“It’s not about which one I prefer, because insane wins. You know you win. But it’s about what is right and wrong.”
“And where does that statement leave you and us?”
“I’ll let you know when I decide.” I walk to his passenger door, and when he unlocks it and joins me in the V of the open door, I turn to him. “I’m going to make a mess of your car.”
He grabs me, pulls me to him, and kisses me hard and fast before he pulls back.
“You have blood on your face,” I say.
“A little blood doesn’t bother me,” he says, “unless it’s yours.” He turns away, toward the car, and it hits me that Kane is with blood as I am with bodies: he really isn’t even slightly bothered by it. Therein lies our difference, which feels significant. Bodies to me are shells of the living. Blood is the magic of life. I can remove my badge from between Kane and me but not the blood. And yet, I still get into the car.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Kane and I have one exchange once we’re both sealed inside his car. Technically it’s not even an exchange. I’m the one who speaks. “Your place,” I say.
He looks over at me, his strong features drenched in shadows, and he says nothing. I like this about Kane. He doesn’t waste words. He doesn’t create a need for explanations and chitchat. In this case, he simply starts the engine, places the car in gear, and gets us the hell away from the marina. The rest of the drive is silence. It’s an easy silence, which says much about our comfort level with each other, and that leads to what I most need to be doing right now: sleeping.
It’s been one hell of a long day, with hardly a blink of sleep the night before, and I lay my head on the leather seat, close my eyes, and I’m out. I don’t even dream. There are no flashbacks of blood, knives, and murder. I don’t even know I’ve fallen asleep until the sound of Kane’s garage opening wakes me. I sit up and stare at the door opening, and it’s a welcome sight. This place is an escape to me, an oasis with a wall around it, the one place where I don’t have to pull out a weapon and start shooting or cutting my way through the sea of sharks surrounding me.
I don’t even wait for the engine to be shut off. I exit the car and walk into the house through the kitchen. Beyond it, I pass through the living room and don’t even hesitate to start up the stairs. I enter his bedroom and walk straight to his luxurious and masculine bathroom of gray stone and tiles. I also don’t hesitate to strip away my clothes, start the shower, and step under the hot water.
It’s then that I watch the blood pool at my feet. So much blood. Images flash in my mind, the memory of falling backward into the blood-soaked carpet. The blood is what is fucking with me. The damn blood. I shake my head and press my hands to my face. The shower door opens and Kane, still fully dressed, appears.
He hands me a glass of whiskey. I down it and glance at his cheek. “Fuck, Kane. You have blood all over you.” I hand him the glass. “Get it off.”
He narrows his eyes on me but doesn’t say what I know he is thinking: You still aren’t over the blood. He takes the glass and gets rid of it, I don’t know or care where, before he undresses and joins me. I grab a bottle of soap and spray it on him. It’s not about romance. I want the blood gone.
He rinses off, water splaying all over his muscles as he flexes here and there. He looks good. That fact, and his money and power, and every Hollywood freaking starlet in this town wants to win his favor. That’s not me. “I’m not having sex with you, even though you look like that naked,” I announce.
“I know,” he says, palming his hair back over his head.
“How do you know?”
“Because that’s not what you need from me tonight.”
“What do I need?”
“To talk.”
“About what?”
“Your badge. The one we both know you can’t get rid of.”
I’m not a big scowl person, but it happens here and there when I feel extra inspired. I’m extra inspired by his mixed messages. I scowl. “It’s what you wanted.”
“Not for the reasons you chose to do it right now.”
“Really? What are my reasons?”
“To take off your own cuffs and mine. And that doesn’t work.”
“What the hell are you talking about, Kane?”
“I do the dirty work so you don’t have to.”
“Not anymore. That’s the point. My freedom and yours.”
“That’s the point that doesn’t work. I pull you a little bit over here with me. You pull me a little bit over there with you. And we meet in the middle. That’s why we work.”
“You said you wanted this,” I repeat.
“You can leave and still be you, but if you leave right now, in your present state of mind, it will change you. And I might be able to live with that, but you can’t.”
“I want to slap you again.”
“As long as my palm gets your cheek afterward, I’ll let you.”
“You’ll let me. I’m done.” I move for the door. He pulls me to him and kisses me. “What happened to talking?”
