Black bird a nevermore d.., p.75
Black Bird: A Nevermore Duet, page 75
“You don’t owe me anything, Gloves. If what you say is true, you were just a kid. A kid trying to find her own way.” He pointed a long finger at her. “And you did. You became one of the best I’ve ever had the pleasure of working beside. Someone else’s actions don’t fall on you just because they’re not alive to own up to them.”
Rhaena took a nervous sip from her coffee and blew out a heavy breath. “I can’t believe you’ve been right here all this time, and I never figured you out.”
Foley snorted, “Yeah, well … I only just figured out the same thing about you. So that makes two of us. I can’t thank you both enough for your help. I’m sorry about breaking into your place.”
“Stop, no … it’s really not the strangest thing I’ve come home to. I live next door to a vamp.”
Foley choked on his coffee. “Kane … have you heard from him? What happened to Stratford? And his kid? Is his kid alive?”
“Yeah, about that—” Rhaena was about to brief him on what had happened after he took off into the woods, but a sound knock on the door startled them. Jenkins went to answer it. There were muffled voices, and he reared his head back to look at her.
“Foster.” He jerked his head in permission to let her in and Rhaena exchanged looks with Foley, who nodded. Foster shouldered her way in with several large files. She took one look at the captain, and the tight robe he wore, and grinned as she shook her head.
“Good. You’ll have help, Northwood,” she said, dropping the files to the kitchen table. “I took the liberty of bringing over all the shit you guys thought you were gonna leave me with. How fresh is that coffee? We’ve got a lot to catch up on.”
Wren sat down her third cup of chocolate pudding, the plastic spoon hanging from her swollen mouth as she pried open another. She’d barely touched the rest of the breakfast they’d sent up, and twice now, she’d snagged the line of her IV on the corner of the tray, cursing under her breath at the plastic tube. She took the spoon from her mouth and licked the pudding off the foil before tossing it onto the tray. Commotion sounded from outside her door, and she leaned forward, nervousness settling in her stomach as she eyed the open doorway. She heard a nurse mention something about visiting hours, and then a couple of familiar voices, and her heart skipped. She couldn’t stop the oncoming tears as Sarah barged in.
“Wren!” Sarah cried, rushing to her bedside. She slid away the cart, and threw her arms open, crying softly as Sarah wrapped her in a tight hug. “Holy shit … holy shit …” she whispered against Wren’s cheek. When they finally pulled apart, Wren glanced over Sarah’s shoulder to see Athan standing—with a bloody white t-shirt—against the door. He smirked at her, pocketing his hands and inching forward. “Jesus … your eye.” Sarah pointed out, inspecting every inch of her face. “Dammit, I should have never let you leave that apartment.”
“Stop. It’s not your fault. Besides,” Wren waved a hand around the room, “I’ve got heated blankets and room service at this joint. And …” She reached for her pudding. “All the damn pudding I can eat.”
Athan stood at the foot of the bed. “Are you alright?”
“Well … my fucking parents refuse to stay home, so there’s that. I could use a very expensive blowout for Christmas. I’ve got a concussion, and one good eye … but Conrad got his head blown off.” She gave a tight shrug, spooning pudding into her mouth. “I’d say I’m more than alright in that aspect of things.”
“I’m so sorry, Wren. I—I heard about Brent … I’m—” Sarah paused, shaking her head. Wren lowered the pudding cup to her lap, unable to keep more tears from coming.
“He hasn’t opened his eyes since he came out of surgery. At least, that’s what they tell me. They won’t let me see him.” Wren sniffled, wiping beneath her swollen eye. “He didn’t even hesitate, Sarah. As soon as Conrad pointed that gun at me, he—” She shook her head, her face crumpling. Sarah leaned forward, hugging her again. “How did you hear about it? Did you talk to Rhaena?”
“I called her on the way over,” Athan answered. “Cap was okay, too. He ended up at her place. I have to say, I wasn’t expecting that part.”
