CHAPTER SIXTEEN

I didn't understand him.

How could this man be friends with a monster like Jarrett? How could someone who willingly and without provocation, continuously and selflessly cares for a complete stranger even associate with someone who went out of their way to hurt and abuse? Jarrett had been the boogieman in my life since I was fourteen. He'd been the creature waiting in the dark to snatch me up and carry me off. I had lost six years of my life to isolation and fear because he had taken a liking to me.

Lacroix had done more for me in two days than my own mother. He had been gentle and thoughtful, and kind.

So kind.

I didn't even know how to accept it.

I stole a glance at his side profile sitting next to the driver. Mother would never, nor would Father. Sitting with the help was simply unheard of, but Lacroix seemed to be friends with the other man. Yet another odd thing. There seemed to be many of those when it came to the master of Lacroix House.

I liked it.

I liked the many layers that made up a man that size, even if he was a killer. An unapologetic one.

"Blue?"

I blinked away from the winding highway of damp asphalt and looming forest rising like sentinels to the man I couldn't keep off my mind, to find him watching me already.

My cheeks warmed as I realized he'd been speaking to me. "I'm sorry?"

"I said to stay in the car, love, all right? Cyrus will stay with you. I won't be long."

I peeked at our surroundings. We were miles from possibly any sort of civilization. All I could see were rising hills of trees shrouded in fog and rain. I didn't know what sort of person lived so far from anything, but I supposed Lacroix did. People who liked their privacy.

People who killed other people.

"Are you sure that's safe?" I asked before I could question the wisdom of questioning his decision. "What if you need Mr. Cyrus? I'm fine waiting on my own."

A ghost of a smile danced in the corners of Lacroix's lips. "No need to worry about me, Little Blue. I can handle myself."

I didn't doubt it. He seemed perfectly capable of handling anything, yet I wasn't keen on him waltzing in there on his own. Still, I kept the comment to myself. It wasn't my place to tell him how to do his job. He was better at it than I was and clearly had things thought out.

Cyrus took a sweeping bend off the main road and through a heavily shrouded path. Walls of pine guided us through the scent of wet earth and something thick and pungent I could only describe as rot. It dominated what should have been cleaned by the rain drizzling against the metal roof.

I squeezed my thighs together and bit my lip as a chill coursed through me. I tried to draw Lacroix's blazer closer, but the unease was crawling deep into my bones.

"Cold, love?"

I glanced over to find Lacroix watching me.

I shook my head. "I'm fine. Thank you."

Nevertheless, he reached for the dashboard and flipped the heater on. The hum filled the silence and replaced the drum of raindrops. Part of me was relieved. The other remained rigid as we drew closer to our destination.

Packed dirt rose about ten minutes later to become blocks of unevenly cut concrete and a guiding wall that was barely high enough to keep a small child out. It ran alongside the car, keeping us separated from the tiny houses built on either side.

"What are those?" I asked, eyeing the slender posts with the tiny windows and doors cut down the length.

"Graves," Lacroix murmured.

I shifted away from the door as an icy chill clawed down my spine. Away from the window and faced forward.

"We're here." Lacroix glanced back to me. "Stay in the car."

I gave what I hoped was a reassuring nod and watched with a queasy gut as the car pulled up alongside a set of iron gates built in the center of a much higher wall. Just beyond it, I could almost make out the distorted view of a structure cloaked by a swaying curtain of fog. My gaze shot to the side of Lacroix's gorgeous face, words of uncertainty on my tongue, but he was giving Cyrus instructions in a low murmur I couldn't hear.

Then he was out of the car with a shove of his door. It swung wide in the brittle silence. With his departure, damp air filled the cabin. I watched him move with long, powerful strides to the gates and shove them open. Then his bleeding into the mist until even his rugged shape could no longer be seen.

I sat peeling the skin from my lips and watching the place he'd gone. My fingers picked at the torn edges of flesh raw and tender across my palms. Blood welled and puddled, and smeared when I swept my thumb over the agitated injuries. I tried to preoccupy my thoughts by studying the dark cluster of wilderness encroaching on the structure, barely contained by the barricade. The naked trees were thick with brittle branches that tangled together as if in battle.

Unlike Lacroix House, the wild landscape didn't fill me with calm. Even seated in the safety of the car, I could feel the watchful eyes of things I couldn't see lurking just out of sight. The sensation unsettled me. Had my gaze tearing away from cluster of brush to the house where Lacroix was.

"It usually doesn't take very long."

I met Cyrus's gaze in the rearview mirror, slightly startled by the sudden interruption to the nerve-wracking silence. "Does he come here often?"

