Chapter Thirteen

Cade

P resent Day

Dante Griggs is as much of a prick now as he was when we were kids. He hasn't changed at all. If anything, he's gotten worse. I'm not sure if his nickname, Dirty D, comes from the fact that he's an underhanded son of a bitch, or from the fact that his breath smells like someone took a shit in his mouth. He probably hasn't used a toothbrush since Bush was in office.

"You always were a snitching ass motherfucker," he sneers as I shove him into the back of an LAPD squad car.

"And you always talked too goddamn much for someone with stank ass breath," I shoot back, banging his head against the door.

He swears loudly and then ducks.

I give him a shove, making him pitch forward into the backseat.

He curses me again and shimmies his way into a sitting position. He shoots me a glare, but I just waggle my fingers at him, flip him off, and then slam the door closed, not in the mood to have him breathing his funky ass breath all over me any longer.

Once he's situated in his ride to the jail, I glance up to find Officer Hollis, the same officer who responded to January's the night Joey tried to break in, watching me. The mixture of amusement and concern on his face sets my teeth on edge.

Pain whispers through me at the thought of January. I haven't seen her since she stormed out two days ago. I'm ready to snap. She had the right to demand answers, but I couldn't fucking give them to her. Once I do, I know I'll never see her again. But I'm damned if I do and damned if I don't. Either way, it just fucking sucks for me because I end up without her. Again.

"You sure you don't want to get that checked out?" Hollis asks, nodding his head at the small cut on the side of my neck.

I lift my hand and prod at it, but it's not deep and isn't even bleeding anymore. Dante never was particularly good at much. Not gonna lie, though; I'm mad as hell he tried to stab me. Had I been a little slower, I'd probably be bleeding out in the street right now instead of hauling his ass off to jail for aggravated assault on a police officer and a host of other charges he won't be walking away from anytime soon.

He'll be in good company. I've already hooked up six of his friends on drug trafficking and weapons charges since January kicked me to the curb. Kaleo is currently losing his mind, which is working out great for me. Seeing that motherfucker foaming at the mouth and shitting himself is all kinds of fun.

"Nah, I'm cool," I mutter and peer down at my phone. "We good here? I got things to do."

"We're good. If we need anything else, we'll call you." Hollis pauses. "You plan on taking out all of Kaleo's people on your own?"

I shrug noncommittally, not sure exactly how far I'm going to go. Maybe I will take them all out on my own before going for Kaleo's throat. I haven't decided yet. I'm winging this shit, just like I do every other goddamn thing I most definitely should not wing. But hey, it's doing wonders for my disposition, so whatever.

Hollis shakes his head before opening the driver's door on his patrol unit. "See you on the next one, I guess."

"Yep." I glance at Dante again to see him scowling at me, his fucked-up teeth on full display. "Toothpaste," I mouth at him and then mimic brushing my teeth. "Gets rid of the ass stench."

"Fuck you, Kincaid!" he yells as Hollis pulls away from the curb.

I shake my head as Dante starts acting a fool, throwing himself around in the backseat like he's having a seizure. I'd bet my left nut he's never had a seizure in his life. He's got jailitis, the same shit motherfuckers like him always get when they find themselves in the back of a squad car en route to a lifetime of three hots and a cot. Hollis will probably have to take his stupid ass to the hospital before the jail will take him. Either way, he'll end up in the same damn place: precisely where he deserves to be.

My phone rings. I pull it out of my pocket and then sigh when I see it's Ames calling. I swear, the man knows when I'm up to some shit I don't want to talk about. He tracks me down every single time. He's like a bloodhound, only worse. Bloodhounds don't talk or ask about your feelings.

"What's up, boss man?" I ask, putting the phone to my ear as I make my way down the street to my bike.

"Tristan and Lillian are flying home in the morning," he says.

"Fucking finally. What time?"

"Flight leaves at ten."

"You going back too?"

"Yeah."

Well, shit. That's going to make my life more difficult, considering he's the only motherfucker at the DEA I'm willing to deal with.

"I'll be there," I tell him.

Ames doesn't say anything, which makes me groan.

"Go ahead and say whatever you're thinking about saying," I mutter, trying to hurry him along. "I got all kinds of shit to do."

"You get the equipment you asked for?"

