20. Evan

20

EVAN

T he streets of Sanctum Harbor look like a ghost town the next evening as we make our way down the mountain.

Something has shifted in the few days we’ve been at the safe house, the brief stay and packing we did to move back to the city and start working on Hellena’s plan.

To say it’s bizarre to see my town, my home, completely empty-looking itches at feelings I’d rather not deal with.

Then again, I would rather never deal with feelings.

Hellena’s definitely having an effect on me in that regard, though,making it easier to face the fact that the people I have been doing favors for, moving around like chess pieces for the greater good, are more than that. They are my fellow residents. They are my responsibility.

So, the imminent sense of dread and danger hanging over the city weighs even more heavily on my shoulders.

Signs of the drug gangs letting loose, getting ultra-violent out in the open, show everywhere. Damaged property. Burned cars.

No wonder people are scarce. They’ve all gone into hiding.

It makes me worry something worse has happened.

It can only be Marco’s men, the foreign presence shadowing the native threat around every corner.

We may have bitten off more than we can chew.

Along with the conspicuous lack of people, there’s no trace of the Block. Usually, motorcycle presence in town is fairly common, loud, a reminder that the gang lives here, but also that they exert a certain amount of protection, a check against the Ghosts getting out of control.

The silence on the street is blaring versus the silence in the car as Hellena and I drive into town.

Gavin and Tell split off to take care of some other business, contacting Ora, for one.

Glancing over, I debate reaching for her, but her body language is closed. Cold.

She simply looks out the window at the forlorn streets, the damage.

“There are a few of your things at the office I packed into a box we can grab while we’re there,” I say softly, finally breaking the soul-crushing quiet. “I just need to grab a few things and burn the rest. Can’t risk anyone breaking in and finding anything that could compromise us.”

“Good idea. Thanks for not throwing out my things.” She sniffs, a bit sarcastically.

“I considered it. Just to piss you off.” I need her to snap out of this. She’s too calm. Too distant.

“Sounds like something you would have done when I started with you. Testing me. Pushing me.”

I drive on without responding, though something deep inside squirms at the comment. Almost like I should… apologize.

Just the fact that I’m considering sends me into a mental spin again.

So much has changed.

Yet I'm fighting to stay the same old me. Old habits. Stubbornness.

Fear.

It's utterly frustrating. Fucking infuriating, really.

The worst part is, I don’t know which way to go. The man she needs is not someone I was ever prepared to be. But the man I was could do so much to assist with what needs to be done. Add to that, the steps I need to take to save this town are who I tried so hard to become. Cool. Calculating.

Not emotional. Not passionate in the ways she makes me.

So much of what I worked for is slipping away. I’m being driven to change.

How can I deny her, though?

Not to mention that if I don’t change, if I lose her, what the fuck is the point? I’m just not sure I can succeed in fighting back against a madman without holding onto that sense of distance I used to have.

Letting out the animal within me was never an option until I met Hell.

Pulling into the office parking lot around back, we slip inside, just like Tell and I did a few days ago, making sure we’re not spotted or followed.

Hellena’s mood seems to shift as we head up the stairs.

“How's Genevieve doing?” she finally asks.

“She’s doing a lot better than we are.” I almost laugh. “I set her up so she’ll never need to work again, and she moved back east to see her nieces.”

“Good. It’s nice to think that we did some good with… this place.”

“I did, and am doing, a lot of good with this place, Hell. We did. We are going to keep doing good.” I’m shocked at my own conviction as I say it, how much I need to believe it.

Hellena stares at me for a while, nodding after a time and heading down the hall. What is going through her head?

Why can’t I just get over myself and ask?

“Tell said he helped out where he could.”

“Surprisingly, he did more good than harm.” I try to joke, but it falls flat. “He delivered on some requests that we really needed the money from, several old ancestry inquiries I was having a hard time hunting down. Oh, and he did a singing telegram for Madam Lettershire.”

At this, she finally cracks a smile. “That kooky old psychic lady who lives in the purple house?”

“The one and only. Tell actually has a pretty good voice. He wouldn’t do the strip-tease she tried to tip him into doing, though.”

“And I’ll bet you’ll never let him hear the end of that.” Hellena chuckles, but the feeling fades.

The ominous feeling in town is too thick.

As is the sense that something is eating at her.

“I was saving it for ammunition. Come on, I have most of the files back in your old office.”

“Almost looks like you’re firing me!” She points down the hall to the file box on the floor.

“I could never fire you, Hellena. I'm much too scared to do that.”

She almost snaps back a retort but falls silent as we pass the dance studio. Pausing in the doorway, she flicks on the light, giving me a side-eye.

