Chapter 25

Chapter Twenty-Five

Feenix Blaylock

T he elevator door slides open into the penthouse, and I find myself in complete disbelief. I stand in the doorway of my elevator for a minute, staring at the dark interior before I numbly search the wall for the light switches.

I must still be in shock because everything is muted; my feelings, my senses. Undercover. I hadn’t even considered that, but I should have. It’s my job to consider new people’s motives to protect the business. I’d been blind, too wrapped up in everything that was Charlie to see the truth.

I flick on the lights and turn to face Charlie. This . . . that gorgeous woman. Standing in my doorway with hair still in disarray from us fucking and a little smeared makeup from crying, she still looks like a wet dream. But in the end, she’ll be the end of me. So why did I agree to her plan? Why did I even take her home? Why didn’t I just kill her like I’d do to anyone else?

Because just like she did to me, I fell for her. It’s something I can no longer deny because it’s the only thing that makes sense.

She swivels her head to get a good look at my space. “This is beautiful,” she murmurs in awe.

I slowly spin back around to look with her. The elevator opens to the living room, which is complete with a white couch, a large electric fireplace, and an even larger flat-screen TV hanging above it. A coffee table rests on a rug before the couch.

Taking a deep inhale, she sighs contentedly. “And it smells like you.”

“What do I smell like?” I ask quietly and curiously.

She looks me square in the eye and whispers, “Sin,” before heading to the couch and running her fingers over the gray blanket that stretches across the back. I never use it; I’m never here long enough to even sit on the couch, but my housekeeper gave it to me as a gift once. It’s been resting there ever since.

“Want a drink?” I ask her as I turn and head toward the kitchen on the other side of the living room wall.

I don’t wait for her response because, if tonight has brought both of us anything, it’s that stress and the burn of alcohol will make me feel like me again. At least for a second.

As I pour from the bottle of scotch into two glass cups, I contemplate what’s happening to me. She blew me wide open when she begged for me to let the inner me out. Maybe that’s why I’m numb because, by her asking, I’ve started to. That man she sees in me is pushing to the forefront. I’d do anything for her, burn the world down for her, and if that means changing…

Can I do it? Can I change for her? I’m willing to help her take down my boss because she simply asked me to, but can I change . . . me?

I don’t know if I’m too far gone for that, if there’s a part of me that will always be this dark and twisted man. A man who’s okay with sex trafficking for the simple monetary value so people can fuck their corpses. Who’s okay with men and women having sex against their will. Who’s okay with murder.

She may have remembered who she is, but now I’m just as lost about who I am.

Maybe it’s that simple. Maybe I’ve been pretending to be the man I am now instead of the man I used to be before this business.

“What are you thinking?” she asks quietly at my back. I hadn’t realized I’d been just standing here, gripping the granite counter’s edge while staring down at the glasses.

“Just coming to grips with this,” I murmur before picking up the glasses and passing her one.

She takes a small sip while watching me closely. I can tell she wants to say something. Probably many things if the look on her face is anything to go by.

“Say it,” I murmur again.

She lowers the glass from her lips but hovers it by her chin as if she doesn’t want it to move too far from her mouth for fear that she might need the liquid courage. “You chose me.”

“I did.” I take a gulp and roll out my stiff neck.

Her face falls, and her eyes are downcast. “You look like you regret it,” she whispers sadly.

I head to her and tip her chin up to face me. “I don’t regret you. I’ll never regret choosing you.” Her bottom lip trembles for a split second, but I push on. “I regret me. ”

“How did you even get into this life, Nix?” Her voice is so small, and it breaks in the middle .

I press a small kiss to her lips and then back up a step to lean against the counter. “I went looking for my cousin,” I answer honestly. “All trails led here.”

“And then what?”

“With every intention of finding who took my cousin, I inserted myself into the porn. I was first a man making porn, and then . . .” I clear my throat. “The money came in just like it’s doing for you. I got popular just like you. I got power-hungry, thirsty for so much more that I forgot about Megan. I killed the guy who had my position and took it for myself and shoved Megan to the back of my mind.”

Noll is going to have a field day with this when I tell him everything because he deserves everything I should tell him. I owe him the truth, and the truth is: He was right all along. He was right, and he chose to never give up on me anyway.

“I never cashed the money,” she says, a blush rising to her cheeks. She sets her glass down and crosses her arms over her chest, wrinkling the dress around the swell of her tits.

I cock my head to the side. “Why?” And then it hits me, and my face relaxes in understanding. “It’s evidence.”