“What happened to you?” Wren asked, pointing her spoon toward him. “Did you—was it Dahlia?” She leaned back, looking at Sarah … this time noticing something oddly different about her. Her eyes were different … her face more defined. Her hair even seemed glossier, and her movements a bit more fluid. “Oh, my God … oh my—”
Sarah stared at her as if she were afraid Wren would sound off some kind of alarm or break into a run. “There’s a lot I need to talk to you about.” Wren flashed her good eye to Athan again, and he turned to close the door.
“Did you do this? What happened with Dahlia?” Wren tossed her pudding cup onto the cart and sat up straighter. Athan stepped up behind Sarah who situated herself on the side of the bed.
“Dahlia’s done. Well done, if I’m being frank.” Sarah’s mouth turned up in the corner, and Athan snorted. “We sort of … kidnapped Nick Specter and forced him to help bleed me dry at EverLife. Athan saved my life. The only way I could live through it was for him to turn me. I’m okay. I promise.”
Wren’s eye narrowed. “Bleed you dry? What the fuck for? What did you do, Sarah?”
“I used my blood to turn the coven against her. It worked. The coven is free. We put the bitch down. Fried her sunny-side-up this morning on the rooftop of the club.”
“Why would you risk that? Tell me you didn’t put yourself through this for me.” Wren’s voice shook as she took in her best friend’s strange new face. She looked the same, but—different. She was beautiful before, but now … she was fucking flawless. Otherworldly. It gave Wren the same feeling of amazement anyone would have when they looked at Athan Kane. Just being around them was captivating.
“I thought she had you. Regardless if she did or didn’t … this would have had to happen anyway, Wren. Neither one of those bastards would have ever stopped coming for me. I wasn’t gonna let one more person lose their life for my sake. She wanted my blood so she could live like Athan lives. The coven won’t come after me for it. They have it. None of us will ever have to look over our shoulders again. This will never happen to you again, do you understand?” Wren nodded, and Sarah reached up, tucking a loose strand of hair behind Wren’s ear. Her lip wobbled, and she sighed deeply as she took in all the obvious injuries to her face.
“This isn’t your fault, Sarah,” Wren offered, taking her hand and squeezing it. “People just fucking suck sometimes. I guess it would upset the natural balance of things if other folks didn’t get caught up in the never-ending battle between the good, bad, and ugly. I’m alive, dude. And honestly … I fought like hell. I thought I was gonna lose it a time or two, but … I hustled, nonetheless.”
“I guess you were the one responsible for Conrad’s ear?” Athan asked, crossing his arms with a side-grin. Wren huffed a laugh.
“Guilty as charged. Although, I was going for his eye. Seemed only fair.” They laughed, but all of them grew quiet, and that stretch of silence was more uncomfortable than Wren had the stomach for.
“We should let her rest, love.” Athan rested his hand on Sarah’s shoulder. “Unless you’d feel better if one of us stayed, Red?”
Wren shook her head. “There’s gonna be too many bodies in here when my parents get in. I could use the quiet for a little bit before I have to hear them fuss and bitch over me.”
“Is there anything I can get for you before we go?” Sarah asked.
Wren eyed Athan, then. “Can you get them to let me see him, Athan? Just for a minute? I can’t stop seeing him in my mind. I thought that piece of shit had killed him. I gotta tell him I’m sorry … for everything. He stormed into that house looking for me like he’d bulldoze anybody that stood in his way. I don’t deserve that. I don’t deserve anything he did … not the way I’ve always treated him.” Sarah smiled softly at her. Knowingly.
“I’ll see what I can do.” Athan winked, turning towards the door.
It was like the horror of every moment was stuck on replay. Over and over, he saw her face. Saw the tape on her mouth … the chain on her wrists. Heard every scream, and every sob. His heart felt like it would explode from his chest every time it thwacked off his ribs. Brent was sure the bastard was gonna kill her. The cold stab of evil had radiated off of his father in waves, and the loud thundering of a barrel at his gut was the only thing he remembered before it all went dark and started over again. The pain of taking that shot was nothing compared to the bitter sting of not knowing whether or not he’d failed her another time. Of not knowing what he had realized he’d felt, and never had the chance to tell her.
