“Yeah. I know, for me, seeing them side by side was powerful. I thought you’d appreciate it. It belonged to our maternal great grandfather. It never mattered who got it, as long as that person knew how important it is.” Fondness thickens Ryan’s tone, and I blink back the sting in my eyes. I don’t even want to dare touch the Mark I. Gingerly lowering the top of the box, I inhale deeply and clear my throat roughly. Covering my mouth with the backs of my fingers, I struggle to breathe under the monumental weight now on my shoulders.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Owen

  Stepping out of the bar, I rub my leg high up from where Ryan had stabbed me and turn only to freeze. Kaitlyn and her family walk down the sidewalk, utterly involved in themselves. Watching her before she notices me, I smile warmly at how at ease and happy she seems. She is beautiful, regal, almost, and I lean against the wall to wait on baited breath. Eventually, she looks away from her sister, and I lift a hand in a discreet wave before a huge, beautiful smile stretches her lips.

  “Owen.” Her chattering family pauses as she rushes toward me, and my own smile widens before I lean to kiss her cheek. “Hey, hi. Is your nose broken?”

  Alarm rings in her tone, and I wave away her concern easily. “Ryan and I talked this morning. I was about to text you, aren’t you supposed to have dinner with your parents tonight?”

  “U-um, well . . . it, it kinda . . .” Faltering in dismay, Kaitlyn’s smile dulls, and I glance over her shoulder as she shuffles uncomfortably. “It’s okay, though. We’re gonna get breakfast tomorrow morning before they fly back to Arizona.”

  “You don’t believe that do you?” Agitation slithers through my palms, but I can’t say much more when Kaitlyn casts me a hard look. Her parents and sister roll up on us first, and I frown disapprovingly before she looks away. I scan the older couple briefly, plastering a smile on my face as I hold out my hand to her father. “Hi, I’m Owen. It’s nice to meet you.”

  “Jack.” Holding my hand tightly and for too long, he smiles friendly before I shake Kaitlyn’s mother’s hand. “How’s your weekend been so far?”

  “I’m doing well. How’re you liking Seattle?” I bite back the question I really wanna ask, what the fuck is wrong with you? But Kaitlyn is daring me with her eyes to say something, and I gesture at my bar to open my mouth. “If you want to get a drink, it’s on me. Mike’s inside, but he’s not in a good mood right now. I have to run out for a bit, but I don’t think it’ll take more than ten or fifteen minutes.”

  “Is he okay?” Concern furrows her brows, and I wince as I reach to rub the back of my neck awkwardly.

  “I think you should definitely keep it to ordering, for sure,” I warn her, and Kaitlyn puffs out her lips with worry before nodding. Satisfaction worms through my veins, and I turn to her father to nod at him politely. “You can interrogate me when I get back.”

  I make to walk off the opposite way Kaitlyn’s family had come, but the hard screeching of wheels shatters through the night like lightning. My head snaps up, and dread curdles my blood as a familiar, sleek car comes barreling down the road. Grabbing Kaitlyn, I shove her through the bar doors and jerk her family through. The atmosphere crackles with electricity as I look over my shoulder and see my brother behind the wheel.

  The air knocks from my lungs as realization creeps up on me, and I leap out of the way before Rowlan crashes into the front of the bar. Horrified shrieks leak out of the gaping hole in the building, and I sit up to shake my head viciously. Echoing in my ears, a door slams, and I tense as a sudden shot rings out. A bullet ricochets off the concrete, and I roll away hastily as disbelief squeezes my heart.

  Twice in one day? Seriously? Well, Rowlan’s here to kill me for stealing his stuff.

  “Owen! Owen, get up!” Shouting wildly, Kaitlyn’s voice barely rises above the ringing in my ears. Rowlan stumbles out from behind the car, probably still drunk from celebrating the deal, or at least massively hung over. Bracing himself on the trunk of his car, he aims at me, and my throat tightens. “Owen!”

  “Shut up, you bitch, or I’ll kill you! I’ll kill you!” The world boils down to only the two of us as he points the gun into my destroyed bar haphazardly. Rage twists Rowlan’s face, and I stand up against the skittering, roiling apoplectic fury that seizes my muscles. He wipes his face with his sleeve, turning to me with eyes glazed in anger and betrayal. His lip curls in a vicious snarl and I straighten as all emotion drains from my chest. I can’t feel my heart beating, can’t hear my blood in my ears, and can’t feel the knife in my hand.

