Everything I’ve ever known shattered around me. Things I’ve only seen in movies played out right before my eyes. Mafia, guns, blood, blackmail... this shouldn’t be real. This shouldn’t be happening in the twenty-first century.
Where the hell are the cops? The FBI, CIA, DEA, and all the other abbreviations?
Vaughn must understand thatheis the obstacle here. That without him in the picture, Hailey would be safe, well taken care of. ThatIwould be safe, and so would Violet.
Over the past two months I’ve heard countless stories from Vaughn. He makes countless excuses for his poor choices, oblivious to the fact that he’s the root of everyone’s problems.
I don’t say it out loud. I can’t tell him he should roll over and die already. It’d spare everyone more trouble.
I can’t keep running forever.
Vaughn and I met because I reached out to him.It’s only fair thatIdecide when this friendship ends.
The longer I’m locked in one room with him, the more of a monster I see. He might be filled with regret, but he’s still a methodical, calculated cop beneath the mask.
He’s a selfish man. There are moments when I wonder if he has another agenda for keeping me here. Maybe there’s more to this. Maybe I’m his pawn now.
“I need air,” I say, climbing off my bed, vision blurring with unshed tears. “I’ll go down to the shop. Do you want anything?”
“A bottle of whiskey,” he replies on autopilot, watching the street. “Actually, make it two, sweetheart. Keep your head down.”
Yeah, yeah.
Maybe I should take up drinking. A few glasses of the amber liquor might calm my nerves. It mellows Vaughn out a bit.
“Two. Got it,” I say, reaching for the door handle, the room key in my back pocket.
An elevator trip downstairs and I exit the building, hiding my identity under the hoodie. Rain pelts down from the sky, the air thick with an incoming storm.
Vaughn believes that both teams, Carter’s and Grey’s, are running facial recognition on us. Whenever I’m out, I keep eithermy hoodie or a baseball cap low enough to obscure most of my face, eyes cast downward, avoiding cameras.
I feel like a criminal roaming the store. The cashier follows my every move, as if waiting to catch me stealing. After seventeen evenings of buying whiskey here, he regards me with disdain.
I’m back twenty minutes later and Vaughn’s asleep in his wheelchair, head on his shoulder, mouth parted, a half-empty whiskey bottle on the coffee table. Not much further down than it was when he stopped drinking last night.
I settle the two I bought beside it, tiptoeing toward my bed. It’s barely past six in the evening, but our sleep schedule is fucked beyond recognition. I’m not surprised he’s fallen asleep, holding on to his empty glass.
With a book in hand, I curl into a ball under the fluffy blanket, focusing my attention on the words printed on paper. At the bottom of the page, I realize I have no idea what I read.
My temples pulse with the lingering headache. The dreaded feeling of sleep deprivation makes my mind hazy. I shake my head once, then again, and again, fighting to stay awake.
Whenever Vaughn crashes like this, he’s out for ten hours straight, loading his batteries for another fortnight of surviving on short naps. He won’t be up until the morning hours... all the alcohol will be burned out of his system by then.
My defenses fall, everything that kept me awake crumbling. It’s okay to close my eyes while he sleeps. He hasn’t done anything inappropriate, save for staring, and he barely put a dent in tonight’s bottle.
He’s not drunk. Not even close. It takes more than two glasses to inebriate Vaughn.
Yeah, it’s okay to sleep.
7
Ryder
Nights atScarlettare my favorite. Not just because I’m laptop-less here—and after almost three months of staring at the screen, I’m getting sick and fucking tired of my tech-whizz job—but also because I can forget the mayhem.
Hailey and Violet are tucked in the booth opposite Broadway, Koby, and me. None of our enemies can get inside the club. There’s enough security that the three of us are rarely required to help end a brawl in the main part of the club.
Usually, it’s Broadway who jumps straight into action, even if he’s not needed. He’s brimming with pent-up energy that doesn’t let him sit still for long periods.
