Chapter 19

NINETEEN

SALEM

I settled in at the kitchen dining table and spread out my maps and charts, ready to delve into the meticulous planning required for the eventual assassination of Cohen's father. My fingers traced the outlines of various locations, considering the optimal spots to set up my sniper perch.

Selecting the perfect sniper perch wasn't just about finding a high vantage point with a clear line of sight; it was about anticipating every possible scenario and planning for contingencies. I needed a location that offered both concealment and escape routes, a place where I could remain unseen while keeping my target in my crosshairs.

I had begun to lose myself in the intricate detail when Cole's familiar presence appeared beside me, a steaming cup of coffee materializing on the table before me. I glanced up, meeting his gaze with a grateful smile. "Thank you," I murmured, a genuine warmth in my voice as I reached for the mug. His simple gesture didn't go unnoticed, and it was small moments like these that had me falling for Cole.

With a gentle pat on my shoulder, he offered wordless reassurance before retreating, leaving me to my task. I sipped the rich, comforting brew and reflected on the subtle shift in our dynamic. Not so long ago, his presence would have evoked only bitterness and resentment, but now… now I found myself wound tight in his web.

Cole was slowly but surely weaving his way back into the fabric of my heart, and I think I was going to let him. It was a dangerous game, one filled with uncertainty, but I couldn't deny that I still wanted him. He didn't care about my jagged edges or the pieces of me that weren't whole. That meant something.

His acceptance of my imperfections spoke volumes, telling me that I didn't have to pretend to be someone I wasn't or hide behind a facade of perfection. With him, I could be unapologetically myself, with all my scars and roughness on display, and he would want me just the same.

In his unwavering acceptance, I found myself realizing that I owed him the same. Just as he embraced my flaws, I needed to do the same for him. I needed to look past his mistakes, his missteps, and his own jagged edges and love him regardless. I just wasn't fully sure that I was there yet.

Tabling those thoughts to deal with later, I returned my focus to the task at hand. I scanned the terrain around the target building, assessing each potential vantage point with a critical eye. The rooftop of a nearby building seemed promising at first, offering a clear line of sight to the target's entrance. But on closer inspection, I noted the lack of cover and the risk of being spotted. Another option was a window on an adjacent building, but the angle was too steep, and it left me vulnerable to crosswinds that could affect my shot.

As the morning wore on, I meticulously plotted, weighing the risks and rewards of each choice with calculated precision. The stakes were higher than ever, and failure was not an option.

Lost in my thoughts, I barely noticed Cohen's approach until his presence loomed over me, casting a shadow across the table. Startled, I glanced up, a sheepish expression flitting across my features as I hastily tried to conceal the maps beneath my hands.

"What's this?" he questioned, his tone tinged with curiosity as he leaned in closer, attempting to catch a glimpse of the concealed documents. I hesitated, my gaze flickering between him and the maps splayed out before me.

Summoning a semblance of composure, I squared my shoulders, meeting Cohen's hazel gaze with a hesitant resolve. "It's… it's the plans for your father's assassination," I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper as I braced myself for his reaction. To my surprise, Cohen's expression softened, a spark of understanding passing through his eyes.

"Why hide it?" he queried as he reached out to gently brush his fingers against mine, a silent reassurance that I found myself instinctively clinging to. I swallowed hard.

"Well… because he's your father," I confessed, my voice trembling slightly as I spoke. "And I didn't want to rub it in your face." The admission hung between us.

Instead of recoiling or expressing anger, Cohen surprised me with his response. With a gentle squeeze of my hand, he offered a comforting smile, his gaze unwavering as he met my eyes.

"My father is a monster," Cohen began, his tone growing somber as he painted a chilling picture of a man driven by insatiable ambition. "He is consumed by greed and power. He ruled over our household with not one ounce of fatherly love. His authority was like a weapon that he wielded without mercy."

Cohen recounted the horrors he had endured at the hands of his father, his voice full of emotion. "As long as I can remember, I felt like I was walking on eggshells every day," he confessed, his eyes clouded with anguish. "I never felt affection until I stopped looking for it at home. All I knew was the constant threat of violence."

I listened intently, my heart aching with empathy as Cohen bared his soul, his words painting a vivid and harrowing portrait of a childhood robbed of innocence. "It wasn't just the physical abuse," he continued, his voice quiet. "It was constant manipulation, psychological torment that left scars far deeper than any bruises."

My own emotions were raw and exposed as I listened to his pain. "I was trapped in a living nightmare," he admitted, his voice cracking.

"I'm sorry, Cohen. No child deserves to go through that." I reached out to him, offering a silent gesture of comfort and support.

Cohen offered me a weary smile in return, his eyes reflecting a mixture of pain and gratitude. "My father is a terrible man, Salem. He doesn't deserve to live, and you don't need to hide it from me."