  My eyelid twitches, setting off a ripple effect through my body, and I lunge at my brother. Nearly foaming at the mouth with rage, I duck sharply when Rowlan takes a shot, and I glare at him hotly. Every part of me is hot, boiling blood and melting muscles fueled by the silence around me. Slamming my shoulder into Rowlan’s gut, I send him flying off his feet with a guttural cry. Jumping onto his chest, I slam my fists into his face as the silence, the stillness, around me grows deeper. Darker.

  The pop of a gun against my side shatters that silence, and I jolt back as Rowlan screeches at me like a banshee. Another bullet carves its way up my chest, and I roll back to pant harshly as red replaces all the color in my vision. My shirt becomes heavy with my blood even as it flaps open wildly. Standing up on weak legs, I clutch my side as pain digs deep into my gut. “Fuck! Fuck!”

  Snarling nastily, I tear off my shirt to turn to my brother as he struggles to get on his hands and knees. His gun scrapes against the concrete, and I stumble over to him to rear back my leg. In slow motion, I kick Rowlan in the gut with so much force his knees and hands lift off the ground, and he pukes up blood speckled bile. The stench of vodka wells up from beneath him, and I step on his head to grind his face into the pavement. He struggles, waving his gun around, even popping off a shot down the street to lodge into the sidewalk.

  But a horrendous blast knocks me off my feet and addles my brain on its stem. Flying into the street, the air threatens to burst my lungs as I struggle to breathe. Toxic smoke flies over and around me, and I groan as I roll onto my side. Blood slickens my hand as I clutch my side, but the pain lessens on the ebb of intense ringing in my ears. Blinking hard, I gasp wildly, futilely, and manage to get to my feet to look around for Rowlan. That motherfucker.

  I snatch my switchblade off the burning asphalt with trembling fingers, wandering over to his lifeless body. Lifeless? Maybe, but I can’t take that chance. Kneeling down on his back, I bury my free hand in his hair to yank his head up.

  “Owen! No! Don’t!” I pause adjusting the knife in my grip, and soft, wet hands grab my arm to stop me swinging down. Her grip, scared and shaking, is enough to tug me back, and Kaitlyn wraps herself around me to press her palm against my forehead. Holding my head to her cheek, she’s cold and trembling against my numb raging fire. “Stop. Stop, it’s okay. I’m here, it’s okay.”

  “Kaitlyn, watch out!” Michael’s voice rings out, and I jerk around to cover Kaitlyn before the car sets off a secondary explosion. Burning metal slices along my back, and I cry out as spittle and blood dribble from my nose and lips. Powerful hands grab her to drag her out from under me, and Kaitlyn screams in horror. Her feet kick me as she struggles, and I cover my head as an intense fire busts through the front window still intact. Flames stretch out overhead, and goosebumps blanket my body as ice lodges in my chest.

  Climbing onto my hands and knees, I crack open my eyes, but I can’t see anything other than bleary, fuzzy figures. Faintly, sirens sound, and I crawl towards Kaitlyn’s frantic shrieking. I’m gonna die.

  What the fuck is this shit? I fucking had it! I had Kaitlyn, money, and a job I did for pleasure. I was going to impress her family, and we were going to get married in a big church.

  But now, that is fading right in front of my eyes. All because of Rowlan.

  “Rowlan.” Muttering frothy, I clamor to my feet to turn around and walk away from Kaitlyn. No, I couldn’t let him have the chance to survive if I’m not going to. Grabbing a piece of shrapnel off the floor, I drop heavily next to my brother to raise the hot metal high. “Fuck you.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Kaitlyn

  “He chopped a guy’s head off with the bumper of a car! I don’t care what she says, Kaitlyn is coming back with us today!” My mom’s horrified whispers are too loud in my ears, and a horrendous ache forms behind my eyes. Holding Owen’s hand to my lips, I whisper against the back of his palm and pray harder than I’d ever done before. Sniffling harshly, I crack open my swollen, pained eyes to stare at Owen’s abused body covered in bandages. Even Michael couldn’t fix this much damage, and a sob clogs my throat hotly. “I knew moving so far away was g—”

  “Mom, let’s take this conversation somewhere else.” My mom protests, but it grows fainter and fainter before the sliding of a door closing sounds and blocks the noise. My eyelids flutter closed, and I heave a shuddering sigh of relief. Ducking my head, I wipe back my tears with my free hand before gulping down the dense lump in my throat.