My companion lifted a shoulder. "Not often. He doesn't like people coming to Lacroix House, so we usually met them somewhere else."

That made sense, yet I couldn't stop myself from asking, "Why is that? Why doesn't he like people at the house?" I clarified when he watched me curiously.

"Lots of reasons, but Mr. Lacroix is very private."

"Have you known him long?" I asked, relieved for the distraction.

Cyrus chuckled low in his throat. "A while."

Uncertain of the boundaries and not wanting to press my luck, I held back the flood of follow up questions that followed. I sat back against the cool leather and let the horrible quiet fill back up.

"Where did you grow up?"

I blinked at the question and found my gaze jumping up to the blue eyes watching me still in the mirror.

"Michigan," I lied, blurting the first name that popped into my head.

"That's quite a way. Where in Michigan?"

I shook my head, eyes drifting away to focus on the blood perpetually beneath my nails. "We moved a lot."

"Siblings?"

Malcolm.

Thoughts of him sent a sharp spear of pain through my chest. My heart wrenched knowing I may never see him again. I wondered if he even knew the plan hadn't gone the way he'd hoped. Did Wiley even know what happened to his nephew? Did he care? They hadn't seemed particularly close, but Wiley had promised him money and when Taylen didn't collect, Wiley would know something was wrong, right? Or would he just not care? To some, money was more important than anything, even family.

But I hoped Malcolm was living in the peaceful knowledge that I was safely at my new apartment, starting my new life. No matter how everything ended, I never wanted him to find out the truth. I never wanted him to think he'd failed because he hadn't. He'd done everything right. I had made a mess of things.

"Miss Smith?"

I dragged my tattered thoughts back to the present and the man waiting for a response. But I couldn't give him one.

A yes would open me up to more questions about my brother.

A no would be denying Malcolm's existence and I refused to do that.

"Why were there graves back there?" I asked instead.

If Cyrus recognized my attempts to change the topic, he was kind enough to keep it to himself.

"It's supposed to be a warning to people coming onto the property." He rolled his eyes slightly. "A little weird for my taste, but everyone has a fear tactic."

"Everyone?" I said without thinking.

"I think so," he mused. "At least everyone I've known."

I considered that a moment before asking, "Even Mr. Lacroix?"

The corners of Cyrus's mouth bowed. "He's different. Mr. Lacroix isn't showy and doesn't need theatrics to prove a point. His reputation stands for itself."

He just kills them,I thought to myself.

"What does Mr. Lacroix do?" I asked instead.

Cyrus hesitated. "I think that's a question to ask him."

I let the matter drop. He was right of course. It wasn't his place to discuss his employer's business.

I blew out a breath and looked to the house again. If it weren't for the thin swatches of light barely filtering in through the opaque overcast, I would never have known a house even existed there. There wasn't a light on anywhere and the wet gray of the stones practically blended in with the dense gray around it.

I tried not to shift.

The cabin was too quiet and every squeak of leather, every rustle of clothing seemed like a bomb going off. Mother was always quick to point out that a woman's job was to be silent in all aspects. She should never be a distraction or draw attention to herself. She would make me sit still for hours on a cold, wooden chair in the kitchen until I learned the art of perfect stillness, yet I felt restless.

I wanted to get out and pace.

I wanted to jiggle my leg, a habit Mother had successfully abolished with a pliable bamboo stick. The skin of my legs prickled with the reminder.

So, I sat still and waited.

"There he is."

I jumped visibly and violently at the unexpected explosion of words from the man behind the wheel. My startled heart galloped even as my head jerked up to scan the mist.

Lacroix moved down a set of stairs. His long, dark coat twisted around the dominating strides of his toned legs across the pathway. I hadn't realized I was holding my breath until he was folding all that muscle into his seat once more.

It shouldn't have been but the overwhelming joy I felt at the sight of him tore through me with a vengeance.

His head turned the moment he was in place and our eyes locked. "Hello love."

Heart pounding for reasons unknown, I whispered, "Hi."

He held our connection for what felt like seconds and eons. Until my skin felt flushed and my throat was dry. Only when my cheeks prickled with heat did he finally turn to his guard.

"Mariposa's?"

Cyrus said nothing, despite it being offered as a question. He turned the engine on and maneuvered the car in a half circle back the way we'd come.

I had never been so happy to finally leave a place.

I focused on the man taking up all the air in the car. The man half folded in his seat. His long limbs seemed cramped despite the ample amount of space behind him. He couldn't have been comfortable, yet he sat with one arm propped up on the edge of the window, the elbow bent inward. His chin rested on the loosely bunched fist. The other hand drummed long fingers on the middle console separating him from Cyrus. Rain clung to his wild mane and the wide width of his broad shoulders.

