Chapter Twenty

Then.

As it turned out, we didn’t even have to kill Mr. Moruzzi.

The work of saints was often done through others. In our case—Mrs. Moruzzi.

Apparently, Mr. Moruzzi was sitting on quite a hefty sum of life insurance. Don’t ask me why that dumb fuck thought it would be a good idea to have a good insurance policy when everyone in his life wanted to see him dead.

On the news, we heard it was an accident. A terrible human error. The loving couple simply went hunting together, as they often did (according to the reporters, not to reality, which was more like Mrs. Moruzzi couldn’t fucking stand her husband or the filthy orphans he brought home to work for him).

One shot to the head. It actually pierced all the way through and hit the deer, too. The deer survived. Mr. Moruzzi—not so much.

Mrs. Moruzzi did everything right. She called the cops immediately. Told them her version of things. The Moruzzis were a well-off couple from the nice part of Chicago, who’d adopted three sons, all of whom were in college. No one would ever suspect homicide.

Mrs. Moruzzi was off the hook.

And so was I, or at least I’d thought.

Because a few years later, I did take a life.

The most precious life there was.

A life never meant to be taken.

“I think I found a really good therapist.”

Hallie sat in front of me on the plane. She angled her phone better, showing me a picture of a woman who looked like an older version of herself. “I still don’t know how I’ll afford her, seeing as I’m putting scissors to my parents’ credit card as soon as I get back to Los Angeles, but I’m thinking Keller might let me work at Main Squeeze.”

Staring into her blue eyes, all I could think about was how much I didn’t want her in Los Angeles. How much more affordable it would be for her to move elsewhere and start over. And, naturally, how it would make my life as her bodyguard.

“How will you make rent?”

Her face fell. She hadn’t thought of that. “I guess…I won’t? I’ll have to find something smaller. A studio, maybe. Would you mind very much moving into a studio apartment?”

I wouldn’t mind sharing a tuna can with this woman, but that wasn’t the issue.

“Los Angeles is expensive.” I tried another angle. “And unsafe.”

“Okay, Sherlock.” She quirked an eyebrow, sitting back as the plane took off. “What’s your point? You know I’m not moving to Texas.”

“Texas and California aren’t the only states in the federation.”

“You think I should move somewhere I don’t know?”

“I think you should start fresh.” I reframed it. “Go somewhere where rent is cheap, where the paparazzi won’t hound you.” Or any Bratva members.

She mulled it over, munching on her lower lip. In my defense, moving her elsewhere wouldn’t only benefit me. She didn’t need all the paps swarming around her when shit hit the fan and news started breaking about Craig.

“I guess…Minnesota is beautiful this time of the year.” She looked mystified by the idea of taking a new path, maybe a new identity.

I nodded encouragingly.

Hallie shook her head, suddenly frowning. “No, I can’t do that. I can’t just up and leave. It would send the wrong message. Like I’m running away.”

“You can’t stay in Los Angeles,” I said impatiently, thinking about Kozlov, about stupid Anna, about all the complications.

“Of course, I can.” She smiled. “And if I run into financial issues, at least I’ll have—”

“Your life’s in danger,” I cut her off, tired of orbiting around the same issue.

She blinked, staring at me wide-eyed, as if I’d slapped her. “My life’s in danger?” she repeated, dumbfounded. “How? Why? Craig?”

Digging my fingers into my eye sockets, I let out a shaky breath.

“Nothing to do with him. You’ve been in danger for months,” I said. “Ever since I came into your life, to be exact.”

“Tell me everything.” Her tone was cold, unyielding. She was already a different woman from the one who’d tried to stab me with a soda bottle. She was made of sturdier stuff. And I wondered if she knew it.

“Back when I worked in domestic counter-terrorism, my job was to take down the L.A. Bratva. The Russian mafia operation had gained power quickly and taken control of the streets, especially around Hidden Hills, Westlake Village, and downtown. The illegal gambling and money laundering were bothersome, but not a deal breaker. Human and arms trafficking was where the government drew the line, and it was becoming clear we had a problem on our hands. The year I stepped into the role, thirty-three innocent people were killed by them.”

Her head hung down in sorrow, but she didn’t say anything, which allowed me to finish.

“The ringleader was a guy named Vasily Kozlov. A nasty son of a bitch with an impressive track record for taking the lives of those who crossed him. The mission was to get our hands on him, dead or alive. Breathing was always preferable, but it wasn’t necessary.”

This was the part I dreaded. I took a deep breath. I hadn’t rehashed that day since the moment I’d handed in my resignation and given the agency an on-record statement of what happened. Law knew most of it. Tom, only some.