  “O-Owen . . . Owen, please wake up. I’m still here. I’m n-not goin’ anywhere.” Stuttering harshly, I whimper pathetically, but Owen can’t reply. He’d been in surgery, and I thought that was a long, arduous wait. Only now, he just wouldn’t wake up. “I’m not mad, I promise. I pr-promise . . . I won’t be mad if y-you just . . . wake up.”

  “He’ll wake up,” Tensing, I glance over as Michael slips into the room, and he smiles sympathetically as I rub my bloodshot, aching eyes. “Trust me. He’ll wake up. Owen won’t let Rowlan kill him.”

  “That’s not . . .” My mouth dries as I turn to Owen. It is comforting, actually. Walking over to me to put a hand on my back, Michael drags a chair to sit next to me as I reach to stroke Owen’s forehead. “I d-don’t understand.”

  “Rowlan’s deal with Ryan was signed Monday morning, and assuming he celebrated the way he always did.” Pausing as my brain struggles to keep up, Michael sighs softly. “Are you okay, Kaitlyn? You hurt yourself pretty bad climbing down the fire escape. How’s your leg?”

  “Why did this happen?” I ask in dismay, my voice cracking harshly, and I look over at Michael as he grimaces. “Why did this happen, Mike?”

  “I don’t think there’s an answer, Kaitlyn,” Turning back to Owen’s pale face, a tube sticking up into his nostrils, I bite my bottom lip hard against the sobs that threaten to shatter me. My heart struggles to beat around the ice lodged deep inside and I reach a trembling hand to his cheek. “You’re a beautiful person, sweetheart. I think that Owen would’ve been fine letting things stay as they were until you entered the picture. He’s never had a good reason to . . . stop his brother or the threat Rowlan posed. And Rowlan wasn’t the kind of man you wanted around if he had too much time and too many targets. When it was just him, Owen could handle it.”

  “Look at you.” Mumbling softly, Owen’s voice crackles like lightning, and I sit up hastily as he licks his lips and takes a deep, painful breath. “Gettin’ all . . . philosophical.”

  “Oh, oh, thank God, you’re awake.” His hand flexes in mine in a weak attempt to clutch, and tears stream down my face as relief crashes through me. Smirking faintly, he doesn’t try to open his eyes, but that doesn’t matter when he mumbles again. The sound of his voice is like a saint singing, and I tremble as I try to contain my sobs to listen.

  “I have been. I like listening to you pray . . . but don’t . . . forget the doctor.” A harsh half sob, half laugh escapes me, and I stroke his cheek with a cold hand. “What hospital are we at?”

  “Saint Damian Memorial,” Michael answers, and I look between them as Michael stands up and Owen finally cracks open his eyes with so much effort. “You want me to pay off the cop?”

  “Yeah. I bet Ryan’s already . . . on it, though. My pants, in the pocket,” His chest deflates dramatically, and Owen winces as he gropes himself blindly. Tilting his head to stare at me through bleary, heavy-lidded eyes, his smile tenderizes as my mouth dries. “You so brave, huh? I felt the rain. Warm, just like you.”

  “You’re s-so . . .” Tears well in my eyes and clog my throat, and Owen reaches a weak hand to caress my cheek. Holding his palm to my face, I close my eyes and savor his unnaturally hot touch. Even after the crash, killing his brother, and four hours of surgery, he is worried about me and my feelings. “I was so worried . . . so worried, Owen. I thought you wouldn’t wake up.”

  “This is nothin’. He couldn’t shoot straight . . . to save his l-life. Scratches.” Owen’s pained voice betrays his callous words, and I smile thinly, tightly, before he closes his eyes again. “Do me a favor? Go . . . to this Chinese place. I could really . . . go for some chow mein.”

  “Kaitlyn, come on, sweetheart.” I’m hit with dread and sense of déjà vu at Michael’s words. He grabs my bicep gently, but firmly to tug. “I think you could do with some fresh air. Me, too.”