What if he never would?
Was this Hell?
Was this his version of eternal damnation? His punishment for being a worthless piece of shit? Having to relive this nightmare over and over for eternity? He couldn’t weather the notion that he’d been that bad of a person. There had to be something he’d done right. Something worth saving.
The darkness ensued after another loud crack of thunder, and he could swear he heard her call out to him. He tried to answer her, knowing the next thing he’d see would be his father dragging her across the patio again. He called out one more time.
“Brent?”
The darkness lasted longer this time. His ears rang, and the blooming of a horrible headache started taking hold. There was a smell. Something dry, and way too damn clean. His nose burned. His stomach felt like he’d been hit by a bus.
A bus …
Maybe he’d imagined it all. Maybe it was all a bad dream. Or maybe … maybe Wren had finally gotten her wish and he did get hit by an actual bus. His chest felt heavy, but he was breathing. His head was foggy, but … no replay …
“Brent …”
He tried to open his eyes, but only managed to flutter his eyelids a little. He couldn’t be imagining it. He forced his voice to work, and it sounded like gravel … but it sounded …
“Wren …” Brent ground out, hoarsely.
“Yeah … yeah, it’s me.”
He tried to move, but quickly regretted it. He groaned in pain, but it was enough to send his eyelids flying open. He blinked rapidly, and every quick rise and fall of his chest caused overwhelming pain in his belly. His vision was blurry, but when he was finally able to focus on the hazy figure sitting at his right, he realized … somehow … he’d survived. He focused on a pale face with a huge swollen eye, and a red rat’s nest of a bun on top of her head. Her breath caught, and she pressed her fingertips to her busted lips.
“Not your best look …” he whispered, wetting his lips. She scoffed, and that one open eye filled with tears. “Jesus … I didn’t think you’d take it so personal.”
“I thought he’d killed you.” Wren sniffled, her fingers lingering on her mouth.
“Disappointed?” Brent smiled, weakly.
“I mean … can’t you just do one damn thing right?” She snorted. He tried not to laugh. It hurt. Everything hurt. He groaned again, wincing, and giving a pitiful attempt to adjust himself. Wren dropped her hand to stop him, and it unintentionally rested on his. They both glanced at the contact, and then back at each other. Neither one said anything. She finally curled her fingers around his and he squeezed, exhaling slowly and clenching his jaw.
“I’m sorry he hurt you, Wren …”
She wiped a tear that fell quick down her cheek. “He got what he deser—”
“I don’t care.”
They stared at each other for what seemed like an eternity. He started to understand that weird, annoying connection he’d noticed every time Sarah had been around the detective. Something in his chest lightened. Brent tugged on her hand and urged her down towards him. Though he never asked, she seemed to understand what he intended, and lowered herself to lay next to him, tucking her head just under his chin. He brought both arms around her and held her close while she cried softly. His mouth rested in her hair and his lips turned up in the corner.
“You could use one of those fancy showers.”
Wren huffed a snotty laugh.
“Get fucked, Stratford.”
He closed his eyes and grinned. “There she is.”
It was freezing in here. The apartment looked like the ghost of the girl who lived in it. Everything she owned had been strewn all over the small space. Sarah was silent as she stepped over books, miscellaneous papers, a broken microscope, and a spilled mug of long-forgotten remnants of leftover coffee that had grown solid as dried glue to the cracked ceramic lip. Athan stood in the doorway in silent rage with his hands in the pockets of his jacket. After a few minutes of swallowing down her irritation, she scooped up the old, tattered blanket on her bed and held it close to her chest.
“You don’t have to stay here,” Athan finally said, quietly. She didn’t turn around but could hear him carefully navigating through the mess to get to her. His arms came around her from behind and he perched his chin over her shoulder. “We can have it packed up, and … moved.”
Sarah closed her eyes and a slight smile crept across her mouth. “Moved?” He tightened around her and pressed a kiss to the scar on her neck.