“One day, we got word of a meeting. Illegal weapons were being exchanged between the Bratva and some NorCal MC club. The hot tip we’d received disclosed the exchange of two hundred 9mms and an array of rifles. The meeting took place in the back of a Georgian restaurant. We raided the joint.”

I stopped and closed my eyes, letting my head drop between my shoulders. I had no clue why I was telling her this. I could’ve given her the short version. The one that wouldn’t paint me as a monster.

But she deserved to know the whole truth.

That I was, in fact, a monster. And monsters could only thrive in the dark. Far away from her and everything she represented.

“Tell me,” she croaked, reaching to touch my hand. “Show me your vulnerabilities. You’ve already seen so many of mine.”

“It was a back-alley raid. We kicked down the exit door. But it was a setup. Kozlov wanted the people on the case—us—slaughtered. We were met with DIY smoke bombs that made it impossible to breathe, let alone see. But I was a stubborn bastard and I just took it as an invitation to hand in Kozlov’s head on a silver platter. I pushed forward with two of my colleagues, barreling through the narrow, dark corridor. I could hear people running, screaming in Russian. Guess they’d thought we’d retreat once we were met with the smoke bombs. Suddenly, I found myself in a room with about a dozen men. One of them was Kozlov.”

I was physically sick with the memory of what happened next. No part of me wanted to continue this story. I slammed my eyes shut.

“He raised his hand and pointed it toward me. I thought he had a gun. Thought he was going to kill me.”

Silence.

“What did you do?”

“I fired three shots,” I croaked. “Straight up the middle.”

I felt my heartbeat in my throat when my lips parted again to finish my story. “Hallie…”

“Yes?”

“He was holding his baby. His two-year-old son. It was his version of a white flag.”

The memory crashed into me all at once.

The crying I’d heard only in retrospect.

The gasps.

The gurgles.

The silence.

The blood. The blood. The blood.

I’d killed a baby. An innocent child. A pure soul, who’d found himself in an unfortunate circumstance.

With the remainder of my energy, I said, “Kozlov survived. The bullets never passed through his son’s body. That toddler was his human shield. I resigned and moved back to Chicago. I knew Kozlov had vowed to avenge his son’s death—and honestly, I couldn’t blame him for that part—but also knew that for him, stepping onto Chicago territory was an issue. Different Bratvas, different jurisdictions. He couldn’t just barge into Chicago and shed blood.”

“But in Los Angeles, he can,” Hallie finished for me.

I nodded. “And he knows I’m with you, which makes you a target, too.”

“Have you ever spoken to anyone about what happened?”

Shaking my head, I let out a soft chuckle. “Who would I talk to? My friend, Law, knows some of the story, but he has his own shit to take care of. Family. A job. He doesn’t have time to be my therapist. Tom’s great, but he is one of Moruzzi’s children. Tom wouldn’t see it as a big deal. We’ve both done some pretty fucked-up shit.”

“You must have more people who care about you.”

“Must I, now?” I gave her a crooked grin.

“Ransom…” She unbuckled her safety belt, shooting to her feet and stepping toward me. She perched her ass on my lap, tucking her chin over the top of my head as she hugged me. “I hate that you’ve been through all this, but I also loathe that you’ve only told me about it right now. That was really stupid.”

“I’m well aware.” My arms circled her waist, an instinct more than anything else. I didn’t speak.

“Look at me now.” She grabbed my face, angling it so our eyes met. “You’re not a monster.”

I smiled grimly. “Spare me the Days of Our Lives moment. I am, and I’ve learned to live with it.”

“You’re not a monster,” she repeated. “You made a mistake. A horrible, innocent mistake. No part of you wanted to kill that child. None.”

I closed my eyes, envisioning the little pudgy thing. I didn’t know how much of it was true and how much was my imagination. The round cheeks. The pillowy rolls on his legs.

“You’re not a monster,” she repeated, louder this time. “You, Ransom Lockwood, will never, ever, ever convince me that you’re a monster.”

It undid me. My face felt hot and wet. Was I…was I crying? What the fuck? I never cried. I doubted I’d cried even as an infant, since the day I was left on that church’s steps.

“They slaughtered my former boss, Ian Holmes. Buried him in his backyard. Kozlov killed a lot of people, Hallie. And none of them deserved it. He needs to be stopped, and it ruins me to know I’m not the man to stop him.”

“It’s not your job to save the world.” She stroked my cheeks, and at that moment, for a brief second, I believed her.

“Don’t fight the emotions you’re experiencing. Feel them.” She kissed my temple, the crown of my head, the tip of my nose. “You’ve been through horrible trauma. You’re allowed to break. Breaking can be good. It gives you the opportunity to reassemble yourself from scratch.”