His words engulfed me in a wave of relief. "Alright," I nodded, meeting Cohen's eyes. "So, here's where I could use your help." I gestured to the pile of blueprints scattered across the table, each one a maze of lines and symbols. "I've found a perch, so now I'm mapping out all the exits for the building," I explained, tracing my finger along the intricate lines. "And I'm planning how to seal off the floor where your father's lawyer works, just in case anything goes wrong."

"Excellent," Cohen chimed in, his eyes scanning over the blueprints with a focused intensity. He leaned in closer, studying each aspect with meticulous care, his brow furrowing in concentration. I watched him work, grateful for his expertise and attention to detail. We couldn't afford any mistakes this time, not after the last botched attempt to capture one of our fathers.

I meticulously tended to my black dahlias in the serene confines of the greenhouse. Fallon lounged on a nearby bench, regaling me with the gory details of her latest true crime documentary. Her animated gestures and morbid jokes provided me with entertainment while I fertilized my flowers.

"Can you believe this guy actually tried to cover up the crime scene with a potted plant?" Fallon exclaimed, her eyes sparkling with dark amusement. "Talk about a green thumb!"

I chuckled at her macabre sense of humor, grateful for her presence. But as the laughter faded, I found myself unable to suppress the pressing question that had been weighing on my mind.

"Fallon," I began tentatively, "can we talk about what happened in New Orleans?"

Fallon's expression shifted, her cheerful demeanor giving way to one of somberness. With a heavy sigh, she nodded, her gaze fixed on the floor as if steeling herself for what was to come.

"Ah, that," she murmured, her tone laced with resignation. "I suppose we can't avoid that conversation forever, huh?"

I waited anxiously as Fallon gathered her thoughts, unease settling over me as I braced myself for her response.

"So you know my father tried to sell me, right?" she began hesitantly. "He knew he would get a pretty penny for selling off a virgin daughter of the Triad."

I furrowed my brow in confusion, unsure of where she was going with this. "What does your father have to do with anything?" I asked, my voice apprehensive.

Fallon took a deep breath, bracing herself before continuing. "Before Lennox killed him, my father had already lined up prospective buyers on the skin market,″ she explained, her words weighted with sorrow. "So when we started dismantling his empire, I made it my business to find out who exactly was on that list of buyers."

Fallon continued, her voice filled with bitterness and regret, and I felt a knot form in the pit of my stomach. "You see, Atticus was one of the highest bidders. And I was still the virgin with ties to the NYC Triad that he had bid on."

I felt as though the ground had been ripped out from beneath me, a surge of disbelief coursing through my veins as the full weight of her confession hit me.

"You traded my freedom for your virginity?" I whispered, my voice trembling with guilt.

Fallon's eyes filled with tears as she nodded. "I would do it all over again if it meant you were safe."

I sat in stunned silence, grappling with the enormity of Fallon's sacrifice as the reality of her situation flooded over me. Anger, grief, and deep sorrow warred within me as I struggled to come to terms with what had transpired.

"I am so fucking sorry, Fallon." I choked out. "I never meant for any of this to happen."

"It's okay, I couldn't stay a virgin forever," Fallon offered, her voice purposely light. "I had to sell my soul to the devil eventually, right?"

I shot her a withering glare, my irritation obvious. "Not to Atticus!" I retorted, my tone laced with fury. "I'll fucking kill him!"

Fallon recoiled at my incredulous expression, her features contorting in disgust. "Ew, no!" she exclaimed with revulsion. "Not to Atticus, thank God. He bought it for his son, although if you ask me, that's a weird as fuck present."

Her words offered a small measure of relief, but the notion that Fallon had to use her virginity as a bargaining chip still left a bitter taste in my mouth. "And you think that makes it okay?" I countered, my voice dripping with skepticism.

Fallon sighed, her shoulders sagging with resignation. "Look, Salem," she began, her tone softening. "It wasn't as bad as you're thinking. No need to go on a revenge killing spree or anything."

I bristled at her nonchalant dismissal, but as her words sank in, a begrudging acceptance covered me. "Fine," I muttered, my resolve faltering. "But just say the word, and I'll be on the next flight to New Orleans…"

Fallon reached out to squeeze my hand, her touch offering a silent reassurance that spoke volumes. ″Thank you, Salem," she murmured, her voice sincere.

She then seamlessly steered our conversation back to the world of true crime, and I found myself grateful for the distraction.

"Did you hear about that case where the killer hid the bodies in the basement for years?" Fallon's animated chatter provided a comforting backdrop to my thoughts.

"Oh, yeah, I read about that one," I replied, nodding along as I continued to tend to my precious black dahlias. "It amazes me how he wasn't worried about the smell. Gross!"

With each passing moment, my anger at Fallon's sacrifice seemed to dissipate, replaced by a calm that I hadn't realized I'd been craving. Lost in our discussion, I allowed myself to be swept away by Fallon's enthusiasm. "And then there was the one where the murderer posed as a clown…"

The familiar cadence of her voice put me at ease. As I put the finishing touches on my work in the greenhouse, not for the first time, I wondered what I had ever done to deserve a friend like Fallon.