But it was more than rain that clung to him. There was tension. A frustration that hardened his lips and formed creases between his brow. I knew the tells, the warnings to keep my mouth shut and do nothing to set him off. I closed my nails into my bloody palms and regulated my breaths so they weren't too loud, too distracting. I stayed still and small, becoming part of the seat.

No one spoke as we drove for what felt like hours away from the sprawling hills and forestry to a different kind of jungle. The one made of sharp spears of metal and gleaming glass. The bustle of activity, the noise jolted my senses after several days of unimaginable peace and quiet. We passed shops and offices, and people living their lives. It was all so ridiculously normal.

My thoughts were interrupted by the turn of the wheel leading us into a sea of parked cars surrounding a structure made of dark, gleaming glass and white stone. Cyrus located an empty spot at the very back and killed the engine.

I tore my attention away from the three stories of jagged edges and harsh lines to the man turning his head back to meet my gaze.

"You ready, love?" he asked.

I had no idea where we were, but if he was taking me along with him, I guessed we were getting clothes.

"What is this?"

If my question seemed absurd, Lacroix never showed it — much to my gratitude. "The mall."

Mother would never have dared to even suggest such a place. The mall was for the other people. The ones with budgets and a lack of sophistication.

"It's for people who don't know they have no taste," she'd said once during a gown fitting.

"Do you want to go somewhere else?" Lacroix interjected my thoughts once again.

I didn't. Despite Mother's aversion, I'd always been curious by the idea of a single place that contained a multitude of smaller stores. Malcolm used to sneak me mall food when Mother wasn't home, which tasted like regular food, but in a Styrofoam container, but the fact that it was forbidden had made it that much tastier.

"I would like to see it, if that's okay?"

Lacroix raised a shoulder as if it didn't matter either way, but he didn't seem upset. He opened his door and pushed out into the slight downpour. His frame moved around to the back of the car and the trunk was popped open. A moment later, my door was being opened and a broad hand with long fingers was extended to help me out.

His touch was warm.

His skin rough.

His hold strong as he guided me out carefully. The fingers stayed curled around mine long after I was standing with him in the chilly air. An umbrella was positioned over my head and I felt my stomach flutter at the simple gesture.

"Thank you," I murmured.

Lacroix gave my hand a gentle squeeze that I felt all the way through me like a hot current.

We walked in a comfortable silence with the rain pattering against the dark fabric of the umbrella that he'd angled to only protect me. The fact didn't go unnoticed, nor the fact that he still held my hand.

The inside was filled with the flow of mothers with strollers and too many toddlers running rampant. Elderly couples dominated benches and seats, watching the children give their mothers an impossible time.

There were others, men and women hurrying about their business, shopping bags in tow. They slipped in and out of brightly lit cubes holding different products. There were dozens upon dozens of different shops lined down endless corridors selling everything from clothes to eyebrow waxing and sandwiches. All in one building.

It was amazing.

I couldn't stop staring.

Every few feet, I found another thing behind gleaming windows that had me pausing to look. Lacroix said nothing but waited patiently while I gaped at all the assortments. The sheer quantity baffled the mind. How could Mother not be thrilled by such a place? It was three floors of ... things. All things. Everything. Why go anywhere else? And there were sales everywhere. Granted, Mother didn't like sales. It made the item less valuable.

"This place is incredible," I blurted out loud.

"Because of all the windows?" Lacroix teased, and I couldn't help laughing at the statement. "You never been to a mall before, Blue?"

I shook my head. "Never."

Lost in a shop window display containing an assortment of designer bags Mother would have paid a small fortune for at a regular boutique, I didn't see the lanky man coming up behind me until I had pivoted straight into him. The collision dislodged Lacroix's hand from mine as I staggered back on my much too large boots. I lost my balance and hit the display window I'd been studying. Not hard, but hard enough to rattle the frame.

The man, head shaven to display the hood of tattoos winding up his neck to cover his entire scalp released a stream of expletives as he dove after the phone he'd dropped in the bump. He turned the device over in hands heavily marked with faded ink and shiny, steel rings.

"Fuck! You busted my screen," he snarled, lifting hooded eyes the hue of tree bark to pin on me.

"I'm so sorry," I breathed, straightening away from the window without losing a boot.

"Watch where you're going, you stupid—"

I didn't hear the rest of his snarl. Lacroix's fist had twisted into the front of his filthy, white top and he was slammed into the same glass with a crack that left a smear of crimson in the jagged crack that hadn't been there before.

