“If you can tell me,” I mumble, reaching to palm the bright, hot scar that starts under his arm and ends at his jean line. Owen’s skin twitches and burns my fingers, and I suck my lower lip between my teeth to stop my lip quivering.

  “About two months ago, right before I met you, actually . . . it was the day before you came into the bar with your friends that first time. My brother was getting a shipment in from Mexico. I was after a specific box I’d heard was being transported. I’d done it before; stolen stuff from him, expensive stuff. Anyway, his guys came after me, and one of them went around and knifed me,” I wince at how rough Owen’s voice is, like gravel, and his hand is cold as he covers mine to guide it up his chest. A big, badly healed blotch of scar tissue the size of a silver dollar marks just underneath his collar bone. “When I told Rowlan to fuck off during an argument. I was twelve, I think. He sat on me and shot me with a BB gun.”

  “T-twelve?” Horror churns my gut, but Owen tightens his hand around mine to drag it to the fresh bandage on his shoulder.

  “A couple of years ago, I stole a car from Rowlan. It was supposed to be auctioned off for charity so he could get a tax break, but I just got onto the cargo ship and drove it off. And the thing is, he never even noticed it was missing. It’s not like he does anything himself. He just puts unrealistic expectations on his employees and then gets mad when they can’t fulfill them. I had that car in storage all this time, and then, Friday,” Owen’s voice trembles in residual rage, and the blood drains from my face when he pauses ominously. My hand is completely numb, now. “How dare he . . . how dare he stand there and look at me like he was the one who’d been wronged. How dare he confront me in front of you. So, I spent the weekend thinking on it and decided that if he wanted to come looking for a fight, I would give him a fight.”

  “I took that car to his house, parked it on his lawn, and beat it with a metal bat.” Tearing my eyes off the pristine, white bandage, my heart aches for Owen as hatred and fear battle on his face. “He came running out, and we fought. But I was the one that walked away. I didn’t have to slink, limping, crawling in shame and hoping no one saw me. He pulled a gun on me. He’s done it before.”

  A pin-prickle pain engulfs my hand when Owen folds all but two of my fingers and holds the other two under his chin. Goosebumps blanket my entire body, and I gulp harshly as he blinks back tiny, reluctant tears. “When I was seventeen, a while before my father killed himself, Rowlan and I were playing a game. Wii Bowling. And he just talked so much shit. It drove me nuts, but God only knew that Rowlan always had to win. But that time, I won, and he put a gun in my mouth and cocked it. Spit in my face and told me if I ever not let him win again, he’d blow my head off . . . which is ironic, because that’s how my father ended up going—a gun in his mouth.”

  “When I made Rowlan buy me out of our father’s company.” Suddenly holding my palm against his left side, just below his pectoral muscle, Owen clears his throat gutturally. My sober mind shrinks from the seemingly never-ending injuries all inflicted by his own brother. “He stabbed me with a pen, because I wouldn’t just sign out. And he did it in front of his lawyer, who wasn’t a family lawyer, mind you. So he essentially backed himself in a corner and was forced to pay my price.”

  “There’s a couple other inconsequential ones. When I scratched myself falling off the pier stealing some stuff from him. I broke my foot once running from his guys. I bet you regret asking, huh?” Blinking at the question, the amused lilt in Owen’s tone draws my gaze, and I suck in a sharp breath before nodding. His mouth twitches, in a smile or a grimace, I’m not sure, but it doesn’t really matter. Releasing my hand, he just stands there, and I wrap my arms around his waist to hug him tightly. A hot, clammy palm pats down my hair, and I sniffle harshly as my emotions gradually begin to break through my numb shell. “Yeah. It’s alright to be upset. I really didn’t wanna tell you at all, let alone so soon. If you’re wondering, I’m not a sniveling, drugged up mess purely out of spite. My father and my brother . . . I refuse to be anything like them, and that has the strange side effect of being a decent person.”

  He is hot against my forehead, and the bridge of my nose tingles wildly when he speaks, his voice reverberating through me. His muscles are taut and quivering, and his skin is slick and musky from sweat. Telling me had taken a physical toll on him that I can feel, and I lean back to drag him on top of me.