"Yeah, shit. Thanks." January will probably be pissed when she finds out I set up cameras around her house, but I'll cross that moat when I get to it. I need her safe more than I need her to be happy with me. She might not see it that way, but she'll get over it.

Fuck, I hope she gets over it.

"You doing okay?" Ames asks me.

"Fucking dandy."

He snorts.

There he goes, speaking volumes without saying a word again. One day, I'm going to ask him how he does that shit.

"I'm good, Ames," I tell him, only partially lying. "I'm working my shit out."

"Right," he mutters.

"No, seriously. I worked out all kinds of pent-up aggression today. Even shed a tear. You and the shrink would be proud." The tear might have been because a gnat flew into my eye, but whatever. Still counts.

"You going to tell me what you're doing with Curtis Kaleo?" he asks, not buying my blasé attitude for a minute. Not that I thought he would or anything. He sees through me better than most and has zero problems calling me on my bullshit.

"No," I say, being completely honest with him this time. "Trust me, Ames, you don't want to know about this one. Just consider it community service or something and leave it at that." The last thing I want is for him to get caught in the middle if Kaleo manages to drag me down with him.

I might fuck with Ames and push his buttons, but he's a good guy. He could have tossed my sorry ass in a jail cell when he found me dragging motherfuckers in off the streets like some vigilante, but he didn't. For some reason, he saw something in me, something worth saving, and has made it his personal mission to keep my ass alive. We both know I don't make that shit easy for him, but he does it anyway. Even when he'd rather shoot me himself than deal with whatever I need at any given moment, he gets it for me. He complains like a motherfucker about it, but he does it.

"Is this about your girl?" he asks.

"Yeah," I mutter, not lying to him about it even though I don't want to talk about January right now. He knows more about her and my past than most do. I certainly didn't tell him, but he's smart enough to put together the pieces. "Kaleo wants her block, and she's fighting him to get it. I'm dealing with the situation."

"I'll let you get back to it, but Kincaid?"

"Yeah?"

"Don't let him be the reason you lose what matters most. You're a good cop. We need you. And call me if you need anything. I mean that."

"See you tomorrow," I mumble, not making him promises I may not be able to keep. He might think I'm a good cop, and maybe I am awesome at making the world a little bit safer, but I'm not one of the good guys, and I don't pretend I am. I'm not like him. I never will be.

I hope like hell he never finds out what I did because his opinion is one of few that actually matters to me. Losing his respect isn't something I look forward to, but if I don't take Kaleo out before he parades out the skeletons in my closet, that's exactly what will happen.

I slip the phone into my pocket before climbing onto my bike. It's almost three in the afternoon. Which leaves me plenty of time to track down Quan and find out what the fuck he's doing running around with Kaleo.

I drive around for over an hour, hitting all of his old haunts, but don't find him.

It's eerie how little this part of South Los Angeles has changed since I left. It's still run down and falling apart. Very few new businesses have moved in. A few of those who were around back then have closed their doors and shuttered their windows. The vacant buildings are spray-painted with gang signs and crude statements.

It's depressing as hell.

Eventually, I head back toward our block, figuring I'll find him at his mama's house. Instead, I find him at the park on the corner. I'm not surprised. He always spent most of his time here. His mom was an addict with a long line of abusive boyfriends before she finally got clean. When we were kids, hanging out at the park kept him away from whatever drama of the day was going on at his house. As soon as he got his first bike, there was no stopping him. He was never home.

He's pushing a little boy on the swings. He looks good, like life's been kind to him and he's kept his nose clean. The little boy is maybe four or five. He's cute, with a tight fade, big ears, and an even bigger smile. Quan's clothes were always hand-me-downs and castoffs, but his kid is dressed in name brands and Jays.

I park and climb off my bike, leaning up against it to watch them play. Now that I'm here, I'm reluctant to go talk to Quan. He was a good dude, someone I considered a friend once upon a time. I'm not sure if I'm pissed he's running around with Kaleo now or if I'm disappointed. I never would have expected that from him, of all people.

He was always more like me than anyone else. When Titan was out chasing pussy, and Boots and Mark were racking up petty theft and pot possession charges, Quan was studying. He had big plans for his life and the brains to achieve them. He wanted to be an engineer or some important shit like that. It's hard to imagine what led him to Kaleo.