Lacroix's expression was frighteningly calm, but there was a fire in his eyes, a blood lust that chilled me down to my core.

He leaned in, simultaneously dragging the other man higher onto his tiptoes to match Lacroix's considerable height.

"Go on. Finish," he rumbled deep in his chest. "I dare you."

Each word sliced past clenched teeth inches from the man's terrified expression.

"Mr. Lacroix," the man stuttered, brown eyes enormous and vividly bright against the ashen texture of his complexion. "I ... I didn't know she was with you, sir. I had no idea."

"Does that matter?" The black crow across the back of Lacroix's hand rippled with the tightening of his fingers. "Is that how you treat a lady?" I didn't see his free hand wielding a small knife until it was edging dangerously close to the man's right eyeball where a cluster of tiny X's gathered at the corner. He tapped them deliberately with the point. "Rushken, right?"

Too terrified to move without having his eye removed, the man could only make a choking sound that must have been confirmation.

"It's been a while since I paid my old friend a visit, but I think I might have to make the inconvenient trip if this is how he allows his men to behave." The blade dragged down to his quivering windpipe. "Apologize."

The man was dragged away from the window and forced to his knees at my feet. It was done with the knife never leaving the tender skin. It was a miracle his throat wasn't slit open as he was made to look up at me.

"Please, I beg your forgiveness," he panted, face a bleached white under all the ink.

I raised my eyes to the other man, the avenging demon standing just over the man's shoulder, golden pools of fire fixed on me.

Waiting.

He had put the man's life in my hands. One word from me and Lacroix would drag a red line across his jugular. I should have been horrified.

Disgusted.

What kind of monster would do such a thing? In a public place, surrounded by at least a dozen witnesses. It didn't seem to bother him at all.

But I was fascinated.

No.

I was something else. Something hot and powerful, and ... heady.

Aside from Malcolm, no one had ever defended me. Certainly, no one had ever shot a man's hand off for touching me or offered to kill a man for disrespecting me. I probably shouldn't have, it was probably insane, but I couldn't stop the electric buzz that pumped through my heart.

"His life is yours, love. Say the word."

Say the word.

Such power behind those three, small words. It sent a shiver through me.

God, what was wrong with me? Was I seriously considering it?

No. No. Of course not.

"I'm okay," I whispered to the beautiful monster watching me.

That seemed to be enough for him as he dragged the man to his feet. "She just saved your worthless life." Lacroix gave him a shove that sent him cracking into the glass once more. "Tell Rushken to expect me and you can tell him why."

The knife was returned to the sleeve at his hip before Lacroix turned to me. Without a word, he reached for my hand and tugged me next to him.

Not a soul in sight seemed bothered by the interaction. The place was full, crowded, yet not a single person even bothered to stop and question what just happened. They resumed their day, passing by us without so much as a glance. Even as Lacroix led me onwards.

I was still reeling. My head and chest swam with a weird, molten heat that made everything else around me feel almost dreamlike. Maybe it was feeling powerful for the first time in my life, but I was giddy with the sensation.

"Did he hurt you?"

I crawled out of the buzz humming through me to focus on the man studying my face.

I shook my head. "I'm really okay." I hesitated before asking the question I already knew the answer to. "Would you really have killed him?" For me, I added silently.

Lacroix never so much as paused to consider his response, "Yes."

That gooey feeling intensified until I was practically swimming in it.

It didn't care when the rational part of my brain pointed out the flaws in my delight.

It didn't care that it wasn't morally right.

It didn't care that just the day before, Lacroix had told me he would kill me.

I felt safe.

I was led into a sprawling shop lined with neatly organized stands holding an assortment of things. There were steel rods jutting from the walls holding dresses, jackets, and tops. Everything tastefully displayed to complement each other. It wasn't the sort of place Mother would shop, but just a peek at a passing price tag and I knew it wasn't a place a person on a budget would visit either.

A stunning woman with enormous brown eyes and dark, beautiful skin leapt off her stool when we approached. Her rich riot of curls bounced around smooth, naked shoulders, tangling with the thick, gold hoops hidden amongst the strands.

"Mama isn't here," she declared in a firm, set voice. "And we're paid up."

"Not looking for your mother, or money."

Those watchful, wary eyes skipped from Lacroix to Cyrus before finally settling on me. They wandered over the state of me with confusion, but not judgment. Still, the tense lines around her mouth didn't soften, nor did she comment when letting her attention pivot back to Lacroix.

"What do you want?"

Releasing my hand, Lacroix reached into his back pocket and unearthed a wallet that must have seen better days. The soft, faded folds fell open to several cards. He thumbed out a black and gold one and set it on the counter.