“To my place …”
That notion swelled through her like a warm tide. An invitation. One she wouldn’t have guessed he’d offer when they first met. When he’d been the quiet, mysterious stranger that stood a safe distance away at the door to her hospital room.
“Is this you, asking me to move in?” she asked, turning her face slightly towards his. His breath was warm against her neck.
“Only if you want it, love.”
She considered that for a moment. His apartment was where she’d first kissed him. Where he’d more than shattered her heart when she found out the truth. It was where he’d taken her to wake up as a different version of herself after he’d saved her life. It was the safe space close to their friends, who were only one door over. Wren would likely move out of her apartment now that all this had happened, but she wasn’t sure if she’d be down to stay long term with Rhaena. Sarah glanced around the wrecked apartment. She’d always loved this place. It felt the most like home since leaving Seattle behind. Something about being here had always been a comfort to her. It wasn’t much, and it was cramped and small. Brent had never been comfortable here, but it was what made her feel safe.
“What if … we packed your stuff instead?” Sarah whispered. Athan stilled. After a moment he turned her around to face him. “If I asked you to stay … would you stay?” Her heart hammered at the thought of hearing him tell her the same thing that Brent often did. She braced herself for an excuse. For any reason—
“Of course, I would,” he answered, his voice low, and smooth. “You’re the only four walls I’ll ever need, Sarah. I told you that you were the only gold mine standing in that room. You’re home to me.”
Sarah bit down on her lip, staring into those two orbs of cerulean sin. The knot in her throat gave way to tears and she shoved him. “You’re such a dick.” She smiled, wiping her nose with her sleeve. “Always making me fucking cry.” He grinned, sliding a cigarette into his mouth.
“You’re right …” he agreed, lighting it. “But I didn’t hear much bitching about it last ti—” he winced, chuckling through smoke when she punched him in his upper arm. He grabbed her wrist and jerked her towards him until she found herself slamming against his chest. Sarah snatched the cigarette from his mouth and flipped it around to drag from it.
“You’d really be okay with staying here with me?” she asked, blowing a line of smoke in the opposite direction.
“Under one condition.” Athan held up a finger.
“Name it.”
He slid an arm around her back and turned them towards the opposite wall, pointing to the poster that was still leaning against it in a busted frame. “That gets fixed and finds its way back up on the wall.” Sarah smiled, passing the cigarette back to him.
“I think Poe would like it.”
“He’s very full of himself. We’ll have to put his cage somewhere he can admire it.”
Her heightened hearing caught the sound of footsteps outside the lower door just before it opened, and they continued up the steps to her apartment. Rachel Foster appeared seconds later and leaned against the open doorway. Sarah frowned.
“You’ve got balls, Foster.”
Foster looked around at her handiwork and lowered her head. “I’ll admit … it was a bit much. We were um—having a rough day. I’m sorry.”
“I was coming around to the idea of maybe liking you before I walked in here,” Sarah added, sticking close to Athan’s side. “Find what you needed?”
“Nope.”
“Why are you here?”
Foster stuck her hands in the pockets of her long, tan coat and stepped inside. “I came to bid thee farewell. Wanted to let you know that I’ve spoken to the captain … cleared everything with my superiors. The case is closed. I’m heading back to Washington.”
Athan’s muscles tensed. “That was fast. How are you covering that?” he asked, quirking a brow.
“Same way you do. I spoke to some of your friends at the tavern. They were happy to oblige. The ashes of the missing boy are on their way to his family as we speak. His parents have agreed to keep quiet regarding his murder. The Irish beefcake offered them the deeds to the club in exchange for their silence, and they feel like justice was served. The murders that were meant to resemble Sarah, we’ve pinned on the unfortunate soul that Vintorri gunned down on the street … except for this last one. That one, we framed on Conrad Stratford, who we’ve got enough dirt on to prove he was closely working with Van Hausen. Nick Specter was an overachiever with that. As there aren’t bodies for her, or the girl Northwood burned at her cabin, I couldn’t exactly divvy up blame. I covered ballistics reports for the Stratford shooting with Foley’s service weapon, and his assistant’s confession, along with Vintorri’s statement, put that case to rest. Of course, there were some complications with that, since Gretchen’s testimony was relayed through word of mouth. But considering those mouths were protected by badges, I’d say … we’re good for now.”
