Chapter 1 - Reckless
The sun's bleeding out across the horizon when I pull into the parking lot, painting everything the color of old bruises. My knuckles ache. Not from the fight two nights ago, but from the memory of it. That's the thing about pain I can't feel properly anymore. It shows up late, like a ghost knocking on a door I stopped answering years ago.
I kill the engine. The sudden silence makes the buzzing in my ear louder. It's always there, that high-pitched whine that's been my constant companion since Kandahar. Some days it's background noise. Today it's drilling into my skull.
The gym was busy. Too many people, too much noise layered over the noise already living in my head. I spent eight hours correcting form, spotting weights, making sure nobody snapped their spine trying to bench-press their ego. Rampage pays me well for it. More than well. The man gave me a lifeline when I came back and didn't know how to be a person anymore.
Still doesn't mean I enjoy the crowd.
I grab my bag from the passenger seat and shoulder my way out of the truck. The apartment building looks the same as it did this morning: tired, worn-down, but standing. Like me. Like my brother. Like everyone in Blackwater Falls who's got more past than future.
Three floors, twelve units, and I've lived here for two years without learning a single neighbor's name. That's how I like it. Clean. Simple. No complications bleeding into the few hours I get to myself before the nightmares start.
I'm halfway to the entrance when I see her.
Small. That's my first thought. She's small and she's pressed back against the door like she's trying to melt into the brick. Twomen in black wearing tactical pants, boots, shirts that fit too well to be casual have her boxed in. One on each side.
The buzzing in my ear sharpens.
"Please." Her voice carries across the parking lot. Quiet but clear. Desperate. "Please just leave me alone."
"You know we can't do that." The one on her left is tall, built like he spends his life in a gym. Not like fighters though. Like someone who lifts to look good, not to survive. "Mr. Castellano wants you home."
"I'm not going back." Her voice cracks. She's trying to sound strong but fear's bleeding through every word. "I won't."
"You don't have a choice, sweetheart."
The other one reaches for her arm.
That's when I start moving. Fuck having no choice. Everyone deserves to choose what they want for themselves.
I've crossed half the parking lot before the tactical thought catches up to the instinct. Before I remember that I'm not supposed to get involved. That other people's problems aren't mine. That I came back from war specifically to find some goddamn peace and quiet.
Too late now.
My boots are loud on the asphalt. All three of them turn. The men see me first, six-foot-four of muscle and bad intentions heading straight for them. I watch their postures change. Watch them assess the threat.
They should be more worried than they look.
She sees me last. I catch a glimpse of her face. Hazel eyes wide with fear, auburn hair falling loose from under a gray hood. Pretty. Even terrified, she's pretty.
"Problem here?" I stop three feet away. Close enough to matter. Far enough to give them a choice about how this goes.
The taller one—gym-rat—looks me up and down. "Private conversation, friend. Keep walking."
"Didn't look private. Looked like two grown men cornering a woman who's asking to be left alone."
"This doesn't concern you." The second one steps forward. Shorter than his partner but meaner. I can see it in the set of his jaw, the way his weight's already shifting. He wants this to get physical.
Fine by me.
"She's my neighbor." The words come out flat. "That makes it my concern."
The woman makes a small sound. Not quite relief. More like she's trying to figure out if I'm another problem or a solution.
"Your neighbor." Gym-rat says it like he's tasting the words, trying to figure out if I'm lying. "That right, Nora?"
Nora.