"Whatever she wants."

For a moment, it was obvious from the twist in the woman's lips that she wanted to tell Lacroix to drop dead, but something — maybe fear. Maybe the chance at a possibly large sale — seemed to change her mind.

She snatched the card off the table and shoved it into the drawer of the register. All the while, she glowered at the two men with a bold challenge as if daring them to say something about it.

When no one did and the tension in the store had blossomed to awkward and uncomfortable, she turned to me.

"Okay, let's spend his money, shall we?"

Despite the anxious roiling in my stomach, I felt my lips twitch. "I really don't need very much."

The woman clicked her tongue as she led me deeper into the shop where a whole other section opened up. "Baby girl, yes, you do. That motherfucker can afford it and I am going to help you enjoy it."

I didn't like that idea at all.

Mother may not have cared about tags and prices, and Lacroix may not have stated a limit, but I wasn't comfortable taking advantage of his kindness by being greedy. Plus, nothing ever came without a price, and I wasn't sure I could pay it when the bill came up.

Then there was the spark of annoyance I felt snap through me over her calling him a mother fucker like that was okay. But I quickly shoved it aside; not my place to get involved. They clearly knew each other and had some kind of history. I tried not to think of them together.

"Just a few things is fine," I whispered.

The woman bumped up a shoulder and rolled her eyes. "Suit yourself."

I liked the line she showed me. I'd never worn anything off a rack or made in bulk. Mother believed strongly that everything a person owned needed to be unique and the only one. Sifting through rows of the same outfit in different sizes and colors, I didn't think I would find that at Mariposa's, but I did find a few dresses that were my size and complimented my skin tone.

Amari kept handing me things I knew I could never pull off, colors that I had never owned in my life and cuts that revealed far more than I had ever shown.

"Girl, why are you going to church so much when you haven't even sinned?"

I tore my wide eyes away from the three strips of red fabric locked together down the sides by chunky, silver hoops to stare at the girl. "Church?"

Amari waved a hand at the four simple, beige dresses I had draped over my arm. "I can't imagine where else you'd wear that much beige."

I glanced down at my pile, a frown creasing my brow. "This is just normal clothes."

Amari's eyes narrowed. "See, the thing I know about men like Lacroix is that they want to see skin. None of this school teacher crap."

I gasped. "I am not with Mr. Lacroix in that manner."

I could have announced Jesus was coming the way Amari clapped her hands over her chest and threw her head back. "Thank the Lord. I was just thinking you were too smart to get tangled up with a guy like that. Whew!" She wiped imaginary sweat off her brow. "Okay, so now all that makes much more sense."

But now I was eyeing my new things with doubt. Malcolm had been very clear that I needed to be someone else. I couldn't look like Naya Blackwell anymore.

But a strap across the chest and one across the hips was just too much even for the new Naya.

"What do you suggest?" I said tentatively.

Amari raised an eyebrow. "Really? You trust my wisdom?"

I didn't tell her I had no choice. I had never picked clothes for myself and I had no idea what I liked, but maybe if I got some pointers, I might see something I liked.

Amari took the task as a personal challenge. She pulled out several articles and led me to the open space near the back. I'd been in enough changing spaces to recognize the purpose.

"I only have the one room at the moment," she said as she guided me to the wall of neatly spaced doors. "Some little fuckers thought it would be a good idea to spray paint the other booths with black paint. Thankfully, this room was spared because a customer was inside changing at the time."

Her longer fingers closed into the top and she tugged the door outward. The outfits in her hand were hung inside on the hook and she stepped back.

I made no move to get in. Even as Amari continued going on about grabbing a few other items, I stared at the cube with the three walls of mirrors and a single, wooden chair tucked into one corner.

Mother's box had no mirrors or chair, I surmised dully. I'd only had the cold, hard floor to curl up on and wait for the walls to stop pulsing inward.

"You getting in?" Amari was watching me, waiting. "You need to fiddle with the lock a bit. It closes fine, but sticks opening. You just need to wiggle."

I didn't want to wiggle anything.

I didn't want to be anywhere near that coffin, even if it had a bright bulb overhead.

But I couldn't refuse. How was I supposed to explain the idea of small, dark places terrified me? No one would understand. Plus, Mr. Lacroix had been kind enough to bring me and was waiting. Just like Amari was waiting. And Cyrus. They were waiting for me to find clothing so they could resume their day. I was making everyone wait. I was being selfish.

It was fine.

The top and bottom was open. It had a lock I controlled. I could leave at any time I wanted.

Telling myself it was fine, I stepped into the cubby and closed the door behind me.