Chapter 11

I DON’T want to bring Oliver with me.

Other than what a friend was able to dig up for me, this Adam guy is a mystery to us. He seems harmless, but I could be wrong. And I hate the thought of dragging Oliver into a situation without knowing what we’re walking into.

But when I head downstairs, he’s already waiting by the door, tucking his gun into the waistband of his jeans before shrugging on his black hoodie.

I sigh. Maybe it’s for the best. He won’t sleep until I get back, anyway.

We climb into my truck, but I don’t start it. There’s something I’ve needed to say all day, but I haven’t been able to get him alone.

When he sees my face, he runs a hand through his hair. “Please tell me you haven’t been beating yourself up about this all day. You’ve been doing better, Rhett. It was just one slip-up.”

Of course he’s able to figure it out that quickly. When you’ve been with someone for over ten years, you learn them inside and out.

My knuckles turn white as I grip the steering wheel. “I don’t want to have slip-ups. You both—all three of you—deserve better.”

“Fuck,” he mutters. Then he leans over the console and grabs my face in his hands. “You were trying to protect her, okay? I shouldn’t’ve told her I’d be heartbroken if she decided not to stay. You were right to call me out on my bullshit.”

Not by snapping at you, I almost yell. But that would defeat the purpose of this already-failed attempt at an apology. “I shouldn’t’ve done it like that,” I grit out. “And I’m sorry.”

He touches his forehead to mine. “Apology accepted. I’m not holding it against you.”

Part of the knot in my chest unravels, but my skin still feels vulnerable and prickly. I press my lips to his before turning on the truck and pulling out of the garage.

When I pull up a couple of blocks away from Adam’s house, I let out a breath. Almost there.

“You good?” Oliver’s hand covers mine over the gearshift.

I work my jaw. Tighten my fist and then unclench it. “Just don’t let me kill him.”

He nods, and we start moving, hoods up. The snow crunches under our boots, and I keep my breaths even. When we get to his street, I pull on my gloves.

Just stick to your list. Hurt him enough that he’ll never dare to touch anyone else again. And then get the fuck out.

His front door is locked, but I kick it down with ease, gun in hand. He’s in the front room, sitting in an old armchair, an open bottle of whiskey next to him. One of his hands is clutching a gun that’s pointed straight at my head.

“Get out,” he yells, standing. “Or I’ll shoot!”

Oliver swears behind me, and I hear the shot before it’s even registered in my mind that he’s jumped in front of me.

Panic seizes my chest until I see Adam stumble backward, clutching his arm. Blood soaks his sleeve.

Shit. The neighbors definitely heard that.

“Freddy’s on tonight,” Oliver says, watching as Adam’s knees hit the floor. “There’s no way he won’t be the one who gets called to the scene.”

“Good.” That gives us more time.

Grabbing Adam’s gun from the floor where he dropped it, I eject the magazine and check the chamber. Both empty. What an idiot.

“I’ll watch the door,” Oliver says, grimacing at it. My kicking it down completely ruined it and the doorjamb.

At least it was cathartic.

I grab Adam by his hair and drag him into the back of his house. The kitchen is tiled, so it’ll be easier for whoever has to clean up the blood than the wooden floors of the front room.

I haul him up, tossing him onto the counter. Dirty dishes clatter, and I hear a few break, but I don’t care. I rip off his belt, tying it around his arm. I didn’t drive all the way over here just for him to pass out from blood loss.

“Please don’t hurt me,” Adam sobs. “I have a girlfriend. Her name is Wren. She won’t be able to live without me, she’ll be so—”

I punch him in his stupid mouth, and his head slams into a cabinet. “You really don’t recognize me, do you?”

“No! I swear, I have no idea who you are or what you want. I’ll do anything. Do you want money? Drugs? I’ve got both upstairs.”

“I want you out of this city.”

“Please, man. I can’t leave. I’ve got family here.”

“Don’t care.” I punch him again, my fist connecting with his jaw, and he slumps to the floor.

He lets out a pathetic groan as I hear the first sirens.

I crouch next to him, grabbing his chin and pulling his face to mine. “I’ve decided to go easy on you tonight. But if you’re still here by the end of the week, I’ll make your life a living nightmare.”

“This is going easy?” he sputters. Blood is dripping from his mouth, and he coughs, spraying my face.

“You have no idea,” I grit out. The things I could do to this punk—but I can’t. Freddy’s power is limited, and he can only help us get away with so much.

“I’ll leave,” he croaks. “Just don’t hurt me anymore.”

I release him, and his head hits the ground when he doesn’t catch himself. With a disgusted glare, I kick him in the stomach once. And then again—for good measure.

I grab his keys from my pocket and throw them on the floor. I already wiped my prints off them and took Wren’s key off the ring.

Adam groans. “How did you get these? Who the fuck are you?”

I ignore both of his questions. “Good luck finding your car. Heard it got towed. Can’t remember where to, though.”

With that, I head back out front. Freddy is just stepping inside, the lights of his car flashing red and blue from the street.

“We were never here,” I tell him, and he nods. Then I grab Oliver, and we disappear out the back door.

WHEN WE GET home, the kitchen light is on. The second I step through the garage door, I see Elliot sitting at the counter and Wren pacing the room in nothing but an oversized T-shirt.