“Things change. It’s not what you need anymore.” His mouth closes back down on mine, and I don’t fight him. He’s right. Things change, which is the entire point of me throwing my badge in the water. I need a change.
I wake up in Kane’s bed, draped in sheets so divine they must be a million thread count, sunlight beaming through a nearby window. I roll over and find him on his back staring at the ceiling. I do the same. “First three thoughts that come to your mind,” he says.
“I’m in your bed. These sheets are really soft and must cost a fucking fortune. I don’t have my badge. Your turn.”
“You’re in my bed. These sheets do cost a fucking fortune. And you don’t have your badge.” He gets up and pulls on pajama bottoms. “I’ll make coffee.”
“You’re wrong,” I say, knowing what he’s thinking. “I don’t want it back.”
“No,” he agrees. “But you need it back.” He heads for the door, and I watch him exit.
“You’re fucking wrong, Kane Mendez.”
“Tell me that after you’ve had your fucking coffee,” he calls out, his voice growing farther away.
I inhale and blow it out, biting back another shout. I will have my words with him over that coffee. I throw away the blankets, and naked as the day I was born, I walk into the bathroom. I pee. On my way to the sink to brush my teeth, I realize that my horror-movie clothes are missing. Kane took care of them. When he’s not being the definition of an asshole, he really knows how to be a non-asshole.
I brush my teeth and pull on one of Kane’s T-shirts before walking into the bedroom, my gaze landing on the nightstand where I charged my phone last night. I grab it and note the missed call from my father. I sit on the bed and listen to the message: Your boss was right. This was a win. You’re alive and this is over.
Not: I’m worried about you, Lilah. How are you, Lilah? And yes, I hate that question, but a father should care enough to ask it. Last night, not this morning. Instead, he repeats the same statement Andrew had made to me. It feels like a threat from my father and, in the morning light, a warning from my brother. This drives home one point: the Gamer might be dead, but the people who hired him to kill me are not. I hurry toward the door and down the stairs. Kane stands at the coffeepot and turns to face me as I pause on the opposite side of the island, set my phone down, and press my hands to the counter.
“What keeps the Society from sending Ghost or someone else after me again?”
Kane walks to the isla
nd and mimics my position, his hands pressed to the counter as well. “Me and Pocher.”
“Pocher? Why would Pocher stop them?”
“I promised you that I’d make the person responsible for your attack pay. I meant it. And the minute I found out that was Pocher, I began making that happen.”
“What does that mean?”
“He’ll come to you soon for a favor. He’ll need you. You’ll know what to do when he does.”
“I repeat. What does that mean?”
“Deniability, Lilah. Once again, it’s my gift to you.”
I want to push him, but I know him. It’s wasted breath. “Pocher is one man in the Society. How can he offer me any protection?”
“He’s powerful. And he’ll be motivated to make your interests his interests.”
“What happens when he makes destroying you his interest?”
“You underestimate me, Lilah. He won’t, I promise you.”
“I don’t underestimate you, Kane.”
My cell phone rings, and I glance down to find Murphy’s number. “My boss or ex-boss or whatever the hell he now is.”
I answer the line. “Director.”
“I’m here.”
My gaze meets Kane’s, and his brow lifts at my obvious shock. “Here as in where?”
“In East Hampton. We need to have a one-on-one talk.”
“Where and when?”
“Since I know you’re with Kane, I’ll give you time to make lovey-dovey and get some clothes on. Thirty minutes. The cemetery. Your mother’s grave.”
He hangs up. I look at Kane. “He’s at my mother’s grave.”
“Your mother’s grave. Where is that headed?”
“He’s an asshole but a smart one. It’s a play to make sure I show up.”
“You believe she was murdered. He chose her grave. There are no coincidences, Lilah. Your own words.”
He’s right. “I need to get dressed.” I hurry upstairs, take a quick shower, clip my hair to the top of my head, and throw on light-blue jeans and a black T-shirt. I have my gun, attached at my waistband. I have a knife, which I decide is my new lucky charm, and I have my purse. I do not have my badge. I pull on a black blazer and call it done. Kane has dressed right alongside me, and when I’m ready to leave, he meets me at the bottom of the steps and offers me his keys. “Unless you want me to drive you,” he says.