I looked up at her, catching her lips with mine. It was going to be torture to say goodbye to this woman.

But I was going to do it anyway, when our six months were up.

She deserved much more than I had to give.

We held hands on the drive back to her place, marking the first time I’d held hands with a woman instead of holding someone’s hands above their head. I didn’t hate it. Maybe Hallie was right. Perhaps I, The Robot, could let myself feel every once in a while.

“I think I’ll look at places outside of Los Angeles,” Hallie said as we neared her neighborhood.

“Thank you,” I said quietly, knowing it was because of me. Because of my bullshit, my sins, my mistakes.

“What about Dennis and Ethel?” She sniffed.

I stared at her blankly. Who the fuck were they, her chia pets?

“My driver and his wife,” she explained. “I won’t be able to afford Dennis’ services anymore. They need the income.”

She cared about others. Deeply. It was hard to remember why I’d ever thought she was a shallow little tart.

“Do you have any idea how old Dennis is?”

She shook her head. I did. I knew. Because I’d had every part of her life examined to a T before I flew to Los Angeles.

“He’s sixty-eight.”

“Okay…”

“He doesn’t want to work anymore. He wants to retire.”

Anthony Thorne told me as much on our phone call prior to my taking the job.

“He does?” She winced. “But then… why did he stay?”

“Because of you. He loves you like a granddaughter. I sent him on vacation not as punishment, but because he was exhausted. You were out and about all hours of the night. He couldn’t keep up—he’s not a teenager.”

“How had I not noticed that?” she murmured. “I’ve been a terrible brat.”

“Not so terrible. But a brat, indeed.” I squeezed her hand.

The driver slowed as he approached her neighborhood. Hallie entered the code to open up the gate. It had been a short trip, but it sure packed one hell of a punch.

“That’s weird.” Hallie looked outside the passenger window, craning her neck slightly. “There’s a car I don’t know parked outside my house.”

My skin prickled with awareness. If it was who I thought it was, he was about to enter a world of pain.

The driver stopped a few feet from a red Jaguar convertible.

“Don’t kill the engine,” I instructed, flinging open my side of the door. “Hallie, stay here and don’t get out until I tell you to. Call the police if need be—but do. Not. Leave.”

I got out, slamming the door behind me and walking over to the car, one hand over the gun tucked into my waistband. The car didn’t scream mafia, but maybe it was just a clever disguise.

The door to the Jaguar opened and out slipped Anna.

Let’s-fuck-and-ruin-Hallie-Thorne-Anna.

The good news was that Hallie’s life wasn’t in danger.

The bad news was that mine was, if Hallie ever came face-to-face with the woman.

Anna tossed her bombshell hair to one shoulder, leaning over to kiss both my cheeks.

“Ransom, darling, I’ve missed you.”

“Can’t say the feeling’s mutual.” I pulled away, giving her a once-over. What was she doing here?

“I thought you’d call me.” She gave me a seductive smile.

“Here. Get yourself some better instincts.” I pulled my wallet, tugging out a fifty-dollar bill.

She folded her arms over her chest, refusing to touch the money.

I sighed. “How can I help you, Anna?”

“Well, as you know, we have unfinished business to attend to.”

“Everything’s quite finished,” I supplied. “You shouldn’t have come here.”

How’d she get the address? Stupid question. She worked for a tabloid. Most of her paparazzi colleagues could point her in the right direction with their eyes closed.

“I need a scoop.”

“You need a career change,” I countered. “As I said before, I’m not giving you jack shit on my client.”

She smoothed my shirt, grinning up at me.

“Oh, come on, big guy. I have an even better offer on the table. My boss just green-lit it. Aren’t you at least a bit curious to hear what we’re willing to offer for an exclusive story?”

“Ransom?” I heard a voice from my right. Hallie.

She stepped out of the car, waving the driver goodbye. She must’ve figured Anna posed no danger. That’s where she was wrong.

Anna straightened her back, letting loose a smile.

“Oh, hi, Hallie Thorne. You don’t know me, but I—”

“I know you.” Hallie stopped in front of both of us, and I didn’t like it, how Anna and I looked like a unit together, opposite her. “You wrote a scathing piece about me after my nip slip. Your picture’s right next to your column.”

It was the first time I hurt for someone else, and it was a massive pain in the neck. The empathy sliced through me like a knife. It was almost hard to breathe.

“Great memory!” Anna cooed. “Maybe you weren’t as drugged up as I thought you were.”

“Please don’t let the truth about me mess up with your narrative.” Hallie smiled coldly. “To you, I’ll always be a fuck-up. Now, what are you doing at my house?”