  Bracing his arms on the back of the sofa, Owen grunts lowly before propping his knees on the couch cushions. There’s nothing in my chest, not even my heart beats. Owen’s the one that went through all that. How could I cry like I even began to understand? Cupping the back of my head, he strokes my hair sluggishly . . . comforting me.

  “I wouldn’t blame you for walking away, Kaitlyn.” My breath hitches at Owen’s encouraging tone, and I shake my head mutely. What could I say? Nothing. There is nothing I could say, and Owen had probably heard it all anyway. I’m sorry. I don’t know what to say. That’s awful. Who could do that? They were so redundant it’s sickening, and my cheeks threaten to melt as pressure builds behind my eyes. “Maybe not this second.”

  “What’s wrong with people?” I whisper, muffled against his abdomen, and his muscles play as Owen carefully lowers himself onto the sofa. The couch is well deep enough for both of us, but he wraps himself around me and works his arm under my head. Pressing his lips to my crown, he mumbles illegibly, so gently compared to the horrific, painful stories he’d told me. Somewhere, in my mind, a thought manages to wiggle through the veil that blankets me, and I hiccup a gasp. “A-and Mike . . . he-he did that?”

  “He’s a true treasure of a person. Yeah, Michael stitched all these up and a few more. I’m not sure you’re ready for me to take my pants off, though,” I snort a sob at his stupid attempt at a joke and shudder violently as a dark shiver races down my spine. “You don’t owe me anything, Kaitlyn. You don’t owe me shit for simply knowing I had a crap childhood. I’m not gonna hold it over you.”

  “I know.” Croaking harshly, I close my eyes, but can’t open them again. Owen continues playing with my hair comfortingly. My thoughts just can’t churn, the numbness in my hands spreading up my arms. “What do I do now?”

  “Sometimes, there’s nothing you can do or say. You just have to deal with it as best you can in whatever way you can. For me, I like to drink a little and eat a lot of Chinese food from this particular place that’s honestly not very good, but for some reason, it’s delicious whenever I get hurt.” My stomach churns at the idea of food or alcohol, and I shake my head hastily before Owen grumbles in understanding. “We can just stay here until you’re ready to go back downstairs.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Owen

  I awake instantly when Kaitlyn stiffens against me, twisting to pull out the knife in my pocket and throw it blindly at the door. The thunk of the blade bouncing off the wood frame echoes like a bell, and I lift my head to find Michael standing leisurely in the doorway. Pulling out the knife from an inch away from his face, he only casts me a sympathetic smile before a tiny gasp draws my gaze away.

  Kaitlyn stares up at me with wide, tortured brown eyes, and I sit up hastily to sniff harshly and rub my eyes with weak fists. Soft, smooth fingertips slip up my back before I throw my legs over the couch to plant my feet on the floor.

  “What?” Rasping hoarsely, I rub my neck and clear my throat roughly. God, the day after always sucks. My arm feels about ready to fall the fuck off, and I pinch the bridge of my nose gingerly. Rolling in its socket, my eye catches Michael’s easily in the well-lit living room. “What time is it?”

  “Noon. Ryan’s here. And he brought friends. I didn’t want to wake you up, but Kaitlyn’s phone has been going off, too.” Groaning in foreboding, I rub my face roughly before running both my hands up into my hair. “He brought breakfast too. Hurry up before it’s inedible.”

  “Yeah, I’ll be down in a second,” I reply, and Michael leaves the doorway to head down the stairs, leaving the barrier open. Pressing her cheek dead square against the middle of my back, Kaitlyn’s tear stains roughen her porcelain skin. I can feel them, hot trails down that are still wet. “How’re you feelin’?”

  “Empty. I had a dream.” Grimacing at her raspy murmur, I wince as she sighs a drained, hot sigh down my back. “Y-you know how people say . . . God came to them in a dream? I had a dream . . . there was a ship on fire, and it was dark. Then, the skies opened up, and I was on the ship, and it was flooding with rain. Do you think that’s stupid? I don’t know. I never have dreams like that.”