Without another word, she sweeps into the room, twisting, spinning. She’s as graceful as ever.

My heart pounds at the sight of her moving, the grace of her steps, the sway of her thick, curving hips.

I’m drawn behind her like I’m on a leash, unable to keep from mirroring her movements and falling into old rhythms.

I can’t believe how much I’ve missed this. How much I’ve stuffed it down and tried not to think about it.

I was prepared to accept that she might never forgive me.

Now I know that I can’t live with that.

I can’t live without her.

After her and Gavin and I had our… encounter the other day, I hoped things were better. They were. Except there’s still this rift.

A rift I am starting to realize is on my side of things more than hers. She sees it clearly.

We’re still in motion, my thoughts churning as fast as our spinning when I twirl her in, fling her back out, and she flies into a leap…

And falls.

Instantly, I see her flinch and hit the ground. Instantly, I’m running across the room, kneeling beside her. “Are you alright?”

My heart is in my throat.

Her shoulders slump slightly as she sighs. “Yes. Just clumsy. And not back to a hundred percent.” She’s aggravated.

“It’s not like you’ve been practicing, either,” I say before I can think it through. Almost instinctively, I pull back as I say it, resisting the urge to touch her, to make sure she’s fine. Then I regret it even more as she stands, narrowing her eyes at me.

She must feel embarrassed. Neglected?

I’m absolutely no good at this.

“See? Pain’s already gone.” She nearly shoves me out of the way on her way out the door.

Immediately, I’m scrambling, pissed at myself for falling into such an obvious trap, as well as pissed that I’m being such a fool, running across the room like a fucking overprotective idiot.

“Good. I’ll get my stuff out of the safe and meet you at the car.”

“Fine. Let’s get this stuff quickly and go. We're supposed to meet the guys soon.” She tries to sound casual, but it’s no use. Her words are clipped. Sharp.

I feel my own anger rising to meet hers, indignation at being shut out. Indignation at my own conflicted emotions.

This is not how it was supposed to go.

I should have expected it, however. This is the first time we’ve been alone together since…

Downstairs, she’s waiting by the car, her things already in the back seat. I can tell she’s fuming, getting more and more agitated the longer I go without saying anything.

Anything I have to say will only make it worse.

“I thought we were going to meet the guys over at the old Henderson’s Grocery parking lot?” She looks over at me after a few blocks, noticing my change of direction.

“Sorry. I need to stop off at my apartment for a change of clothes. Do you mind?”

“Oh, not at all. Just maybe let me know next time.”

“I didn’t think I needed permission to make an extra stop.”

“I’m not saying you need permission. It’s called communication.” She’s being deliberately obtuse, but mention of my apartment has her intrigued, I can tell. “So, your apartment.”

In all the time we’ve known one another, I have never taken her to my place.

“One of my apartments. This is the… main one, I guess you’d say?”

“Why am I not surprised that you have several apartments, none of which I’ve ever seen?”

“You know, you don't have to be condescending about everything ,” I growl out between my teeth.

“Says Mr. Condescending himself! When have you not talked down to me?”

“I don't always talk down to you.”

“You’re doing it right now .”

“Hell, can we not do this?”

“Oh, we’re definitely not doing this. Or anything,” she scoffs, crossing her arms, then her legs, and looking out the window.

What. The. Fuck.

Our verbal sparring has always been our dynamic. A tug of war. A fencing match of flirting and insults that usually ended up with kissing or more.

Now it’s devolving into bickering. Actual fighting.

I should be kinder, with everything she’s been through recently. Except that she knows exactly how to push my buttons, and with how stressed I’ve been lately, I have no outlet.

I’m a fucking powder keg.

The elevator ride up to my floor puts me way too close to her. Heat from her shoulder has me nearly sweating in spite of the relatively cool interior of the elevator. Everything inside me wants to slam her up against the wall and rip her clothes off.

Simultaneously, I want out. I need out of the space.

I drop my keys twice trying to unlock the door.

Smooth.

“How many locks do you have?”

“Can’t be too careful,” I argue more defensively than I should.

Inside, she takes a lap of the penthouse, nodding her head appreciatively at the simple but elegant decor. She checks the fridge, the cabinets, making me want to snap at her to quit going through my things.

Of course, she’s eyeing me the whole time to see if I’m getting riled up.

“Do you mind if I freshen up?” Hellena finally asks, completing her exploration of my living quarters.

“Sure. Bedroom’s in there.”

“Thanks.” Some of the steam seems to have gone out of her as she heads toward my bedroom door.

I clear my home safe quickly, making sure I have my backup passports and everything I need in case we can’t make it back here. It takes three times of going over it for my brain to process what I’m doing. Distractions. Scatterbrained mess. Who am I?