Eventually, he spots me watching him and squats down to talk to his son. The little boy peeks in my direction and then nods and says something to Quan. A second later, Quan jogs across the park in my direction.

"Michael Kincaid," he says, a big grin on his face. He reaches out for my hand and pulls me into a hug before clapping me on the back. "Didn't think I'd ever see your ugly mug around here again."

"Didn't think I'd be back," I confess, returning his brotherly embrace before stepping back. My gaze flits across his face. Even with dreads halfway down his back and a neat goatee, he's clean-cut. "You look good."

"Wish I could say the same about you, brother. You look like shit." He points to the cut on my neck, and then his dark eyes land on the knife wound on my arm. His dimple pops out, his smile widening. "You're something of a legend around here. Everybody knows about the boy who made it out of this bitch and then went kamikaze on Seattle's gangbangers. Sounds like you're living up to the hype. Heard you've been terrorizing the neighborhood since you been back."

"Just doing my job," I mutter and lean back, crossing my arms over my chest.

He laughs and shakes his head, amusement gleaming in his eyes. "Always hoped to see your sorry ass again, Kincaid," he says and leans against the bike beside me. "You finally come back for your girl?"

"Something like that."

"How's she doing these days?" he asks.

"You care?" I arch a brow at him in silent challenge.

Hurt filters through his expression, his smile slipping. "Always cared about that girl, man. She was like a sister to me. You know that."

"Yeah? When's the last time you checked in on her, Quan?"

"You think she lets me check in on her?" He shoots me a look that tells me not to be stupid. "Hate to break it to you, but you aren't the only one she pushed away. When you disappeared, she told us all to fuck off. Said she didn't want anything to do with our bullshit. I see her around sometimes, but she doesn't talk to me. Doesn't talk to any of us these days. Hasn't since the day you left her."

The accusation in his voice cuts deeper than he knows, but I don't tell him that.

"Is that why you're running around with Kaleo?" I ask instead.

"You askin' as my friend or as a cop?" he shoots right back at me, shoving his hands in his pockets.

"What do you think?"

He glances over at his son and then back to me. "You left, Kincaid," he says quietly, "and shit around here changed. After what happened, I guess it had to. I did the best I could to keep my promise to Titan, but shit changed, and I had to change with it."

Pain pulses through me at Titan's name. No one's spoken it to me since I got here. No one's mentioned him at all, in fact. Aside from the one time January brought him up before she kicked my ass to the curb, I haven't heard his name spoken out loud in seven years. That's fucked up.

Actually, everything about this situation is fucked up.

"You keeping your promise to him by letting Kaleo target his little sister?" I demand, hitting Quan with a hard glare. "Because it seems to me that's the exact fucking opposite of what Titan wanted. Pretty sure he'd be pissed to find out you're stuck up Kaleo's ass while the motherfucker sends his boys to break into January's with knives and crack rocks in their pockets."

"Fuck," Quan mutters, his eyes going hard.

"You didn't know?"

He shakes his head.

"What are you doing with him, man?" I ask, genuinely trying to comprehend how things got so twisted. "You wanted in his crew about as badly as I did, and we both know how hard I fought to stay out of his clutches."

"I did what I had to do," he says with a shrug. "Not saying I like it or that it's what I wanted, but with you gone, there wasn't anyone else around to keep him in line. Figured I had a better chance of keeping the peace if I did it from the inside."

"Guess he didn't get the memo about keeping the peace," I mutter, looking over to see Quan's son playing in the sand beneath the swings. He's pushing it into a big pile like he's trying to build a sandcastle, but it'll never hold. The sand is too fine for that. I know because Titan and I tried like hell to build a sandcastle in that shit one year. As soon as we'd finish one wall, another would crumble apart. Titan eventually got pissed and kicked the whole thing down.

"What's he got on you, Quan? You and I both know you'd never follow his ass unless you stood to lose something important."

"My son," he says after a minute, his jaw tight. He rubs a hand down his chin. "His mom dropped him off with me when he was six weeks old and never came back. Found out a few months later that he's not my kid."

"He's Kaleo's?" I ask.

Quan nods, his lips compressed into a grim line. "He knows Isaiah is his but has no interest in raising him."

"Unless you step out of line," I guess, putting the pieces together. "Fuck."