Rhaena took a nervous sip from her coffee and blew out a heavy breath. “I can’t believe you’ve been right here all this time, and I never figured you out.”
Foley snorted, “Yeah, well … I only just figured out the same thing about you. So that makes two of us. I can’t thank you both enough for your help. I’m sorry about breaking into your place.”
“Stop, no … it’s really not the strangest thing I’ve come home to. I live next door to a vamp.”
Foley choked on his coffee. “Kane … have you heard from him? What happened to Stratford? And his kid? Is his kid alive?”
“Yeah, about that—” Rhaena was about to brief him on what had happened after he took off into the woods, but a sound knock on the door startled them. Jenkins went to answer it. There were muffled voices, and he reared his head back to look at her.
“Foster.” He jerked his head in permission to let her in and Rhaena exchanged looks with Foley, who nodded. Foster shouldered her way in with several large files. She took one look at the captain, and the tight robe he wore, and grinned as she shook her head.
“Good. You’ll have help, Northwood,” she said, dropping the files to the kitchen table. “I took the liberty of bringing over all the shit you guys thought you were gonna leave me with. How fresh is that coffee? We’ve got a lot to catch up on.”
Wren sat down her third cup of chocolate pudding, the plastic spoon hanging from her swollen mouth as she pried open another. She’d barely touched the rest of the breakfast they’d sent up, and twice now, she’d snagged the line of her IV on the corner of the tray, cursing under her breath at the plastic tube. She took the spoon from her mouth and licked the pudding off the foil before tossing it onto the tray. Commotion sounded from outside her door, and she leaned forward, nervousness settling in her stomach as she eyed the open doorway. She heard a nurse mention something about visiting hours, and then a couple of familiar voices, and her heart skipped. She couldn’t stop the oncoming tears as Sarah barged in.
“Wren!” Sarah cried, rushing to her bedside. She slid away the cart, and threw her arms open, crying softly as Sarah wrapped her in a tight hug. “Holy shit … holy shit …” she whispered against Wren’s cheek. When they finally pulled apart, Wren glanced over Sarah’s shoulder to see Athan standing—with a bloody white t-shirt—against the door. He smirked at her, pocketing his hands and inching forward. “Jesus … your eye.” Sarah pointed out, inspecting every inch of her face. “Dammit, I should have never let you leave that apartment.”
“Stop. It’s not your fault. Besides,” Wren waved a hand around the room, “I’ve got heated blankets and room service at this joint. And …” She reached for her pudding. “All the damn pudding I can eat.”
Athan stood at the foot of the bed. “Are you alright?”
“Well … my fucking parents refuse to stay home, so there’s that. I could use a very expensive blowout for Christmas. I’ve got a concussion, and one good eye … but Conrad got his head blown off.” She gave a tight shrug, spooning pudding into her mouth. “I’d say I’m more than alright in that aspect of things.”
“I’m so sorry, Wren. I—I heard about Brent … I’m—” Sarah paused, shaking her head. Wren lowered the pudding cup to her lap, unable to keep more tears from coming.
“He hasn’t opened his eyes since he came out of surgery. At least, that’s what they tell me. They won’t let me see him.” Wren sniffled, wiping beneath her swollen eye. “He didn’t even hesitate, Sarah. As soon as Conrad pointed that gun at me, he—” She shook her head, her face crumpling. Sarah leaned forward, hugging her again. “How did you hear about it? Did you talk to Rhaena?”
“I called her on the way over,” Athan answered. “Cap was okay, too. He ended up at her place. I have to say, I wasn’t expecting that part.”
“What happened to you?” Wren asked, pointing her spoon toward him. “Did you—was it Dahlia?” She leaned back, looking at Sarah … this time noticing something oddly different about her. Her eyes were different … her face more defined. Her hair even seemed glossier, and her movements a bit more fluid. “Oh, my God … oh my—”
Sarah stared at her as if she were afraid Wren would sound off some kind of alarm or break into a run. “There’s a lot I need to talk to you about.” Wren flashed her good eye to Athan again, and he turned to close the door.
