We’re always standing in the debris as the walls come crashing down, and when the last brick has fallen and the dust settles, there will be another barrier between us to overcome. She shows me shortcuts and side doors to make the constant maze in her head an easier journey, but damn, I’m sore. My muscles are torn, and my hands are bleeding. From the bottom, I look to the top of the next wall and think,how the fuck am I going to get over this one?
But I choke up on the sledgehammer, press my foot on the accelerator, light the fuse, or start fucking climbing. What other choice do I have? She means everything to me.
“Don’t look at me like that,” I say. I curve my fingers inside of her, hoping it’s enough to pull the veil.
Some walls are easier to take down than others, and Lydia whispers, “I’m sorry I’m so hard to love.”
Loving her is easy. Keeping her is hard.
Lydia takes the hand inside of her and brings my fingers to her mouth, sucking on them as she stares into my eyes.
“They can go without me,” I plea, burying my face between her neck and shoulder. Heaviness settles inside of my chest, and I have the overwhelming urge to just lie on top of her, like a fucking paperweight.
Playfully biting the top of my index finger, Lydia licks her lips clean, and I groan, skimming my teeth against her pulse point as my cock twitches. I press myself against her leg, but she knows what she does to me. I don’t need to remind her.
“Camilla needs this. You have to go,” she says regretfully. Her hands slide inside my jacket and come to a sudden stop when they touch the cold metal strapped to each of my sides. “Since when do you carry?”
I push myself off the bed and open my jacket to show her the leather gun holster that goes over my shoulders and around my back, securing two Glock 19s at my ribcage. “Since I got caught in a gun fight without a gun.”
Her face hardens with worry. “Talent, why do you need a gun?”
“Two guns.” I smile. As much as it pains me, I pull the blankets over her naked body and tuck them tightly under her chin. I say, “I love you, Lydia.”
What I really want to say is,move in with me,marry me,stop taking those fucking pills every single morning and let our bodies do what they’re supposed to do—we’re not getting any younger, baby.
An argument for another day.
Wrapping her hand around my tie, she pulls me close. Her tone is that of a sympathetic judge in a courtroom, sentencing a convict who was at the wrong place at the wrong time to life in prison. “No one loves you like I do.”
The ruling punctuated with a gavel.
I know she means it. If Lydia Montgomery loves anyone, it’s me. But twisted aroundloveand matted aroundyou, I can’t help but think back to the day after the birthday party when we sat around a table with Giovanni Coppola and she said,“I never wanted this.”
Never wanted what?
Hush?
The mafia?
Me?
My brother is in the kitchen when I emerge from the bedroom, standing in front of the open refrigerator like either one of us can eat before a job like this. He looks over his shoulder and gives me a once-over, shaking his head as he closes the doors. “I don’t know how you deal with her shit, Talent.”
“The same way Camilla dealt with yours.” Straightening the furrow in my brows, I lift my chin and bury distress under the indifference I’ve picked up from Lydia. “Do you want to go alone? Then shut the fuck up.”
Before we leave, the door to the guest bedroom Wilder shared with Camilla creaks open. She shuffles out cocooned in a blanket, dragging it on the floor as she scurries by. She holds out a candle to keep the dark from getting too close and screams when Wilder asks, “Where are you going?”
She jumps back, the blanket falls from her head, and the flame flickers but doesn’t go out. “Oh, my gosh. I thought you’d already left.” She tightens the covers around her shoulders, narrowing her golden eyes. “I’m going to see if Lydia wants to cuddle with me. I hate sleeping alone.”
“She’s not dressed,” I say from the doorway.And covered in sex,I think but don’t say aloud.
“Neither am I,” Camilla answers in a scandalous voice. She continues on her way to my room, disappearing into the hallway.
Wilder and I stand shoulder-to-shoulder in the elevator, a tense silence broken when I clear my throat and ask, “What do you think about that? Should we be worried? They might fucking ditch us one day.”
He chuckles and adjusts himself suggestively, side-eyeing me. “I don’t have anything to worry about.”
We wait outside the Grand Opal, pulling up our collars and blowing warm air into our fists to fight the cold. Time stops between midnight and four in the morning, when the sun and the moon are at odds. The only people who move around during these hours are blue-collar workers and criminals, and we’re all too fucking tired to make a noise. Fluorescent lights hum in the silence, and ocean waves wash ashore. I taste salt on my lips, and I don’t know if it’s from the water in the air or from kissing Lydia after she sucked my fingers.