"Some things are worth putting up with all the bullshit, Kincaid," Quan tells me, his eyes on his boy. "Isaiah may be his by blood, but he's my son. Keeping him out of Kaleo's hands is worth it."

I can't say he's wrong. If it were my kid, I'd make the same choice. The last thing that kid needs is Kaleo trying to step in and play daddy. Doesn't make the situation any easier to swallow, though, because I can't count on Quan to help me bring Kaleo down. I can't even count on him not to get in my way. He stands to lose too much by siding with me. I can't ask him to take that risk when I could fail.

"You know he's pimping out girls?" I ask him anyway, hoping like hell he's willing to give me this much.

He jerks his head in a nod, anger flaring in his expression. "Don't agree with it, but I'm doing what I gotta do to keep my family safe. Don't ask me for help you know I can't give you."

"I won't, but word to the wise…I'm doing what I gotta do to keep mine safe, too. He came after January. I'm not going to let that stand. If you're riding with him when we come knocking, I'll take you down with him. Won't enjoy it, but it is what it is."

"I get it," Quan says, and I know he does. Maybe better than anyone. "He knows what you did."

"I know," I tell him and then shrug. "Like you said, some shit is worth it. If fighting for January is how the truth comes to light, I'll live with it."

"I always hoped you'd come back for that girl. Think she's always hoped you would, too. Take care of her, Kincaid," he says, then clasps my forearm. "She's been through enough."

"I know," I whisper.

"I hope like hell you come out on top of this one, brother. Good luck."

"Thanks, brother." I watch him jog back across the park to his son, and then I climb back on my bike. For a long minute, I just sit there, not sure what to do now. The last thing I want to do is go back to Ma Lucia's when I know damn well January is right next door, expecting answers I'm too fucking afraid to give her.

There's not much I'm scared of anymore, but looking in those emerald eyes while she realizes she should have hated me all along? That thought terrifies me as much now as it did back then.

Eventually, I decided to go check on Tristan and his wife. After checking on them, I spend the next three hours running around Los Angeles with Roman, helping him look for the DEA agent who helped kidnap Tristan's wife. By the time I get back to Ma Lucia's, it's almost ten, we still haven't found that son of a bitch, and I'm dreading spending the night alone. The last two nights were bad enough. I didn't sleep at all.

"What the fuck?" I growl when I pull up outside the house and see the front door to Ma Lucia's cracked open. January's car isn't at her place, and the lights are all off. It doesn't look like she's been home at all since she left this morning. I park my bike on the curb down the street and contemplate calling for backup before clearing the house but decide against it. I don't want to wait that long.

Pulling my Glock out of my saddlebag, I creep toward the house, keeping to the shadows. With most of the streetlights still out on the block, disappearing into the dark isn't hard. I strain to hear any movement coming from inside, but there's nothing.

I move up the steps, placing my feet carefully to avoid giving myself away in case someone is still inside. The door frame is cracked where it was kicked in, and the front windows are smashed. Most of the glass is outside, meaning whoever broke them wasn't trying to get in that way. They broke them from the inside just for the hell of it.

Fuckers.

I scan the living room as best I can through the crack in the door but don't see anyone inside. I push the door open with my foot, keeping my gun steady just in case.

The living room is completely trashed. All of Ma Lucia's knick-knacks and shit are on the floor. The tables are flipped over. Someone threw paint all over the furniture, destroying it.

I'm going to fucking murder Kaleo and whichever of his people he sent over here to deliver this little message.

I clear the house quickly, moving from room to room as silently as possible. The entire house is in the same condition as the living room. Everything except Ma Lucia's room, anyway. Seems whoever broke in has a little respect for the dead.

My room is completely trashed. They used whatever paint they had left over to leave me sweet little messages on the walls. None of them are particularly complimentary to law enforcement. Most aren't even spelled correctly.

Once I'm satisfied no one's in the house, I call Roman and ask him to send someone over to take the report. He offers to come himself, but there's no point in dragging him back out for this shit, especially when I already know who's responsible. Curtis motherfucking Kaleo.

I leave the mess where it is so LAPD can take whatever pictures they need, and I jog back outside to check January's place before she gets home.

"Fuck," I mutter when I see her pulling into her driveway. My heart aches at the sight of her, but I suck it up and jog across the yard.

"Stay in the car," I tell her when she looks over at me.