“Did you do this? What happened with Dahlia?” Wren tossed her pudding cup onto the cart and sat up straighter. Athan stepped up behind Sarah who situated herself on the side of the bed.
“Dahlia’s done. Well done, if I’m being frank.” Sarah’s mouth turned up in the corner, and Athan snorted. “We sort of … kidnapped Nick Specter and forced him to help bleed me dry at EverLife. Athan saved my life. The only way I could live through it was for him to turn me. I’m okay. I promise.”
Wren’s eye narrowed. “Bleed you dry? What the fuck for? What did you do, Sarah?”
“I used my blood to turn the coven against her. It worked. The coven is free. We put the bitch down. Fried her sunny-side-up this morning on the rooftop of the club.”
“Why would you risk that? Tell me you didn’t put yourself through this for me.” Wren’s voice shook as she took in her best friend’s strange new face. She looked the same, but—different. She was beautiful before, but now … she was fucking flawless. Otherworldly. It gave Wren the same feeling of amazement anyone would have when they looked at Athan Kane. Just being around them was captivating.
“I thought she had you. Regardless if she did or didn’t … this would have had to happen anyway, Wren. Neither one of those bastards would have ever stopped coming for me. I wasn’t gonna let one more person lose their life for my sake. She wanted my blood so she could live like Athan lives. The coven won’t come after me for it. They have it. None of us will ever have to look over our shoulders again. This will never happen to you again, do you understand?” Wren nodded, and Sarah reached up, tucking a loose strand of hair behind Wren’s ear. Her lip wobbled, and she sighed deeply as she took in all the obvious injuries to her face.
“This isn’t your fault, Sarah,” Wren offered, taking her hand and squeezing it. “People just fucking suck sometimes. I guess it would upset the natural balance of things if other folks didn’t get caught up in the never-ending battle between the good, bad, and ugly. I’m alive, dude. And honestly … I fought like hell. I thought I was gonna lose it a time or two, but … I hustled, nonetheless.”
“I guess you were the one responsible for Conrad’s ear?” Athan asked, crossing his arms with a side-grin. Wren huffed a laugh.
“Guilty as charged. Although, I was going for his eye. Seemed only fair.” They laughed, but all of them grew quiet, and that stretch of silence was more uncomfortable than Wren had the stomach for.
“We should let her rest, love.” Athan rested his hand on Sarah’s shoulder. “Unless you’d feel better if one of us stayed, Red?”
Wren shook her head. “There’s gonna be too many bodies in here when my parents get in. I could use the quiet for a little bit before I have to hear them fuss and bitch over me.”
“Is there anything I can get for you before we go?” Sarah asked.
Wren eyed Athan, then. “Can you get them to let me see him, Athan? Just for a minute? I can’t stop seeing him in my mind. I thought that piece of shit had killed him. I gotta tell him I’m sorry … for everything. He stormed into that house looking for me like he’d bulldoze anybody that stood in his way. I don’t deserve that. I don’t deserve anything he did … not the way I’ve always treated him.” Sarah smiled softly at her. Knowingly.
“I’ll see what I can do.” Athan winked, turning towards the door.
It was like the horror of every moment was stuck on replay. Over and over, he saw her face. Saw the tape on her mouth … the chain on her wrists. Heard every scream, and every sob. His heart felt like it would explode from his chest every time it thwacked off his ribs. Brent was sure the bastard was gonna kill her. The cold stab of evil had radiated off of his father in waves, and the loud thundering of a barrel at his gut was the only thing he remembered before it all went dark and started over again. The pain of taking that shot was nothing compared to the bitter sting of not knowing whether or not he’d failed her another time. Of not knowing what he had realized he’d felt, and never had the chance to tell her.
What if he never would?
Was this Hell?
