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I never had much interest in children, even when I was one, but there’s something so innocent about them, even if I know their lives outside these walls are anything but.
Two boys on the other side of the room drag my attention from the doll the girl handed me with a loud shout. My brows pull together, but their yelling doesn’t make my stomach knot. Maybe because I know they’re not a threat to me.
Emerson and Rayne quickly cross the room, neither of them seeming visibly annoyed by the outburst. I suppose this is their safe space and probably the only place they can let out their emotions, even the negative ones.
A hand touches my shoulder, and I startle, looking up at an older boy, probably around sixteen. His chocolate-brown curls are unruly, and his deep-brown eyes are almost void of emotion. I don’t need him to tell me for me to know he’s been through shit. I’ve come face-to-face with enough people with trauma in their past to recognize it from a mile away.
He hands me a piece of paper, his gaze flicking up to make sure Emerson and Rayne are still distracted, before saying, “A man asked me to give this to you.”
I look down at the envelope in my hands, but by the time I look back up to ask the boy any questions, he’s gone.
When my eyes land on the envelope again, my stomach rolls uncomfortably. Was this planned? The distraction to have Rayne and Emerson move away for long enough to get this to me? The paper between my fingers makes my skin crawl, but curiosity gets the best of me, and I slip the card out, the messy scrawl only bringing bile closer to the surface.
You were always meant to be mine, and anyone who gets in my way will pay dearly. Can you live with that on your conscience?
I don’t need to recognize the handwriting to know who’s responsible, I just can’t understand why he would care this much. I was nothing more than another payday to him, so why go to all this effort?
I’m so distracted by the words in front of me that I don’t notice the hulking presence that looms over me, and by the time I do, Rayne’s dark eyes have already run over the note.
“Where did this come from?” he asks, the harshness in his tone causing me to flinch involuntarily. His eyes widen, horrified that he startled me. “I’m sorry, Mia. I didn’t mean it to come out like that.”
I release a breath, trying desperately to swallow the panic that threatens to overwhelm me. “A kid,” I whisper. “He handed it to me and said a man told him to give it to me.”
He flicks his gaze around the room, searching for a danger that’s probably no longer lurking. “We should go.”
Before I can argue, he takes off toward his wife, the tension in his shoulders obvious as he approaches her, only easing once his arm wraps around her protectively. He says something to her quietly, and her gaze darts to me, worry tugging at her brows. It’s strange having people care about me, especially when I have nothing to offer them.
All I’ve done since I’ve been back in Chicago is cause everyone around me pain.
Emerson crosses the room quickly, careful not to let the worry become too obvious for the kids that look up to her like she’s their own personal savior. Hell, she probably is for a lot of them.
“Are you okay?” she asks as soon as she’s within range.
I nod as she carefully extracts the note from my hand and reads over its contents.
“Let’s get you home.” She places a comforting hand on my shoulder, but I’m too numb to feel it.
I can’t stay. Not when the people who have done nothing but help me are in danger because of me. But I have nowhere else to go.
Nowhere, but back to Kyle.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
ACE
The first cut is always the most satisfying.
Tommy used to tell me that, and I thought it was just another one of his crazy musings, but he was right. I knew it the first time I ever picked up a knife and sliced through someone’s flesh, and I’m reminded of it now as I slide the blade over Luke’s forearm, careful not to nick any veins.
He screams despite himself. The big bad man who probably laughed when Mia begged him to stop, can’t swallow his own pain, and that brings a smile to my lips.
“What the fuck?” he shouts. “You’re fucking crazy.”
I nod, stepping back to admire my own handy work. “If you think I’m crazy, you should meet my brother.”
“Please.” David’s eyes lock with the seeping blood that gushes from his partner’s arm. “Please don’t do that to me. I’ll help you. I’ll help you, and you can take the money.”
My head falls back on a laugh, the sound bouncing around the tunnels. He hasn’t worked it out yet, but he will. He still thinks this is about money. Little does he know that he’s hurt the woman who holds my heart, who’s the reason the cold, dead organ in my chest still beats after all this time.