She frowns, her plump lips turning down, and then her gaze falls on the gun in my hand. Fear slides through her expression. "What's going on?" she whispers.

The little quiver in her voice kills me. I desperately want to pull her into my arms and tell her everything is okay, but I can't do that right now.

"Just stay in the car, January," I tell her, waiting for her to nod before I head for her front door.

It's locked, thank God.

"Oh, that stupid motherfucker," I growl when I realize two of her windows are shattered. Looks like someone threw rocks through them. The holes aren't big enough for anyone to have gotten inside, but I unlock the door and go in anyway, checking through each room carefully just to make sure.

Once I've cleared every room, I make my way back to the living room. The large rocks that were thrown through the windows are still on the floor. One knocked a hole in the wall across from the window. There's a piece of paper wrapped around the other. I kneel down beside it and use my gun to flip it over.

Ask him who he killed is scribbled across the paper in the same jagged scrawl as the little love letter on the brick that came through my window a few days ago.

"Son of a bitch," I swear and then rip the note off the rock. My pulse races, rage thumping through me like a drum. It hits so hard that my head aches as my blood pressure skyrockets. I take a deep breath and then another, trying to get myself under control.

"LAPD!" someone outside yells.

I quickly shove the note into my pocket and then rise to my feet. Shoving my gun into my waistband, I stride toward the front door to meet the officer.

"Are you Agent Kincaid?" he asks. The way his blue-eyed gaze rolls over me makes it clear he doesn't believe I'm a fucking cop. It's not the first time someone's looked at me and thought the same thing.

I know I don't fit the image. But when you do what I do, you learn quickly that people talk a lot more freely when you look like they do. Looking like a cop is the quickest way to get a knife in your back, but if it walks like a gangbanger and talks like a gangbanger…well, you get the point. I play the role I cast myself into and it opens the doors I need opened. I don't regret it, but that doesn't mean shit like this doesn't get old.

"That's me," I mutter, reaching for my badge.

He goes for his gun, grasping at his holster like he expects me to start shooting.

"Mind not fucking shooting me while I get my badge out of my pocket?" I bark at him.

He has the presence of mind to look embarrassed. His ruddy cheeks and the tips of his overly large ears flush bright red. He's young, way too young and clean-cut to be working this neighborhood after dark. He'll be chewed up and spit out in no time flat.

I hold my badge out to him.

He checks it over carefully before handing it back to me and asking what happened.

"My place is trashed, and they threw rocks through the windows here. Both houses are clear," I tell him, and then I stride outside. I don't give a rat's ass if he follows me or not. My girl is probably freaking out. I need to check on her. I also don't want her outside alone any longer than she has to be.

"What's going on?" she asks, hopping out of the car as soon as I step outside. She's as beautiful as ever. She's wearing a gray high-waisted skirt with a cute little bow on the front and a lacy white top tucked in. Her hair is completely straight. She's wearing a pair of sandals that wrap around her ankles and calves. They match her skirt. She wrings her hands together and worries her bottom lip between her teeth as she hurries toward me. That quiver is still in her voice, and her expression is tight.

I stalk over, pulling her into my arms, not giving a fuck if she wants me to touch her or not. She clearly needs a hug, and right now, so do I.

She doesn't fight me. Her body melts into mine, her arms going around my waist. She hugs me tightly.

I close my eyes briefly and revel in the peaceful feeling that settles over me. The rage I felt inside her house falls away, leaving nothing but her and the way every nerve ending in my body lights up when she's near me.

"Cade?" she whispers.

"Someone trashed my place," I mutter, tipping my head down to look at her.

Her eyes go wide.

"They broke a couple of your windows, too."

"Kaleo?" she asks.

I press my lips together and nod.

Her shoulders slump, defeat channeling through her expression.

"I'll take care of it," I promise her.

"How?"

I open my mouth to tell her not to worry about that, but an unmarked Durango rolls up on the curb, pulling my attention away from her. A guy about my height gets out, dressed in jeans and a blue t-shirt with DEA emblazoned across the back. I know him, sort of. His name is Luke Santiago. We met briefly at Roman's.

"Santiago," I greet him, jerking my chin up in a nod. I'm fucking glad to see him. At least he knows who I am and isn't liable to shoot me like the kid LAPD sent out here is.