  “I think that’s a very interpretive dream. Did you pray for me?” My mouth dries as I struggle to come up with words, and I twist to find her bright eyes watching me with so much hope and pain. All the pain she feels for me, the pain I’m numb to now, and all the hope that it would lessen for whatever reason. Shame creeps into her eyes at my question, and I cup the side of her head tenderly. “That’s very sweet of you. I appreciate it.”

  “Even though you don’t believe in God?” Did I want to have this conversation just waking up? Nah, not really, but it’s coming for me anyway. Standing up to stretch my body long, I shake myself out before holding out my hand for her. Kaitlyn hesitates before reaching for me, her hand shaking when her fingertips glide along my palm.

  “You do, though. According to your beliefs, he’s all powerful and omniscient. I take it as a compliment that you’d . . . beseech someone all powerful for my sake.” Kaitlyn’s expression is shaken, almost uneasy, and I squeeze her hand as she stands up to smooth her shirt. “Don’t make that face. Seriously, Kaitlyn. I’m not being patronizing, that’s really what I think.”

  “I know you’re not, it’s just . . .” Biting out the reply, Kaitlyn covers her cheeks with her fingers to bluster a wheezing sigh. My heart aches for her; I really fucked up dumping all that shit on her. Even if she’d said I could tell her, she didn’t really know what that kinda permission meant. “Why didn’t you ever call someone?”

  “Who would I call? My parents had money, looked good, could lie their asses off . . . and a lot of this didn’t start until I was older. If I went into foster care as a teenager, it would be worse than staying at home, but at least . . . at home, I had the security of knowing what I was in for. Everyone in the extended family turned a blind eye. I couldn’t go to them, because then my father would throw a fit. At home, I might’ve been walking on eggshells, but I had free access to money, an education, and I was relatively comfortable.” Cupping her cheeks as her chin wobbles dangerously, I force a smile onto my face that I know she doesn’t believe. “It’s okay, Kaitlyn. Besides, you know how it goes. I have to work on what I can change and hope I have the tolerance and flexibility to deal with what I can’t change.”

  “‘Grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference’ . . . the Serenity Prayer,” I can see it in her eyes that it makes her feel better, and Kaitlyn takes a shuddering, but stable breath and holds it. “I’m sorry. You’re right. You can’t go back in time, and to think of what could’ve happened is its own special torture.”

  “I know what would’ve happened. My father would’ve killed me and buried me where no one would ever find me, and he would have gotten away with it. That’s the kind of man he was, and that’s why I’m glad he’s dead. Come on, now. Let’s go eat.” Exhaling a harsh sigh, Kaitlyn jerks her head in a nod before following me out of my apartment. Holding her hand on the narrow staircase, I smile warmly up at her. “I do gotta say . . . I would’ve felt terrible lying about it the longer it went on. It’s not like I can take off my shirt and people immediately realize what they are. There’s always an explanation, always pity, and questions.”

  “I can . . . I can get through it, I think . . . I think . . . I think I’m gonna go to church tonight, though.” The more we aired, the more stable her voice, and satisfaction blossoms in my chest delicately. I had wanted to keep Kaitlyn around, but not at the sake of her innocence or because of her charity. Reaching the landing, I push open the door to the bar, and my gaze immediately lands on Ryan. He lifts his water bottle at me in acknowledgment, and I tug Kaitlyn behind me as wariness aches behind my eyes.

  “Yo,” Ryan says simply, and I scan him with a slight sneer before my eyes flicker to the other two men flanking him. “Ethan and Mark, my younger brothers. I told them what happened yesterday, and they wanted to meet you.”

  Seriously? Both these guys look nasty, one’s sporting a Special Forces tattoo, even. Wait, how old is Ryan if his younger brother was Special Forces? Holy shit.

  “Kaitlyn, I called you a cab, sweetheart. You don’t wanna be here for this. It’s top secret.” Michael strolls over to hold up Kaitlyn’s purse, and I nod gratefully at him as he wraps an arm around her to practically drag her out from behind me. “Let’s go wait outside.”

  “W-wait, but—” Except her protest dies almost as soon as it begins when Michael shakes his head sternly, and she casts me a forlorn, worried look. Keeping eye contact with Ryan, I walk over to him before he pushes a familiar take-out bag at me across the bar. The smell of Chinese food wafts up my nose and curls my nostril hairs, and my mouth waters as I untie the bag hastily.