She nods regretfully and hugs herself a little tighter. “I meant what I said. I’ll protect you as best I can.”

“No one can protect me,” I say after a moment. “I’ve done what I’ve done, and I’ll pay the price for it.”

She shakes her head. “I’ll think of something.”

I don’t answer her because I know the truth. What I’ve done – all I’ve done, especially the parts she doesn’t know about yet – will come at a heavy price. All I can hope for is that Andre gets the worst of it. I can take care of myself, but in prison? He’ll become someone’s bitch, their plaything to get used and fucked whenever that person pleases, and that’s almost better than my fantasy about putting a bullet in the roof of his mouth. I just hope he’s fucked with a broomstick so hard that the pole comes out of his mouth.

“Do I really have to stay here?”

“Yes,” I answer truthfully. It’s the only way I can protect her if someone were to do some digging. Besides, the way we left so early, and no doubt because of those who heard us shouting, there’s bound to be some digging happening. “Do you not want to?”

“No, no that’s not what I meant,” she says, quickly shaking her head. “I just don’t want to impose more than I already am.”

“You’re not, mama.” I lean and rest an elbow on the counter. “Why did you become a cop anyway if it doesn’t pay well?”

“I’m . . .” She blushes again and looks away for a second. “New. I don’t get paid much because of it. And this? This undercover? It was supposed to be my way to a higher position. Of respect, to undo what my father had done.”

Questions brim in my mind about her father and what exactly happened there because she’s never once talked about her parents before, but she keeps talking. “I want to save people. That’s why I truly became a cop. I had a horrible childhood, and I’m lucky I turned out the way I did. I want to save as many people as I can from a life they were forced to have.”

I let her relive the memories for a second before I ask, “What kind of upbringing did you have?”

Her lips twist to the side, and she shakes her head in answer.

“No secrets, mama.”

I almost think she won’t answer, but then she sighs deeply and begins, “My mom was a drug addict. ”

“That’s why you turned down drugs that first night with me, isn’t it?” It all makes sense now, how she was determined not to.

She nods. “I don’t remember a time when she wasn’t on drugs. There was, however, a time when my dad tried to get her to stop, but somewhere along the way, when I was just coming into my teenage years, things changed.”

When she pauses and looks away, I whisper, “Eyes on me.”

She swallows thickly but does as I demand, just like she always does. “My dad was a cop just like me. He knew where to go and when to go and who to go to to get her drugs. She threatened to leave us, and he loved her so much that he ended up buying her the drugs himself.”

“Shit,” I whisper.

She starts taking out the pins in her hair, and I almost wonder if she does it because she’d rather be tugging on the roots right about now instead. I’m sure this topic is uncomfortable for her. “I was at senior prom when it happened. Miles, my father’s partner and now mine, came and got me in the middle of dancing with my boyfriend.”

“What happened?” I urge on.

“My mother killed him and then herself.”

“What?” I breathe out, a scowl deepening my eyebrows. It doesn’t make sense. Why would she kill the man who was getting her her next fix?

“Miles knew about it all though we’ve kept it a secret, he and I. He said that my father told him he was going to refuse to buy her any more heroin and demand that she get clean before she inevitably overdosed. As a result, she stabbed him thirteen times and then did the very thing he feared: overdosed.”

I curse under my breath and go to her, wrapping her in a hug when the tears she’s holding back threaten to leak from her eyes. “I’m sorry,” I say, murmuring into her now loose hair.

“It’s not your fault.”

“I know,” I mutter.

“What about you?”

I pull away to look at her. “What about me?”

“Your family? Do you have one besides Megan?”

“A mother,” I answer truthfully, and I can’t keep the disdain from my voice. Like her, and though the situation is entirely different, I didn’t have a good one.

“Do you –”

“Let’s get you in the shower,” I say, cutting her off. I’m not having this conversation. Not right now.

I start to walk out of the kitchen, but she tugs on my arm and stops me. “No secrets, Nix. That goes both ways.”

I flex my jaw once but give her a little nod. “I’ll tell you someday, but right now . . . I can’t.”

She breathes out through her nose before whispering, “Okay,” and sliding her hand down my arm to twine her fingers in mine.

I don’t remember the last time I held a girl’s hand, I don’t even remember what it felt like. So, for a second, I just stare at our fingers before giving into the feel of it, the emotion that curls around my heart, before leading us away toward the bathroom.

I will tell her , I promise myself. But tonight? Tonight, too much has been unpacked to even touch on the subject of the woman who birthed me. I need a moment to breathe, space to think, and I’m glad she’s giving me that.