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Mason Ledger is solely responsible for the biggest human trafficking ring in the state, and to be honest, I don’t know how the bastard is pulling it off considering he’s not the sharpest tool in the shed. Twelve months ago, Crew got himself in trouble, and instead of doing the right thing and working his ass off to repay his debt, he borrowed money from his big brother with the condition that if he fails to pay him back, Mason will take payment in the form of Kyah. Naturally, Crew’s overinflated ego agreed to the deal.
He had only a few weeks left before his time was up, and it was no surprise when I found Crew in my fucking clubhouse, begging on his knees for me to find a way to save Kyah, and of course, I would have. I already have my plan in place for when the time comes, but considering Crew is now dead, perhaps my plan needs to change. Whether Crew is dead or not, Mason will still come looking for what he’s owed, only now there’s no reason to wait.
“It’s not my business to get into, Ky, and if you were smart, you wouldn’t go looking for answers.”
“Viper—”
“No,” I growl, my hand falling to her waist and squeezing tight. “Don’t fucking push me on this. Crew was a piece of shit, and I’m not getting myself involved by opening my fucking mouth. That’s all you need to know, so do yourself a favor and keep your eyes open and don’t go looking for information, otherwise, you’ll end up just like Crew.”
Ky’s eyes widen, fear blasting through her bright blue stare, and while I hate scaring her like that, it’s for the best. There’s no reason to tell her what Crew was involved in, no reason to have her constantly looking over her shoulder.
She has me. She’ll be fine.
Spider clears his throat from the opening of the alley, and as I glance back toward him, he nods, silently letting me know it’s time to get out of here. I turn my attention back to Ky, stepping back to give her space. “Get out of here, Ky. Go home,” I tell her. “The cops will eventually start asking more questions and when they do, keep your mouth shut. Don’t tell them you were at the shop yesterday. Don’t tell them he hurt you. As far as the cops were aware, you were home all day. I’ll give you an alibi if I have to.”
Ky visibly swallows, but she continues to hold my stare before finally nodding. “Okay,” she says in a small tone.
“Good,” I say, pressing my hand to her lower back and giving her a nudge to get moving. “Now go home. You don’t need to be here.”
Kyah moves out from the wall, her hands shaking at her sides as the tears continue to well in her eyes. “If I find out you’re lying to me, and you really did have something to do with this . . .”
She lets her words fall away, her empty threat sitting between us, and I’m not going to lie, I don’t fucking like it. People have lost their lives for making comments like that to me, but when it comes to Kyah Bailey there’s not a lot I wouldn’t forgive.
Besides, she’s free to make any assumption she wants; it doesn’t change anything. She still belongs to me, whether she fucking wants to or not.
17
KYAH
BythetimeIpush through the door of my apartment, I’m a blubbering mess. My eyes hurt from crying, and honestly, I don’t even remember the walk home. All I can think about is Crew. How I’ve let him down. How I didn’t really know him. How the past six years were all a lie. Did he even really care for me or was I just some naive girl to pass the time?
Shit. I should have stayed after our fight. I should have tried to work things out with him. Maybe then he would have left the shop and he’d still be alive. But how could I have stayed after what he did? Maybe if he’d been the one to leave and I was the one to stay . . . would it have been me who was attacked? Would I be the one currently rotting in the city morgue?
The guilt tears at me, and after throwing my things onto the couch, I stumble straight into the bathroom. Hanging my head into the sink, I splash cold water over my face as though that could somehow make the pain go away.
He was supposed to be my future, and now . . . he’s gone.
Just like that.
I don’t know what to think or how to process this. On one hand, I want to hate him for how he acted, but on the other, how am I supposed to just disregard six years? Does one mistake erase all the good times?
Panic pulses through my veins, and I take deep, calming breaths, trying to find clarity and grasp what little control I have, just like Viper in the alley. I saw him ready to snap, and I knew he was losing control, but I couldn’t stop myself from pushing him. It’s as though I needed the people around me to feel what I was feeling just so I wasn’t alone, and Viper did just that. He allowed me to push him and to say things he wouldn’t usually tolerate.
After splashing more water over my face, I straighten up, finally feeling my mind start to settle. Grabbing the small hand towel, I dry my face before tossing it onto the bathroom counter. As I stride out into my living room, I’m hit with a cool breeze.
My brows furrow, and I glance across the apartment, finding my living room window wide open.
What the fuck? I know I was in my own world when I was leaving for work this morning, but I know damn well that I wouldn’t have left with the window open like that. That’s just asking for trouble. But hell, it’s not the first time I’ve done something stupid. After all, stupid seems to be my specialty lately.
Shivers race down my spine and I hurry across my apartment, quickly shutting and locking the window. As I turn back, visions of Crew’s lifeless body beneath that sheet haunt my mind and I make my way into my bedroom, grabbing the pillow and comforter off my bed before trudging back out to my couch. I make myself comfortable in front of the TV, not that I’m actually going to watch it, but right now, I need some form of distraction. Anything will do.
I snuggle up, cuddling my pillow to my chest as I clutch my phone in my hand, desperate to hear the familiardingof one of Crew’s incoming texts, even if it was one of his asshole-ish ones that I’ve been getting lately.
A knock sounds at the door, and I lift my head off the armrest before dropping it right back down, too emotionally exhausted to get up off the couch. I don’t call out, don’t bother to do anything apart from hope whoever it is will go away. Only the knocking sounds again and I groan. “I know you’re in there, Mace.”
Shit.
Letting out a sigh, I keep my gaze locked on the blank TV screen. “It’s open,” I murmur, not sure if I’ve projected my voice enough for him to hear through the closed door, but he seems to have heard it just fine when the door creaks open a moment later.