“Ransom and I are old friends.”

“Is that so?” Hallie’s eyes darted to me in question. I gave a curt nod.

“Ransom, would you like to take our conversation somewhere private?” Anna ignored Hallie’s presence, smiling at me.

“You can say whatever you have to say right here.”

“You sure about that?” Anna’s eyes warned me that I wasn’t going to like the next part.

I did not negotiate with terrorists.

“Positive.”

“Well, I was just wondering when we’re going to hook up…” She gave a meaningful beat, studying Hallie with zeal. “Again.”

Hallie froze in her spot. Her face betrayed nothing. But I saw it. The disappointment. It hadn’t appeared when I’d told her I’d killed an innocent child. But it was there now, written all over her face.

Both were mistakes on my end. But only one was in my control.

“Now would seem like a very good time for you two to talk.” Hallie recovered quickly, bumping past my shoulder on her way to her door. “Seeing as I have some things to do.”

The door slammed behind her before I could explain.

“You idiot.” I turned to Anna, rage bubbling in my bloodstream. “What did you do that for?”

“It was the truth, wasn’t it?” Anna asked defiantly.

“A very selective truth,” I spat out. “You knew damn well my chances of ever touching you again with a ten-foot pole were zero on a good day, and most of my days are bad.”

“Still.” Anna opened the door to her Jaguar, slipping inside. “It was worth it. Because now I know without a doubt you’re porking the client, and that’s one hell of a juicy headline. Thanks, pal.”

I pushed the door open, expecting carnage. At the very least, a heavy piece of furniture thrown in my direction.

Instead, I found a human-sized lump on the couch, lying in front of a turned-off TV. She didn’t move until I closed the door, making myself known.

She sat upright, wiping her face on her sleeve.

“I can explain,” I said, not because that’s what men usually said, but because I really, honestly could. There was a good explanation to all of this.

Hallie stood up, making her way upstairs. I followed her, jarred by her lack of response. For the first time in my life, I didn’t know what to do.

“Is it weird that I don’t want you to?” she finally said. “I kind of feel like this is a golden opportunity to cut the cord. It should’ve happened long ago. In fact, I can’t believe we’ve made it this far.”

Was she talking about my post as her bodyguard or about fucking each other’s brains out? Either way, I didn’t like the implication. I wasn’t done with her. Not by a long mile.

She pushed the door to her room open, stepping into her walk-in closet. There, she grabbed out a couple large suitcases, flung them open, and began throwing clothes into them.

“Are you leaving?” I placed an elbow on her wall.

“Eventually.” She tossed a few gowns into the open jaws of her suitcase. “Once I figure out where I’m going.”

“I’m coming with you.”

“No need.” She flung more shirts into a suitcase, still not looking at me. “I’m sure my parents won’t mind you quitting the job at this point. Or, if you still want Dad’s connections, just stay here and we’ll pretend you’re still protecting me. It’d throw the Russians off my scent, anyway.”

She wasn’t wrong.

And still. And still.

“You think I’d stay without you?” Why did it sound so hideous, the idea of being without her? “Is that how you know me?”

Still packing, she said, “I don’t know the first thing about you. That’s the problem.”

“Of course, you know me.”

Or at least, she knew me more than everyone else.

She turned around to face me, clutching a skirt between her fingers. “Fine. You’re right. I do know you. Which is why I know you’ll listen to me this time. I want you to leave. I need to think. I need to be by myself. We’ve been stuck together for weeks now. Or is it months? How long has it been?” She let out a brittle chuckle. “Everything’s been a blur since you stormed into my world. I don’t remember my life without you. Which scares me. I want you to respect my boundaries for once and leave. Don’t call Max, either. I want to be alone.”

“You can’t—”

“You saw firsthand how everybody I know let me down,” she cut me off, her eyes pink, her chin wobbly. “Please. You fucked up. You fucked her. For once in your life, do something altruistic. Let me go.”

“Hallie…”

Nothing else came out. She was right. Nobody respected her wishes. And if I chose not to leave her, I’d be doing the same. But how could I walk away when I knew she could be in danger?

“Leave,” she said quietly. “For me,” she added. “For us.”

I closed my eyes.

I wanted to explain so badly. But she asked me not to. And I couldn’t be one of those people who didn’t give two shits about what she wanted. She deserved better.

“Four hours,” I heard myself say, each word tasting like metal in my mouth. “I’m giving you four hours to cool down. Because you’re right. I do respect your wishes, and if I could take things back…” I faltered. “I would take back our entire beginning. Re-do it.”

She pushed me out of her walk-in closet, closing the door behind her back with a soft click.