  “How old are you?” I ask as I pull out a container, glancing over at him briefly when he props his elbow on the bar to tap his cheek knowingly.

  “Thirty-eight in a month.” My hand stiffens in surprise; that meant my father was in his early twenties when Ryan was born. Ryan chuckles darkly, and I inhale sharply through my nose before continuing rummaging through the bag. “Don’t look so sick. You’re pretty banged up, aren’t you? I didn’t think it’d look so . . . bad.”

  “I could’a sworn you were barley older than me. Got that babyface gene, at least. Not the other two.” Ryan throws back his head and laughs, but the other two were just . . . stony faced and silent. It is fucking unnerving, honestly, feeling them staring at me, but doing and saying nothing. “You wanna fight or somethin’? I just woke up, so gimme a couple minutes.”

  “I have a job for you, and I was hoping you’d bring Ethan and Mark with you if you accept.” Once again, Ryan throws me for a loop, and I stop what I’m doing to look at him fully. “Like you already know, stealing from Rowlan isn’t a real test of your skills, and I told you the last time I wanted to see you in action. I trust my brothers, and I’d like to trust you, too, Owen.”

  “You want one of them to watch me, but you want the other to kill for me,” I surmise quickly, and Ryan’s expression morphs with impression as I shrug lightly. Wincing when the stitches in my shoulder tug my tender flesh, I reach to grip the spot tenderly. “What’s the job?”

  “I don’t want to take your attention away from the ship, but knowing you, you’re just playing the waiting game now. The deal is happening in a week. I’m not going to interfere. I have all the info you could want for this job. I just need someone who can crack safes. Specifically, the vault inside the Benson Financial Archives of the Benson Architectural group.” My mouth dries at that as Ryan’s eyes narrow into slits eyeing me critically, and I sluggishly pick up a carton of chow mein. He clearly knows the difficulty of what he is asking, and the air charges with electricity the longer the silence stretches. Ripping open the packaging of a plastic fork, I stir my breakfast as my mind travels elsewhere.

  “They’re a military contractor. I’ve looked into them before, just to know. They design and build bases overseas,” I mutter more to myself than him; not many people didn’t know of the Benson group. “Their financial archives are protected by a thirty-inch magnetized door in the sub-basement of their headquarters. Double plated insular panels of magnesium sheets that react when the vault is breached by the heat of a drill. Computerized and automated code reconstitution every day. This isn’t a job for a safe cracker; it’s a job for a hacker. What’s in there you want so bad?”

  “Nothing. I just wanna see if you can get in,” Ryan says matter-of-factly, and I roll my eyes at the egregious balls he’s got on him. “For a guy like you, it’d be easy to find a work around, no? I mean, you seriously plan on infiltrating my ship with suction cups and a knife.”

  “Gimme what you got, and I’ll think about it. And if I can’t figure out a way in?”

  “I’ll kill you.” Seriousness deepens Ryan’s voice as he responds immediately, staring at me to show just how much he means business. Inhaling deeply, I shovel a forkful of noodles into my mouth as we stare at each other dumbly. “I don’t need someone as dangerous as you outside my network. If you honestly can’t do the job—”

  “Don’t do that,” I grumble around my mouthful, cutting Ryan off, and his brows arch in surprise and alarm. “When you’re lying, don’t stare directly at someone for long. Plus, don’t answer so quick. Also, your argument is dumb. If I can’t do the job, what? Nothing. Because it’s not about can or can’t, it’s about will and won’t. And I gave you my answer, Ryan. I’ll look at it and get back to you. If I know I can’t pull off the job, I’ll tell you, and you’re just gonna have to suck it the fuck up. I’m not a professional vault cracker. I’m decent at safe cracking, but the fact that you think they’re interchangeable is telling me you don’t know jack shit. You’ll have to do better than that.”

  “Told you so, Ryan.” For the first time, Mark speaks up—or is it Ethan?—and sniggers slightly as Ryan scrunches up his nose in distaste. He nudges his brother with his elbow, and I roll my eyes with a slight scoff. “I told him so. You owe me a hundo, Ethan.”

  Chapter Thirteen

 

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