Was this his version of eternal damnation? His punishment for being a worthless piece of shit? Having to relive this nightmare over and over for eternity? He couldn’t weather the notion that he’d been that bad of a person. There had to be something he’d done right. Something worth saving.
The darkness ensued after another loud crack of thunder, and he could swear he heard her call out to him. He tried to answer her, knowing the next thing he’d see would be his father dragging her across the patio again. He called out one more time.
“Brent?”
The darkness lasted longer this time. His ears rang, and the blooming of a horrible headache started taking hold. There was a smell. Something dry, and way too damn clean. His nose burned. His stomach felt like he’d been hit by a bus.
A bus …
Maybe he’d imagined it all. Maybe it was all a bad dream. Or maybe … maybe Wren had finally gotten her wish and he did get hit by an actual bus. His chest felt heavy, but he was breathing. His head was foggy, but … no replay …
“Brent …”
He tried to open his eyes, but only managed to flutter his eyelids a little. He couldn’t be imagining it. He forced his voice to work, and it sounded like gravel … but it sounded …
“Wren …” Brent ground out, hoarsely.
“Yeah … yeah, it’s me.”
He tried to move, but quickly regretted it. He groaned in pain, but it was enough to send his eyelids flying open. He blinked rapidly, and every quick rise and fall of his chest caused overwhelming pain in his belly. His vision was blurry, but when he was finally able to focus on the hazy figure sitting at his right, he realized … somehow … he’d survived. He focused on a pale face with a huge swollen eye, and a red rat’s nest of a bun on top of her head. Her breath caught, and she pressed her fingertips to her busted lips.
“Not your best look …” he whispered, wetting his lips. She scoffed, and that one open eye filled with tears. “Jesus … I didn’t think you’d take it so personal.”
“I thought he’d killed you.” Wren sniffled, her fingers lingering on her mouth.
“Disappointed?” Brent smiled, weakly.
“I mean … can’t you just do one damn thing right?” She snorted. He tried not to laugh. It hurt. Everything hurt. He groaned again, wincing, and giving a pitiful attempt to adjust himself. Wren dropped her hand to stop him, and it unintentionally rested on his. They both glanced at the contact, and then back at each other. Neither one said anything. She finally curled her fingers around his and he squeezed, exhaling slowly and clenching his jaw.
“I’m sorry he hurt you, Wren …”
She wiped a tear that fell quick down her cheek. “He got what he deser—”
“I don’t care.”
They stared at each other for what seemed like an eternity. He started to understand that weird, annoying connection he’d noticed every time Sarah had been around the detective. Something in his chest lightened. Brent tugged on her hand and urged her down towards him. Though he never asked, she seemed to understand what he intended, and lowered herself to lay next to him, tucking her head just under his chin. He brought both arms around her and held her close while she cried softly. His mouth rested in her hair and his lips turned up in the corner.
“You could use one of those fancy showers.”
Wren huffed a snotty laugh.
“Get fucked, Stratford.”
He closed his eyes and grinned. “There she is.”
It was freezing in here. The apartment looked like the ghost of the girl who lived in it. Everything she owned had been strewn all over the small space. Sarah was silent as she stepped over books, miscellaneous papers, a broken microscope, and a spilled mug of long-forgotten remnants of leftover coffee that had grown solid as dried glue to the cracked ceramic lip. Athan stood in the doorway in silent rage with his hands in the pockets of his jacket. After a few minutes of swallowing down her irritation, she scooped up the old, tattered blanket on her bed and held it close to her chest.
“You don’t have to stay here,” Athan finally said, quietly. She didn’t turn around but could hear him carefully navigating through the mess to get to her. His arms came around her from behind and he perched his chin over her shoulder. “We can have it packed up, and … moved.”
Sarah closed her eyes and a slight smile crept across her mouth. “Moved?” He tightened around her and pressed a kiss to the scar on her neck.
“To my place …”
That notion swelled through her like a warm tide. An invitation. One she wouldn’t have guessed he’d offer when they first met. When he’d been the quiet, mysterious stranger that stood a safe distance away at the door to her hospital room.
“Is this you, asking me to move in?” she asked, turning her face slightly towards his. His breath was warm against her neck.