Just talk to her. Open up.

I know that’s what Gavin would say.

Tell would roll his eyes at me and do everything he could to leave us alone together. Like they did today.

I’m royally fucking it up.

Taking a breath, I head to the refrigerator, grabbing one of the only things inside—a bottle of water. It’s a lame peace offering, but it’s an excuse to talk to her.

I’m just outside the door when I see her through the crack she left open, standing in front of my bed. She’s stripped down to her underwear, changing her clothes.

Swallowing nervously, I feel my pulse quicken, my blood start to simmer at the sight of her.

Her breasts, the line of her back, arching down into her perfect ass cheeks…

Hell’s eyes meet mine in the mirror as she looks to the side, seeing me in the reflection, and she frowns. Boldly, I push the door open, staring openly at her. I raise my chin, challenging her like I always have.

We lock eyes for a few seconds, the tension simmering to a boil.

“You could knock.”

“You could close the door.”

“You could try and not be an asshole.”

“You could learn what to expect.” I smirk.

She doesn’t.

“You could have called.” Her stare becomes something more. Hard. Bitter. “You could have told me what the plan was. You could have spared me from the Sinner’s Ball. You could have defied your orders. You could have not sold me off.”

It tumbles out of her in a mass of flat, cold words, but there’s fire underneath, just below the surface. Hurt. Hurt I caused.

“I didn’t know until it was too late.”

“Didn’t know what?” she spits.

“I didn’t know I was in love with you,” I say softly. It falls flat on my tongue as I say it. As much as I mean it, it’s not what she wants to hear right now.

“Even if I was nothing to you, you shouldn’t have done that to me, to anyone!”

That’s the crux of this. Not just the betrayal, but the simple fact that I was, and am, capable of doing terrible things. And worse, to a person I care about.

“I tried to fix it. I tried to buy you myself and?—”

“Bullshit.”

“I got you out, didn’t I?”

“That’s not what I’m calling bullshit on. I’m calling bullshit on the fact that you ‘didn’t know’. You can lie to yourself all you want. You can tell yourself that you weren’t sure when you made me finger myself for you in the studio. When we fucked in your office. After practice all those times. But it was that time, that last time, huh? On stage in front of everyone that did it?”

“No. I knew before then.”

“And you never said a fucking word, never gave me a warning that I was in danger.”

“My orders came at the last minute.”

“You had chances to let me go sooner. You could have prevented so much of this?—”

“I needed to keep you close to protect you! I knew something was up, I just didn’t know what!” I’m shouting, desperate for her to hear me. To understand.

“It wasn't supposed to go that way. I was told you’d be fine. My instructions from the Sinful were to deliver you to them. Nothing more. Not to sell you to Marco. But I wasn’t going to go through with that, either. I was going to tell the Herald, your aunt, that I wanted out. That they couldn’t have you.”

“And then what? How would we escape them?”

“I was gonna buy you and take you away, leave Sanctum Harbor that night. Go on the run.” The words turn to ash on my tongue as I say them.

A fucking fool.

That’s what I’ve been.

A coward.

I'm still holding the packet of travel documents in my hands. As I glance down, her eyes follow mine, narrowing on it.

“It all just sounds like excuses. I don’t want to be mad at you. I don’t want to hate what you did. But I do.” Tears start to form in her eyes, running down her cheeks.

It’s more than I can bear.

I deserve this.

“What’s in the bag, Evan?” she finally asks, curiosity getting the better of her.

“It's just a safety measure.” I can’t bring myself to show her. The plane tickets. Passports. Alternate IDs for both of us.

“What can I do, Hellena? I am coming apart at the seams. I’m fucking falling apart.” I hate every word out of my mouth for the weakness that it is. I hate that I find it so hard to open up to her.

Her eyes soften just a bit at the confession.

“I’m still cracked, too, Evan.”

“Tell me how to make it better.” The walls inside me are crumbling, burning away in the glory of her light, her anger. “I will do anything. I just want us to go back?—”

“No. Never that. Nothing can ever be the same. Not for us. Not for me and Gavin, or Tell. No more secrets.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“I know what you meant. That you want us to be okay. We will be. If you stop acting like a fucking stoic jackass and tell me how you feel. Show me that you hurt like I hurt. Show me that you’re angry, show me that you’re sorry, that you love me!” She screams the words, crossing half the distance to me.

“I am. I do. With everything I have,” I nearly snarl at her, the admission breaking something inside me.

“Then fuck me, Evan. Fuck me as hard as you can. For as long as you can. Until I don’t hurt. Until I can’t feel anything anymore.”