"Kincaid," he says and strides toward me. His green eyes shift to January, who's still wrapped up in my arms. Something a little too much like interest rolls through his expression before he quickly schools it into a polite mask.

I step in front of her, blocking her from his view. I can't fault him for looking at her because she's too goddamn beautiful to be real, but I will fuck him up if he does it again. She's mine and I don't want anyone who looks like him getting too close to her. He's from Brazil or something—I can't fucking remember what Roman said. But he's got dark hair, piercing green eyes, and golden skin. I know damn well that girls go crazy over guys who look like him.

He needs to keep his eyes off my girl.

His green eyes rise to meet mine, and he jerks his chin in an almost imperceptible nod, letting me know he gets it.

January peeks out from behind me.

"I'm Luke Santiago," he says to her, keeping his tone professional and circumspect. His gaze barely skims over her this time. "I work with the DEA here in Los Angeles."

"January James," she whispers.

He gives her a nod and then turns back to me. "Roman called me. Someone broke into your place?"

"Yeah. Someone trashed my house and threw rocks through her windows," I mutter.

"Think it was personal or just a random act?" he asks.

"They left love notes all over my walls. Guess they don't like cops much."

January gasps.

Santiago nods his head. "Any idea who was responsible?"

"Curtis Kaleo," I mutter and pull my phone out of my pocket. "I've arrested seven of his people in the last two days. He's being a little bitch about it. Haven't had a chance to check the cameras I have on January's house yet, but I'm guessing they'll tell us who he sent over here to do his dirty work for him."

January's eyes widen like she doesn't know what to think, and then they narrow on me. "Cameras?" she says. "What cameras?"

Fuck. She would focus on that.

"I installed a few cameras," I mumble, pulling up the app to access them on my phone.

"When?" she asks, her eyes narrowing to little slits.

"Last night."

She huffs but doesn't say anything further on the subject. She wanders away instead, going back to her car to get her shit out of it. I keep one eye on her while I navigate my way around the app, rewinding the cameras to see what they managed to catch. The kid from LAPD comes back outside while I'm rewinding the last few hours of footage.

He and Santiago talk back and forth before Santiago basically tells him to eat a dick and go home, that the DEA is handling this since I'm one of theirs. The kid gets all offended, but eventually, his dispatcher calls for backing units for a shooting about a mile away. He beats feet back to his car and heads out.

"Can I go inside?" January asks.

"Yeah, little monster," I murmur, glancing up at her. Sadness and stress hang heavily around her, making her seem fragile and stretched thin. "Just leave the glass there. We'll clean it up when we're done out here. I don't want you getting cut."

"Okay." She nods and heads inside, leaving the front door open.

A couple of minutes later, I found what I'm looking for. I hit play and watch as two pricks in Grecian Guardian cuts sneak from Ma Lucia's property onto January's. One is mid-twenties. The other looks like he's maybe nineteen or twenty, tops. The youngest peers around like he expects to be caught any minute. The other doesn't even blink as he cocks his arm back and launches one rock and then the other.

A few seconds later, they both run off the frame.

"You recognize either of them?" Santiago asks when I replay it for him.

I shake my head.

"Roman said you were working a case on Kaleo. I'm guessing you want to deal with this yourself?" he asks me.

"Yeah. Just file whatever report you need to file for the insurance claim, and I'll take care of it," I tell him.

"I'll go take a couple of pictures of the damage at your place and get the fuck out of your hair." Santiago pulls a business card out of his pocket before handing it over to me. "Send the camera footage to me when you get a chance and I'll make sure it's added to the file in case you decide you want to pursue charges later."

"Thanks, Santiago."

It takes Santiago all of twenty minutes to get what he needs. Once he leaves, I linger outside, reluctant to face January when I know she's pissed about the cameras. When I know she deserves the answers she desperately wants. I make a couple of calls to get Ma Lucia's place shored up until I can get someone out tomorrow to replace the windows and door.

Once that's done, I quickly gather my shit into my duffle and then make my way next door to January's. Until I can get her windows fixed tomorrow, I'm camping out on her couch. She'll probably fight me on it, but I'm not leaving her alone with her windows busted out.

I don't want to leave her alone at all. Ever. Maybe, if I'd never found out the last seven years were hell for her, I could go on living without her. I could sentence myself to that pain because it's what I deserve…but I can't do that to her. She struggled through every day without me. I can't put her through that again.

