True, the song could be nothing more than a new song added to her repertoire, one assigned to her by one of her teachers. And yet he discounted that notion as soon as it crossed his mind. There wasn’t a single mistake in its performance. No jarring notes to indicate a miscue. It was simply too smooth and too practiced, unlike the other songs she often played when practicing, when she’d sometimes miss a note or simply stop in the middle, only to begin again until it was perfected to her liking. He admired her for that. She was obsessively a perfectionist, never settling for simply good. She strove to be flawless.
But tonight’s choice held no mistakes. The song seemed to pour from her very soul as if she’d practiced it a million times before and had memorized every single note, needing no sheet music before her. He imagined her sitting close to her window, violin up, resting against her cheek, her eyes closed as she played with all of the passion for music—and life—she seemed to possess.
It was deeply personal to her. He knew that like he knew so many of the other things he couldn’t possibly be so certain of. He didn’t know her. Had never even seen her face-to-face. It was ridiculous of him to think he knew anything at all about her, and yet his instincts never guided him wrong and he knew all of his assumptions about her were not assumptions at all. They were fact.
What pain did she hide from the world only to be released in the predawn hours of the night when no one was around her, when there was no one to hear her or see her? He knew if she realized that he could hear her playing, that he listened to her practice every night, she’d likely be appalled and embarrassed, and worse, she’d likely shut her window, never to open it again when she played. And he couldn’t bear the thought of that.
Somehow, in the mere week since she’d taken up residence next doorto him and had begun her nightly serenade, it had become necessary to him. Vital even that he be here each night at two in the morning when she began to play. Some days she practiced a few hours only, and then silence descended and Silas imagined them both drifting into sleep together and yet separated by one wall between them. Other nights she played well past dawn, only to hurriedly leave her apartment a few minutes later to either attend class or go to work.
When she played, he remained awake and listened. When she slept, he slept. Unwittingly, he’d fallen into her routine and kept it as his own, even going so far as to arrange his business obligations and priorities around the times he knew she would be playing.
