I’m sure she loves him. I’m sure she just needs a couple of days away from Dallas to make sense of it all. I’d wager most of what’s in my bank account that Lucy has finally learned that Dallas isn’t exactly who he says he is, but given the chance, hecouldbe.
I know now where Dallas ran off to the night he had Connor and me babysitting Lucy. Just like how Adrian found where Winter put me, he tracked down Lucy’s bastard of a husband. Though Connor offered to join them—because, even after all this time, the Heirs are all for one and one for all… except dead Desmond—Dallas preferred for him to stay back, watching Lucy… and me. Which Connor did while the others drove out of Harmony Heights to confront Lucy’s true husband.
Confront him, andkillhim.
Technically, Lucy is a widow. Maybe she knows that. Maybe it’ll be a shock. It doesn’t matter. I know damn well that, if Dallas is anything like Connor, he’ll hunt her down before long and convince her to stay with him. Honestly? I don’t even think thatwould be a bad idea for her from what I can see, but she reached out. She needs help.
I’m going to help her.
Now… how am I going to do that without getting Connor involved?
Something tells me that Lucy would rather I attempt this safety rescue without my husband in tow. I get that, too. Connor can be a little…much. He’s also way more intuitive than I ever gave him credit for. Either that or he somehow found a way to bug my phone because, as I sneak into the kitchen, searching for a ring of keys to one of the cars kept in the garage, I find Connor leaning against the counter, swinging a set on his pointer finger.
He grins. "So… where are we going?"
I open my mouth. Shut it. Force myself to hide my answering grin, and then say, “I have to help Lucy.”
He raises his eyebrows. “I? Or we?”
“It’ll piss off Dallas if you get involved,” I warn.
Connor snorts. “But it’ll earn me brownie points with my beloved wife. Get your shoes on, sweetheart, and get in the black car. I’ll drive.”
Of course he will. There isn’t anything he won’t do for me, and I fucking love him for it.
THIRTY
HUSBAND WHO, PART II
CONNOR
I’ve gotta say, over the years, I’ve killed my fair share of assholes.
Most of them were for Haven, and I don’t regret a single measure I took to make my wife feel safe. There was a time when I hidmymurderous side from her, sure that it would give her another reason to run. Eventually, the truth came out, and the funny thing is that Haven has never really seemed particularly bothered by the fact that her husband has blood on his hands.
By the time I got my third kill when I used my pocketknife to slit the throat of the man responsible for the death of Dallas’s mom, Reese, right in front of his daughter, my wife barely reacted to learn that I did. I just walked into the kitchen, wiping the blood from my blade, casually telling her that she should probably avoid the living room until I have a second to dispose of the body. She just asked if our guest was okay, or if she needed to check in on Lucy herself.
That’s my girl. Despite all the shit she’s gone through, she sees a kindred spirit in Dallas’s Lucy. She was able to look past her own trauma to help Lucy with hers, and now, months later,she counts Lucy as one of her friends. They text and, sometimes when Dallas needs to take care of business, she’ll even come over to hang with us while we’re all real careful not to refer to it as a babysitting gig.
I’m still Haven’s best friend, though. Just saying.
Point is, there isn’t anything I won’t do for Haven, and in the more than two years since I rescued her, she’s grown to both understand that and accept that as part of my unique love language. I’ll kill for her. I’ll die for her if she asks it of me. I’ll sacrifice anything and everything for her, and I’ll give her everything she desires—except the freedom she once fought for desperately.
Luckily for us both, she doesn’t want it anymore. These days, to even suggest that she leave me is to send Haven spiraling, suffering from a panic attack so strong, she needs to be sedated. I’ve assured her countless times that I’m not going anywhere and neither is she, and whenever she doubts it, I take her hand, kiss her wedding band, and call her my ‘sweetheart’ once the sedatives wear off.
She’s mine, like I always knew she would be. I’m hers, like I always told her I was. We’re happy, and we won’t let a little thing like bloodshed and murder stand in the way of our forever.
Which is why, one ordinary Wednesday evening, I’m a little surprised to see Dallas at the front door of our home, wearing a careful expression while asking to be let inside.
Haven was watching television in the living room. I had been, too, but since we weren’t expecting any company, I left her on the couch so that I could see who was ringing the doorbell. I keep meaning to look into the doorbells with the camera that pop up on your phone, but when no one really bothers us on the edge of Harmony Heights, I haven’t bothered yet.
Besides, it’s either Adrian dropping off Loni to spend some ‘girl time’ with Haven, Sebastien and his wife, Annaliese, comingto share dinner with Haven and me, Dallas bringing Lucy by, or a combination of any of the three pairs. Sure, Haven absolutely refuses to let Adrian step foot into our house even after all this time, but everyone else is—sometimes begrudgingly—welcome at our door.
When I find Dallas standing on the front porch, I peek behind him to see if Lucy is waiting in his shiny black truck. There’s no sign of her, and I give Dallas a questioning look. These days, he’s as obsessed with his wife as the rest of us—understandable after whattheywent through—and I can’t remember the last time he stopped by without her.
And then he jerks his chin, gesturing behind me. “Can I come in and talk for a second?”
Even when Dallas was King, he never pulled rank on me or any of his bros. He could’ve easily demanded my obedience and, after a lifetime of friendship, he would’ve had it. But Dallas… head of the Order or, now, the enforcer for the replacement King, Dallas has always commanded my respect by asking instead of expecting anything of me.