Even when she inevitably kicks me out of here, I won't go far. So long as she needs me, I'm hers.

"Hey," she says, looking up from the couch when I stop in the doorway. She's changed into yoga pants and a UCLA hoodie and has her hair thrown up in a messy bun. There's a little furrow between her brows and her eyes are dark beneath, like she hasn't been sleeping much either.

The broken glass is gone. So are the rocks.

"I told you I'd deal with the mess," I mutter. She never listens. Ever since she was a little girl, she's been stubborn as hell. It's endearing and frustrating as fuck at the same time.

"It was just a bit of broken glass," she says, her voice soft. "You had other things to do. Besides, cleaning it up was easier than sitting here and stewing."

"I'm not going to apologize for the cameras. I'm sorry I didn't tell you about them, but I'm not sorry for putting them up." I drop my bag by the credenza table and step over the threshold, pushing the front door closed with my foot. "Kaleo is dangerous. I don't want you getting hurt."

"I'm not mad about the cameras."

"You're not?" I ask, suspicious as hell.

"I want to be," she admits, "but I know you're only trying to watch out for me. After this, I guess I understand why you thought they were necessary. I'm sorry he destroyed Ma Lucia's house."

"It's just stuff." I shrug it off even though I'm all kinds of pissed about it. "I know you probably don't want me here, but I'm crashing on your couch tonight. With your windows busted, I don't want you here alone. I'll have someone out to replace them tomorrow."

"You don't have to do that."

"Yeah, I do. His beef is with me right now, not you."

She tucks an errant strand of hair behind her ear and cocks her head to the side. "Did you seriously arrest seven of his people?"

"Yes."

"By yourself?"

I nod.

"Is that what happened to your neck? You're bleeding a little."

"Dante tried to stab me," I mutter, reaching up to prod at the small wound. It's barely even a scratch.

She shivers as if the thought of Dante stabbing me bothers her. "He always hated you," she whispers, her dulcet voice sweet as hell. "I'm glad you're okay."

I pull my phone out of my pocket. "You recognize either of these pricks?"

She takes the phone from me and examines the screen capture I took of the fuckers who broke out her windows. She studies it carefully before shaking her head and handing the phone back over to me. Her fingers brush across mine, sending a jolt through me.

I think she feels it, too. She stares at me for a second and then drops her gaze to my feet, hiding those emerald eyes from me. Even so, I can practically feel her hesitation and confusion. Her silence always had a way of saying more than she realized. It's the way she moves. When she's sad, she curls in on herself, making herself smaller. When she's angry, her leg bounces up and down. When she's thinking, she goes completely still and stares into space, oblivious to what's going on around her. She's doing that now, staring at nothing.

I don't have to guess to know what she's thinking about. She isn't sure if she wants me here or not, isn't sure what she should want. I hurt her this weekend. That wasn't my intention, but that's what I did anyway. I was selfish, putting my fears above her needs. And now she's struggling, trying to figure out where we stand or where she stands with me.

Yet again, I've made her think I don't want her when the exact opposite is true. I want her so goddamn badly the thought of losing her for good is, quite literally, the worse scenario I can conjure up.

"Since she is here, in a place of blackness, here I stay and wait," I say softly.

She lifts her gaze to mine, a question in those pretty eyes.

I grab the hem of my shirt and pull it up over my head before dropping it and turning slightly so she can see what I'm talking about. "Your name on my side," I explain. "That's what's hidden in the letters. It's part of an untitled poem by Stephen Crane."

"What does it mean?" she asks, her curious gaze locked on the swirl of the words.

"It's what kept me alive for so long," I confess, watching her as intently as she watches me. "Being without you was hell, but I fought to survive because of you. Because so long as you were alive and breathing, I was determined to keep myself that way, too. I know you've been hurting, but you were never alone, January. I've been in the dark with you, waiting."

"Why?" she whispers.

"Because I never stopped loving you. Because it was my punishment for ruining your life. You keep thinking I don't want you, that I left because I didn't love you, but you're wrong. I left because the thought of you hating me tears me apart." I reach for her hand and place it on the jagged scar that runs across my side. "I got this a little over a year ago when a gang decided they were going to gang rape a fifteen-year-old who thought she wanted to join up."

