“Sure.” Kain was polite enough not to push it, but he knew I’d been freaking out. Seeing that man again, remembering everything, it had been too overwhelming.
I’d been burying the situation under a wave of denial. I couldn’t keep the act up once I saw that damn face. Jameson had seemed nice. Normal. If he could attack me in the middle of the night, then . . .
“My intuition sucks,” I mumbled. “I had no clue he was dangerous.”
“I don’t know,” Kain said. “You knew I was no good right from the start.”
Grinning, I finished off the drink. “A broken clock is accidentally right some of the time.”
The charming dimples he had went deeper. “You feel better now?”
“Good enough for a muffin.” Pushing myself up, I headed for the tray of food. There were a few options; I was surprised Costello had bothered to put in the effort. Lifting a pastry, I nibbled the top. “Now that you know who you’re looking for, I’ll need a ride home.”
No one said anything. I endured a stab of unease, it worked under my ribs, fixing itself into place. Maverick waved Francesca’s phone, saying, “We don’t know who he is. Not yet. You can’t go anywhere until we’ve got this all tied up, Sammy.”
The phrase “tied up” was hitting too close to how I already felt being here. “This is insane,” I said. My eyes flashed to Kain. “Say something. Tell your dad it’s fine.” I need to get out of here! I wanted to ask Kain how my mother was—if he’d even gone there last night—but I really just wanted to see her myself.
She needed me.
Kain’s face was placid, his eyes begging me to understand. “You’re in danger,” he said softly. “Until then, you’re safer here than anywhere else.”
I never suspected that his answer could cause me so much pain. Overnight, I’d gone from hating this man to relying on him. I knew what it was to ache for Kain. But I’d made the mistake of assuming he was on my side.
I knew better now.
Francesca cut the silence in two. “You guys are such assholes. Explain it to her better than that.” Shaking her head, she came my way. “Sammy, look. There are people who hate this family—all of us. They’re jealous, or cruel, or whatever. Doesn’t matter.” She tried to grab my wrist; I let her. “You got pulled into this because of me, no one else. So trust me when I say . . . let us protect you. We’re the only ones who can.”
Gently but firmly, I pulled my arm away. “You’re probably right,” I said slowly. Lifting my eyes, I watched her from under the loose pieces of my hair. “But since when is it okay to lock someone up just because you think you’re doing them a favor?”
She actually looked wounded, and I felt kind of bad, but I knew what they were doing was wrong. The path to hell is paved with good intentions, and all that.
Marching past her, I ignored all of them.
“Sammy!” Kain’s shout was a bullet that I sidestepped.
Let him call my name all he wants, I thought bitterly.
I may be on a leash.
But I’m not his damn dog.
- CHAPTER TWELVE -
KAIN
“Come on,” Thorne said, opening his car door. “Let’s go.”
I was in a shit mood—this morning had not gone the way I’d wanted. Stepping out, I slammed the door as hard as I could.
He winced. “Fuck, man. This baby is new. Be gentle.”
“Let’s just get this over with.”
“Fair enough.” Climbing the steps to the front door, Hawthorne gave it a nudge. Sammy hadn’t shut it when she’d burst out of her home last night. “Guess the guy who went after her didn’t lock this up when he left.”
“If he left,” I mused. “There’s a chance he’s still in there. Be careful.”
“Careful of what, shadows?” Chuckling, my brother led the way inside. “There’s no way he stuck around.”
In spite of his confidence, I put my hand under my jacket. I didn’t usually carry a gun, but the warm handle felt comfortable in my grip. I wasn’t going to chance getting shot for my assumptions.
Stepping quietly through the house, I noticed how sparse it all seemed. There were some boxes in a corner by the stairwell, and as I entered the kitchen, some more were stacked by the far wall.
I saw the shards on the floor seconds before I might have stepped on them. Under the edge of the sink’s cupboards, there was half of a white coffee mug. Freezing, I glanced at my brother. “Guess this was where she fought him off.”
Crouching, he nudged some of the pieces. “She’s tough, I’ll give her that. Not many people could take down someone that caught them off guard.”
“Sammy’s pretty surprising.”
“Mm-hmm.” Lifting a big piece of the mug, he turned it to show it to me. It was obviously part of a horse’s face, the mane blowing in the breeze. “Surprising is a good word. Is this a fucking pony?”
“Huh. Maybe she likes riding them.” She’d never mentioned anything about that.
Grinning, Hawthorne said, “I’ll bet she likes riding something.”
“If you’re trying to insult me by comparing my cock to a horse, it isn’t working.”
“Tch.” He stood smoothly, dusting off his jeans. “Let’s scope out upstairs quick.”
Together we ascended the stairs, the wood creaking as we went. “You come up with any reason this guy might be after her?” he asked me.
“Not a one.” Gently, I nudged her bedroom door open. “If there’s a connection between this guy, us, and her, I don’t know what it could be.” Bright light caught my attention. The window was flooding the room with sunbeams, they caused the bedspread to glow like a hellish white flare.
It blinded me, and apparently, it blinded Thorne, too—grunting, he dropped to the ground. Shielding my face, I grinned down at him where he’d ended up sprawled out. “You forget how walking works?” I asked.
Rolling his eyes, he reached up to grab my arm; I tugged him to his feet. Before he said anything else, he froze, staring down at the floor. We both saw the maid of honor dress that had tangled around his ankles, causing him to trip.
Carefully, he lifted it between us. “Here’s a thought,” he said, “And call me fucking crazy. But do you think this guy went after her because she seemed close to Frannie?”
Gripping the dress, I took it from him. My nostrils flared with the scent of Sammy. The room was already an echo chamber of her existence, this just rammed it home. “You might be onto something.”
Looking around slowly, Hawthorne approached the window. “Fuck, the sun comes straight in here. Who could even sleep like this?”
Curling the dress in my fist, I didn’t answer. My mind was roaming around, busy collecting scraps so that I could create a full picture. Is that it? Did this guy want to hurt us so badly that he thought he’d target Sammy, thinking she was Francesca’s best friend? Fuck, it made a terrifying amount of sense. But since when were the Deep Shots so vengeful? Was the attack caused by them?