Istillconsider the other guys family, even if things are sort of strained between us right now.Because of the criminal path they chose to walk.
“What happened? What did Greg say?” Katie asks me as Ihead for the fridge to grab a bottle of water. I twist off the lid with one quick flick of my wrist and take a long gulp, feeling her stare burn holes into me.
“He wasn’t impressed with us.” I wipe the back of my hand over my wet lips and shove the bottle back into the fridge. “He fully expected us to get the Nightshades.”
“If he thinks a power force like Rafael Moretti can be taken down that easily, then he’s a fool. The fact we even got a warrant to search their businesses when they’ve been untouchable for years is a miracle.” She shakes her head in disbelief, taking a seat on the arm of our couch.
Not a miracle. Stacey finally has enough authority to go after them. Now that she’s director, she’s not holding back anymore.
She wants revenge for my father almost as much—if notmore—than I do.
“I know, right,” I murmur instead, turning away before she can read too much on my face. My hand finds the high-pressure sprayer on instinct as I cross to the corner of the living room, where my azalea sits like royalty.
She’s ten years old now, a little over four feet tall, with star-shaped flower petals spreading out into twenty inches of pink, orange, and white shrubbery.
Without much thought, I squeeze the trigger, spraying water generously over the leaves of the plant I consider my first child—my bike being my second. Doesn’t matter how I came to own her, or who gave her to me, the azalea is mine now. Mine,notours, no matter what he said.
Because there is no ‘us’.
I trace my finger along one glossy leaf, admiring its quiet danger. Funny how something so pretty can be that deadly. But that’s good, since this toxic beauty has saved my ass more than once.
Just like its giver.
I feel Katie’s stare drilling into my back, her silence louder than any accusation. I know what she’s thinking, and I hope to God she doesn’t say it because I–
“I think we should’ve gone to HartSphere. Or hell, any other place besides that club. I just knew we might run into Rafael there,” she grouches, and I close my eyes with a small sigh.
Not for the first time, I regret telling her about my history with him. Stupid, stupid mistake. But what was I supposed to do? I was vulnerable, riding a high of emotions because he came for me in Boston. And I was a little confused too. Okay, a lot confused. Maybe even a little hopeful, if I’m being honest with myself, which I rarely am. But yeah, I definitely should have looked for clarity somewhere else. Anywhere else instead of Katie’s sympathetic ear.
“I want you to stay away from him,” she barrels on, and my shoulders stiffen. “If we ever have to deal with the Nightshades again, which I’m sure we will, I want to be the one to face him. I don’t like the way he looks at you.”
I glance back at her just in time to catch her mid-eye-roll.
My heart skips a beat—no, more like trips and faceplants—because I know all too well how he looks at me.All-consuming. Devouring. As if I’m still his.
As if he never destroyed everything we had.
“It’s too proprietary. Like he thinks he owns you or some sick shit,” she finishes with another dramatic eye roll.
I drop the spray bottle back on the table and stare at my hand for a moment, watching it tremble slightly. “I need to rest. It’s been a long day. You should get some rest too.” When I glance up at her again, she’s giving me that knowing look—the one that peels back my skin and sees every lie I’ve ever told myself.
I ignore it and head straight to my room, locking the door behind me. Knowing her, she’d absolutely come barging in thesecond she thinks of something else to say, and Lord, I do not have the strength for a debate Rafael-fucking-Moretti debate right now. Not when just seeing him tonight has ripped open wounds I’ve spent years trying to stich closed.
Damn that man for consuming my thoughts. I won’t let him dominate my life.
Even as I think that, I’m helplessly drawn towards my bookshelf. Specifically to the collection of books I’ve gathered over the years on azalea plant care.
I pull out a thick volume titledEvergreen Azaleas and Acidic Soil. Not really a book—just a box disguised to look like one. A clever little decoy made to blend in with the rest of my azalea obsession. So if anyone ever snoops around my room, they’ll think it’s just another plant book. Even Katie wouldn’t look twice.
I carry the hefty box over to the desk in the corner of my room and it down carefully. Then I drag my chair closer and sit, lifting the lid to study the contents for what feels like the millionth time since I got them ten years ago.
That’s right. I got the darned thing the same day I got the azaleas. But unlike the flowers, these exist solely to feed the fire. To stroke the anger I still carry for Rafael.
Because nestled inside the box is the ring he gave to me at the peak restaurant a decade ago.
Feels like a lifetime ago.
Back when everything still felt possible.
