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Amber flecks of approval light his blue eyes and before I know his intent, I’m scooped up and carried towards the bathroom, and a few minutes later, I’m in the shower, water blasting hot while I’m pressed to the wall with Rick pressed inside me. The rest of the world, and its monsters, can just wait. We aren’t ready for them yet.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Candace

Surreal.

It’s all so surreal.

Rick unloads his bag in the closet and bathroom and soon we’re at the double sinks, sharing the bathroom together for the first time in years. He shaves all but his goatee, while I apply light make-up. We steal little glances at each other, our familiar bond growing more and more present with every passing moment.

He dresses in jeans and a Metallica T-shirt that fits his impressive chest to perfection and heads into the bedroom. I dress in black jeans and a black tank. Once I’ve slipped into one of my many hoodies, I then join Rick in the bedroom. My timing gives me a perfect view of him sliding a handgun into a holster at his ankle. With that sight, my spine stiffens and my nerves decide to dance a number on my stomach.

Rick straightens and glances over at me, and with that one quick look at me, his jaw sets hard. “You’re upset.”

“I’m a military brat. I’m not afraid of guns. You know that.”

He crosses to stand in front of me his hands coming down on my arms. “I will never be unarmed. Ever. Does that scare you?”

“Oh please. I like your big gun, Rick Savage,” I tease, my hand flattening on his chest. “I’m fine.” I push to my toes and kiss him, but when I would turn away, he catches my waist. “You didn’t look fine when you saw me with that gun.”

“It was a blast back into reality, that’s all. I’d blocked out Gabriel and my fears for my father, but it’s time to face this and find a way out.”

He gives me a skeptical look. “You’re sure?”

“Yes. Positive. This is me, Rick. You know guns don’t freak me out.”

“I’m going to make this go away,” he promises. “And then you’re going to New York with me. I’ll convince you, even if that takes me bending at the knee.”

I laugh. “How very Game of Thrones of you. Tell me about New York.”

He catches my hand. “Let’s talk over coffee at the kitchen table, the way we used to.”

“I’d like that,” I say, pleased with this reminder of our past morning routine, talking and laughing. Starting the day with him was second only to ending the night in his arms.

Ten minutes later, we’re at the table with steaming cups in front of us. “What do you want to know?” he asks.

My first question comes easily. “Why New York?”

“It’s where Walker operates. My apartment is a few blocks from the main office.”

“What does your job entail?”

“When I started with them, I took high-risk overseas jobs for big paydays. The kind of jobs you don’t know if you’ll come back from.”

“And now?” I ask.

“I take local work only, and by local work, I mean stateside.”

“What changed?”

“Walker has a limit. You can only take seven high-risk jobs before they pull you back. They feel like you reach a sanity capacity.”

“Did you want to take those jobs?”

“I didn’t have you, baby.”

“That’s a yes,” I say, not sure how I feel about that. It’s like he had a death wish, or a need to be far away from anything considered normal. “You did,” I add.

“I have money now. Lots of fucking money. I can choose what work I take and when I take it.”

His cellphone rings. “Holy fuck, it always rings at the wrong times.” He pulls it from his pocket and glances at the caller ID. “One guess,” he says.

“Adam.”

“Adam,” he confirms before answering. “What’s cooking, asshole? I’d have said what’s cooking, good looking, but you’re ugly as fuck.” He listens a minute, his expression turning to stone. “Only if he makes me,” he says.

I catch Adam’s muffled curse right before Rick disconnects. “My father just turned onto our street.”

My eyes go wide and I set my cup down. “Any idea why?”

“None,” he says. “But we’re about to find out.” He stands up and I follow, grabbing his shirt.

“Rick,” I say. “Don’t let your history and anger get the best of you.”

“You mean don’t kill him?”

“Don’t do that,” I warn him. “Don’t assume that’s where my head is now or ever. And don’t put words in my mouth. He’s involved in this nightmare. He could prove helpful.”

“If I find out he has any role in threatening you or your father, he’s a dead man. And I won’t apologize for it.”

“Still not scaring me,” I promise, pushing to my toes and kissing him. “Remember the deal. And remember that he might know things that we need to know. Anger won’t get those things out of his mouth, and to your ears.”

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