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But my mind drifts. I think of everything I’ve done to get to this position. The people I’ve hurt, the lives I’ve destroyed. I’ve been ruthless in my ascent and I haven’t stopped to consider how my actions have affected others, not even once. I haven’t felt a damn thing about pulling the trigger, at least not until now.
Marie’s waking something up inside of me.
I go further back in my mind, back to childhood. To my crumbling North Philly row home, to the moldy basement, to that little room in the very back. The little room stinking of filth and scattered with toys like a dog’s kennel. That room, that quiet room, the silence of it, the bleakness of the cinderblock walls. That room haunts me whenever I fall asleep. That room is a part of me to this day, wrapped around my heart. That room is the ice that keeps me frozen and still.
We reach the building and park. Baptist gets out first to make sure Heiko didn’t follow before we head back up to my apartment. Marie’s there waiting in the living room and she leaps up to her feet when we step off the elevator. Baptist is supporting me, but she runs over, her eyes wide and scared as she takes some of my weight on the other side.
“Ansell, what happened?” She’s breathless and terrified as I sit down slowly on the couch. “Oh my god, you’re hurt.”
“Heiko.” I grunt the name like a curse. “I need a drink.”
“Is that a good idea?” Marie glances at Baptist. “He could have internal bleeding.”
“He’s fine.” Baptist gets me a whiskey and hands it over. “I’ll send for a doctor just to be safe though.”
“You’re not fine.” Marie sits down next to me and curls up, chewing on her thumbnail. “I’m so, so sorry, Ansell. I never would’ve—”
I hold up a hand to forestall her apologies. “You don’t need to keep doing that.”
“But you’re hurt because of me.”
“And I doubt it will be the last time.” I drink the whiskey and enjoy the dull burn. “Baptist, set up a doctor visit for the morning.”
“If you’re actually hurt—” he starts, but stops and sighs when I give him a look. “All right, whatever you say. I’ll leave you two to sort out this extremely unpleasant and complicated situation on your own.” He waves and heads to the elevator. When he’s gone, Marie leans closer, prodding at my injuries.
“I’m fine. Stop fussing.” I finish the whiskey and the alcohol dulls some of the pain. “You need to listen to me. Magnus isn’t going to stop until you’ve been punished.”
She groans and leans back. “Shit. I was afraid of that.”
“I thought he’d be smarter than this. I figured there would be some way to reach a mutually beneficial deal, but I don’t think it’s about anything but revenge for his son and his family at this point. Nothing short of ruining you will be good enough.”
“As if I’m not ruined already.”
I stroke a stray hair from her cheek and feel a shiver down my spine. Is that desire? Is that empathy? “It can always get worse, Pearce.” I think of the room again and force it from my mind. It’s always there when I’m at my darkest, and I have to struggle against it. That room doesn’t hold sway over me, not anymore. It hasn’t for a long time.
She stands and paces. “I’ve been thinking. I’m not totally helpless here, right? I mean, I have contacts and some friends.”
“I doubt Bella Baby can fix anything for you now.”
“No, but maybe I can get her to write something good about the Crawfords, would that help?”
“It wouldn’t and she wouldn’t. Pearce, stop pacing.”
She doesn’t stop. “I could talk to my father.”
“Pearce.”
“He’s got some clout left. He knows people. Maybe—”
“Stop it.”
She pauses and looks at me, face distraught. Tears roll down her cheeks. “If we don’t make the Crawfords stop, they’re going to keep coming for you. This is going to happen again.”
I sigh and struggle to my feet. She backs away as I approach her, and I don’t stop until she bumps up against the wall. She’s breathing fast, her lips parted and swollen from chewing on them. Her thumbnail is a bitten stub. She’s anxious and worried about me, but is that all? She must be worried about herself to some degree, and afraid that Pride will get hurt in all this because she’s insistent on being their manager. There are a thousand ways this can go wrong.
I lean forward and lift her right hand to my mouth and kiss her knuckles, one after the other, and I feel a stirring of something in me. Desire, protectiveness? I care about her. I want her to be safe and happy.
“Let me worry for you,” I say quietly, at a whisper. The air conditioning hums in the background as she tilts her lips up toward mine.