  “What? No, he can’t have outside food. He—” But Michael casts me a stern look—a darker, more moving look than I’d seen on him so far, and my protest dries on my tongue. Wincing as I pull my hand away from Owen, I stand up onto weak knees as reluctance drags my feet. Leaving the room silently, I turn to Michael, but all my energy drains at the sight of him looking so haggard. “Why? Why are we leaving? What about . . . what if something happens?”

  “Kaitlyn.” He cups my face with both his hands, and my skin jumps at how cool and dry his palms are. Smiling warmly, Michael is the picture of confidence and sympathy. “I’m gonna tell you a story, and this hospital room isn’t the best place to do so. Come on. He’ll be okay.”

  “Why not?” I ask dazedly, but Michael’s lips only thin as he shakes his head before wrapping a secure arm around my waist. He holds me up as we walk around the bustling nurses’ station, and the world whirls around me in a series of blurs and streaks of color. “H-he’s really . . . he’s okay?”

  “He’ll be fine. The bullet missed his lung and came out his back, and the fire didn’t do much damage. A couple months, and he’ll be back to his usual self,” Michael pauses suddenly, stiffening against my side, and I swing my head when my eyes refuse to move in their sockets. My sister comes rushing after my mom and dad, and dread curdles the blood in my veins. But Michael steps in front of me to hold out his arm, and my knees wobble dangerously without his support. “Before you begin, I’d like to remind you that your daughter is in shock and unwell. Yelling at her will only stress her out more.”

  His voice is calm, and Jessie urges my mom back as I peek around Michael to watch my dad stand toe to toe with him. My dad is a mouse confronted with a lion, that much is clear, even as he puffs out and turns an angry red in the face. But Michael, he truly is a treasure of a human being as he holds up a hand.

  “Don’t make me put you down myself.” My dad’s expression grows wild at the threat, and I rest my forehead against Michael’s back to exhale a shuddering breath I didn’t realize I was holding. “If you’re going to say anything at all, you should re-prioritize your feelings. You don’t matter and thinking you do is a mistake. I’m taking Kaitlyn outside for air.”

  I can’t hear whatever my parents start saying, their voices too high for my sensitive, addled mind to process. Their voices intertwine as harsh white noise, and the headache above my nose intensifies as Michael’s back ripples when he holds up his other hand.

  “Why are they here if you care so much for her? She specifically told you not to come, and you told her no one else was able to tag along. Do you know how much she was looking forward to hanging out with just her parents? Not only did you just unilaterally decide to go back on what she wanted, but did you even tell her congratulations for her position on her team?” Saying the words I had never dared. Michael’s onslaught of questions earns him silence. Or maybe, my brain’s just unable to comprehend. “That’s what I thought. I would sit here and think, how good of parents are you in this moment?”

  Michael once again turns around to grip me under my arms, and I look back as my sister absolutely blows up on my parents. Shouting so loud even my scrambled brain can pick up accusatory words. So, she really didn’t know how bad this weekend was?

  That made me feel a little better, at least, but not much.

  When I blink, we are outside on the ground floor of a garden deep in the hospital. Michael places me on a bench to sit next to me and prop me up. The haze I’m immersed in lifts as I breathe fresh air, the stench of chemicals absent, and I lean my head on his shoulder. “Thank you.”

  “I’m not going to vilify your parents, but they haven’t impressed me thus far,” he says roughly, and I hum a crackled sound in acknowledgment as he wraps his arm around my shoulders. “Just breathe. Listen to my voice and calm yourself. Everything will be okay. Owen’s going to recover, he’s done so from worse. Far worse. I’m gonna keep talkin’, so just close your eyes and listen. I’m gonna tell you the story about how a beautiful, little boy came into this world and realized too young just how depraved and unfair life was. But the important part isn’t the circumstances of how he was raised . . . it’s how he overcame it all and became the man he is today. A kind and considerate man who has struggled with the guilt of loving a woman who’s too good for him.”

  I do as I’m told, closing my eyes and grasping tightly at Michael’s voice as it wraps around me securely, softly, but strong and firm. Staying very still, he only moves to take a deep, preparatory breath and hold it for a pregnant second. The ice in my chest gradually begins to melt as he speaks up, his voice steady and monotone and very, very deliberate.

 

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