She turns to me, and her eyes go wide. “Oh my god.”

Guess I didn’t get all the blood off my face.

For a moment, her feet are frozen to the floor, like she’s holding herself back from something. Then she’s running toward me, flinging her arms around my neck.

I grunt from the impact, wrapping my arms around her waist. “I’m okay, sweetheart.”

“Wait, where’s Oliver?!” she says in a panicked voice, pulling away and searching behind me. Her fingers grab onto my jacket, fisting the fabric tightly.

I look out into the dark garage. When I got out of the truck, he was on the phone with Freddy, explaining what really happened—even though the truth will never appear in the papers tomorrow.

He emerges from the darkness, grinning. “I’m fine, princess. Not even a scratch.”

Wren relaxes into me.

“Why are you guys still up?” I inhale the sweet scent from her shampoo, and instantly my heart feels calmer.

“She’s still Adam’s emergency contact in his phone. Got a call saying he was on the way to the hospital, barely conscious.” Elliot runs a hand over his face, trying to rub his tiredness away. “She put the pieces together pretty easily. Smart girl.” He gives her a proud smile, which she returns.

“How did the authorities get called so quickly?” Elliot stands with a yawn.

“He had a gun pointed at Rhett. I shot him.”

Elliot freezes. “What?”

Wren’s arms tighten around me as she lets out a startled noise.

“It was empty,” I say. “The dumb fuck probably didn’t even know how to load it.”

Elliot grips the counter. “Never again, Rhett. Next time, do the proper fucking recon.”

I don’t look at him. Can’t. The terror in his voice is too much, and I know it’s written all over his face, too.

“Please,” he says, and I’m pretty sure his voice almost breaks.

I swallow. “Never again.”

Wren shoves away from me. I feel empty without her against my chest, but I let her go. She glares up at me, and not in a playful way. My heart fucking stops when I see the tears in her eyes.

No. No, please, not you.

“If you would’ve asked, I could’ve told you he has a gun. And that he only got it to brag about it.” She shoves her finger at my chest. “He doesn’t know how to use it—although he thinks he does.”

I just watch her, relief flooding my chest. She doesn’t hate me. It’s the opposite. She cares too fucking much, just like I do.

“Hey.” Oliver steps forward, pulling her into his arms. “We’re okay. He’s safe.”

“Barely,” she murmurs, sniffling.

I reach for her hand, and she lets me hold it. God, she’s shaking. But she pulls me closer, and I wrap my arms around both of them. In an instant, Elliot is on the other side of them, mirroring my movements. He leans his forehead against Oliver’s with a relieved sigh.

But then Wren tenses, and her breaths turn shallow and panicked. We pull away, giving her some space.

“What if you go to prison?” she wails, looking between me and Oliver. Her tears finally spill over. “You can’t go to prison!”

We all bust out laughing. Oh, she’s cute.

“Not happening, princess. Don’t worry about it.”

She frowns, looking between the three of us. “What did you guys say you do for work again?”

“We didn’t,” I say firmly. “And it’s staying that way. For now.”

She huffs, but when Oliver kisses her, she pulls away with a tired smile.

“Yeah, you need sleep.” Elliot scoops her up into his arms, and she laughs. “For real this time.”

He kisses Oliver, and then me. Wren watches us with a soft expression on her face. Happiness? Contentment? Compersion? I can’t quite place it.

She looks at me, stretching upward, and I press my lips to hers. Then, with a whispered, “Goodnight,” from her, Elliot carries her upstairs.

I lean against the counter, closing my eyes. The entire drive home, I was able to listen to Oliver’s voice as he made a series of phone calls. But now it’s silent, and there’s nothing to distract me from my thoughts.

What would’ve happened if Adam had known how to work that gun? If Oliver hadn’t reacted so quickly? I’m not conceited, but I know what would happen to Oliver and Elliot if I got killed. And it wouldn’t be pretty.

And now, Wren. She looks at me with the same amount of passion I feel toward her, but for some reason, she’s holding back. It makes my chest feel weird.

I hear the sink turn on.

“C’mere. I’m getting that blood off your face.” Oliver runs a paper towel under the water.

I move toward him, letting him scrub at my face until he’s satisfied.

“Hand, too,” he says, grabbing mine before I can tell him no.

He washes away the blood and cleans the cuts on my knuckles. I hiss when he pours rubbing alcohol over them.

“When was the last time you slept?” he asks without looking at me.

I’ve had terrible insomnia for years. It’s helpful considering the weird hours we end up working, but I do tend to crash at the most inopportune times.

“I don’t know.” I rub my face with my free hand. “Wednesday night? Thursday morning?” Tuesday afternoon. And only for a couple of hours.

“You need to sleep.”

“Not tired.”

“Well, you’re laying down with me. Because I don’t want to be alone tonight.”

Translation: I panicked when I saw a gun pointed at your head, and I need you close to me.

I nod. He and Elliot are my rock. Have been for years. So when I get a chance to be there for them, I refuse to let them down. Forget that being vulnerable with someone makes my skin prickle and my stomach turn. They’re the two most important people in my life, and I’d do anything for them.

“Whatever you need, O. Whatever you need.”