“Only if you want it, love.”
She considered that for a moment. His apartment was where she’d first kissed him. Where he’d more than shattered her heart when she found out the truth. It was where he’d taken her to wake up as a different version of herself after he’d saved her life. It was the safe space close to their friends, who were only one door over. Wren would likely move out of her apartment now that all this had happened, but she wasn’t sure if she’d be down to stay long term with Rhaena. Sarah glanced around the wrecked apartment. She’d always loved this place. It felt the most like home since leaving Seattle behind. Something about being here had always been a comfort to her. It wasn’t much, and it was cramped and small. Brent had never been comfortable here, but it was what made her feel safe.
“What if … we packed your stuff instead?” Sarah whispered. Athan stilled. After a moment he turned her around to face him. “If I asked you to stay … would you stay?” Her heart hammered at the thought of hearing him tell her the same thing that Brent often did. She braced herself for an excuse. For any reason—
“Of course, I would,” he answered, his voice low, and smooth. “You’re the only four walls I’ll ever need, Sarah. I told you that you were the only gold mine standing in that room. You’re home to me.”
Sarah bit down on her lip, staring into those two orbs of cerulean sin. The knot in her throat gave way to tears and she shoved him. “You’re such a dick.” She smiled, wiping her nose with her sleeve. “Always making me fucking cry.” He grinned, sliding a cigarette into his mouth.
“You’re right …” he agreed, lighting it. “But I didn’t hear much bitching about it last ti—” he winced, chuckling through smoke when she punched him in his upper arm. He grabbed her wrist and jerked her towards him until she found herself slamming against his chest. Sarah snatched the cigarette from his mouth and flipped it around to drag from it.
“You’d really be okay with staying here with me?” she asked, blowing a line of smoke in the opposite direction.
“Under one condition.” Athan held up a finger.
“Name it.”
He slid an arm around her back and turned them towards the opposite wall, pointing to the poster that was still leaning against it in a busted frame. “That gets fixed and finds its way back up on the wall.” Sarah smiled, passing the cigarette back to him.
“I think Poe would like it.”
“He’s very full of himself. We’ll have to put his cage somewhere he can admire it.”
Her heightened hearing caught the sound of footsteps outside the lower door just before it opened, and they continued up the steps to her apartment. Rachel Foster appeared seconds later and leaned against the open doorway. Sarah frowned.
“You’ve got balls, Foster.”
Foster looked around at her handiwork and lowered her head. “I’ll admit … it was a bit much. We were um—having a rough day. I’m sorry.”
“I was coming around to the idea of maybe liking you before I walked in here,” Sarah added, sticking close to Athan’s side. “Find what you needed?”
“Nope.”
“Why are you here?”
Foster stuck her hands in the pockets of her long, tan coat and stepped inside. “I came to bid thee farewell. Wanted to let you know that I’ve spoken to the captain … cleared everything with my superiors. The case is closed. I’m heading back to Washington.”
Athan’s muscles tensed. “That was fast. How are you covering that?” he asked, quirking a brow.
“Same way you do. I spoke to some of your friends at the tavern. They were happy to oblige. The ashes of the missing boy are on their way to his family as we speak. His parents have agreed to keep quiet regarding his murder. The Irish beefcake offered them the deeds to the club in exchange for their silence, and they feel like justice was served. The murders that were meant to resemble Sarah, we’ve pinned on the unfortunate soul that Vintorri gunned down on the street … except for this last one. That one, we framed on Conrad Stratford, who we’ve got enough dirt on to prove he was closely working with Van Hausen. Nick Specter was an overachiever with that. As there aren’t bodies for her, or the girl Northwood burned at her cabin, I couldn’t exactly divvy up blame. I covered ballistics reports for the Stratford shooting with Foley’s service weapon, and his assistant’s confession, along with Vintorri’s statement, put that case to rest. Of course, there were some complications with that, since Gretchen’s testimony was relayed through word of mouth. But considering those mouths were protected by badges, I’d say … we’re good for now.”