Pain flares in her eyes, and her hand trembles on my body.

"I seriously injured four people and killed three others that day, sweetheart," I confess, my voice soft. Before she can react to that, I move her hand, putting it over the scar across my abdomen. "I got this one when a guy a lot like Kaleo decided he wanted to make a name for himself by taking me out. I killed him and the eighteen-year-old kid he brought along to help him."

"Cade," she whispers, but I don't let her finish.

I need to get this out before she says anything. If I don't, I'm not sure I'll be able to do it at all.

I drop to my knees in front of her and place her hand over the two scars on my chest. "I got these trying to take down a motorcycle gang. Before I passed out, I killed the guy who shot me." My hand shakes when I move hers to the last bullet wound, the most recent. "I got this one trying to rescue my friend at the DEA, Tristan. The same psycho who kidnapped his wife tried to kill him four months ago. The bastard's girlfriend shot me. I killed her, too."

That's the one that still bothers me. All the rest, I did what I had to do to stay alive. But killing a woman fucked me up a little bit. I think it always will.

"These are from a broken beer bottle someone stabbed me with," I murmur, moving on to the two small scars near my collarbone. "The cartel member who did it is still in prison for the attempted murder of a law enforcement officer. This one," I tell her, placing her hand over the one on my sternum, "is what happens when you aren't careful. Some nineteen-year-old kid barricaded himself inside a woman's house after shooting and killing two rival gang members. I went in after him. Thought I had him subdued, but I didn't see the knife in his boot. He stabbed me and then grabbed the woman, intending to kill her. I shot him."

Tears well in January's eyes, and her hand trembles as she explores each scar with tentative fingers. "None of that was your fault," she whispers as her little hand slides across my skin, leaving me aching with need. "You were just doing your job."

God, she's so innocent, so trusting. I pull out the note Kaleo's boys left for her to find. The one I stole to keep my secret. I hold it out to her.

Ask him who he killed.

She peers down at it, frowning in confusion as her eyes track across the scrap of paper.

"This is who I am, baby girl. It's who I was long before the DEA put a badge in my hand and told me to have a go at keeping Seattle's gangs in line. I'm a killer," I whisper, my voice hoarse. "The day before I left Los Angeles, I murdered three people. I don't regret it. I'm not sorry. It doesn't haunt me."

"Why are you telling me this?" she whispers, searching my face for some answer I'm not sure I know how to give her.

"You wanted to know why I'm so goddamn afraid you'll hate me," I tell her, keeping my gaze locked on her face. My throat burns like fire. "The three people I killed then, all the ones I've killed since…I don't regret it. If I had to do it all over again, I'd make the same choices. I'm not a good man. The only reason the DEA put a badge in my hands is because I'm the only thing motherfuckers like Kaleo are afraid of. I'm the monster who keeps the other monsters in line, and I'm the one they answer to when they step over that line."

"You aren't a monster."

There's so much you don't know. Things that would horrify you if you did."

Those deaths aren't the worst of my sins. They aren't the ones that haunt me.

"You're wrong, Cade," she says, sliding her hand up my chest to my shoulders. Her other joins it before she slides off the couch, wrapping her body around mine. Her lips ghost across my chest, pressing kisses into my skin. "There's nothing you could say that would ever make me hate you. I know why you killed those men, and I don't care. If you're bad, then so am I because I've always known you were the one who killed them, and I kept that secret for you."

"Ah, sweetheart," I groan, trying to find the strength to tell her the parts she doesn't know.

"I lied to you," she whispers into my skin, those soft lips roving everywhere she can reach. "I can't fall in love with you because I never fell out of love with you to begin with. I've been waiting to be yours again for so long. Don't make me wait anymore. Please."

Christ. She's killing me. Each word that drops from her lips tears at my resolve until it's shredded into nothing. It's in tatters around me, unable to withstand the power she has over me. My body, my heart, my soul…every piece of me belongs to her. It has since she was four years old, racing toward Titan.

When she's not wrapped around me, pleading with me to make the ache go away, I'll tell her everything and face the consequences. Until then, my girl needs me. She's hurting for me, and I'm not strong enough to tell her no. I never have been.

"Never, baby girl," I vow and lift her into my arms. "I'll never keep you waiting again."