The Family Cross Page 28

  “You’re so bossy,” he said, cheek now resting against the top of my head.

  I squeezed tighter. “I’m also going to ask you to stop smoking, but I’m not going to hold my breath.”

  “Fancy Pants—”

  “And”—I backed up a little and tilted my head to look up at him, his hands dropping to my hips—“don’t do anything too reckless. You can’t kill Frank if you die from being stupid first.”

  “Okay. Okay. Calm down.”

  “You need that fae spell to kill Frank. The sooner you kill Frank, the sooner you can come home,” I said firmly. Samson blinked at the last bit. Home. I wasn’t sure he’d ever had one. A real one. “You will call me when you need money, and I will get it to you somehow.”

  He didn’t say anything.

  “Sam.” I pinned him with a glare. “Promise me you’ll call.”

  “You…” His eyebrows pinched together. “You want me to come back?”

  That hadn’t been the part I thought he’d focus on. I figured my wanting his company had been obvious. The burn in my eyes multiplied, and my lip started to quiver. “Of course I want you to come back, you big idiot.”

  “Don’t cry,” he said with an uneasy laugh, hands still lightly hanging along my waist. “You’ve got a spine now. I was so impressed.”

  I laughed, but it didn’t do much for the tears except shake them from my lashes.

  “I’ll come back. I’m going to kill Frank, and then I’ll come back,” he said, voice low. I nodded a little, but it was unconvincing even to me. He stared hopefully. I’d never seen so much emotion on one person’s face, much less his. “I’ll…I’ll come home. Wherever that is. Wherever you are.”

  I stood on my toes, wrapped my arms around his neck, and tucked my head beside his throat. Despite my grief, I managed a smile. Last hug. For now, anyway. “I would say to bring me Frank’s head in a box, but a part of me thinks you might.”

  He smiled against my temple. “Boxes are bulky. How ’bout a plastic sack?”

  “Those inevitably have holes in the bottom. You’ll get blood on the rugs.”

  He laughed. He genuinely, whole-heartedly laughed. “I did tell him I’d kick his head into the J. Edgar Hoover Building. I should probably keep my promise.”

  A comment that had horrified me to the core only weeks ago now brought a smile to my face. If I wasn’t so upset, I’d take the time to unpack the emotions a realization like that deserved.

  “Come home in one piece.” I leaned back and pressed my lips to his cheek.

  He stilled. Nothing, not even a breath, moved him. Samson hadn’t known an ounce of love in his life, and I cared for him very much. I wanted him to know that. To never forget it.

  Samson shifted again and wrapped me back in his arms, this time holding me close with a hand on the back of my neck, his fingers warm against my skin.

  “You were right the other night.” Samson took a deep breath and rubbed his thumb in slow circles along the nape of my neck. He pulled me closer with his hand on my lower back, and I wound my arms around his waist, tucking them just below the guns strapped to his sides again.

  “About what?”

  “I’ve been happy before,” he said against the top of my head, breath hot along my scalp. “I’d like to tell you how it started before I go.”

  “I’d like to hear it.” Another tear rolled down my face. I focused on his callused skin against mine and committed it to memory. Would he really come back? Even if he wanted to, would he survive a fight with a demon?

  He took another long, deep breath. “I ran into a stuck up at a coffee shop one morning. She tried to buy my coffee, and even though I was a dick about it, she still bought it anyway. A scone too. All for no reason, other than she wanted to.”

  “Little did she know, that was the nicest thing anyone had ever done for me.” Samson smiled wide against my mussed-up hair. “No strings attached. Just something nice.”

  More tears pooled along my lashes.

  “She was really funny. Got riled easy. I’d stick my boots on her desk because she’d do this thing with her nose I liked when she got annoyed. She also made me eat vegetables, and even though I don’t really like them, I ate ’em anyway.” He took a deep breath. “And even though this stuck-up, fancy-pants lady had every reason in the world to hate my guts, she didn’t.”

  I pulled away enough to look at him. “She doesn’t.”

  Samson put a hand against my face and wiped a tear away with his thumb. “You deserve better than what you got.”

  “So do you.”

  His eyebrows pinched together, and he looked at me. Really, deeply looked at me. Eyes like the depths of the ocean, full of something I couldn’t pinpoint or name, roved over mine with attention I’d never seen him give to anything or anyone else. As we stared at each other, still wrapped in a tight embrace, it occurred to me that no one had ever looked at me like that. Like I was the only thing that mattered. That I mattered at all.

  I didn’t realize I wanted him to kiss me until his gaze dropped to my lips, but when the realization crossed my mind, he wasted no time.

  Samson had always done things with something akin to recklessness, but not this. He was almost shy, maybe even careful, like he feared he’d break me like he’d broken so many others. His lips found mine, and after a moment, they moved together like the rolling sea along the shore. Hardly anything he did surprised me anymore, but the gentleness he showed me…I didn’t know he was capable of it. His deadly hands, yet somehow loving now, continued to hold me close, lightly moving his thumb against my cheek as he softly moved his lips against mine.

  I’d never known what it meant to have a home. I never imagined kissing this horribly broken man would show me everything I’d lacked with astounding clarity, and unlike an astronomer searching the night sky for answers, I’d found them. A home didn’t always come with walls, a last name, or even blood.

  Home meant being comfortable and safe, and for the first time in my life, I was.

  Samson pulled away abruptly and pressed his lips to my hairline, hand still firm against my face. “I will come back. I promise.”

  Before I could say anything else, he turned around and stalked down the hall toward the access to the stairs. There was a perfectly good elevator, of course, but I saw right through him. I brought a shaking hand to my swollen lips, unsurprised when they twisted into another smile as he disappeared into the stairwell.

  A sharp yowl drew my attention to the wood floor. Cat rolled around my ankles. Poor thing. Her best friend and savior had just left.

  I picked up Cat and went inside. As much as I wanted to look back to the stairwell, hope clinging to my ribs that Samson hadn’t truly gone, I fought the urge. He’d come back when he was ready. When Frank was dead.

  Instead, I carried Cat into my bedroom, ignoring the rumpled sheets where Samson had slept, and walked into my closet. Staying here to wallow wasn’t an option. I needed to see Gerard.

  “What do you think?” I asked Cat, wiping an errant tear away as I appraised my clothes. “Milton will be at the hospital. The press, undoubtedly, will be at the hospital too.”

  My gaze lingered on the rack filled with pencil skirts, but my gaze eventually moved past them.

  “How about this?” I reached over and pulled a pair of tailored dress pants off the rack, trying to keep the tags from tangling with the other hangers. Cat meowed and stretched, tired of being carried. I put her on the floor, and she trotted over toward the bed.

  A deep breath filled my lungs as I stared at the black polyester. I’d killed my homicidal brother and watched my former boyfriend detail his plot to have me eaten by a fairy, and I made out with a telepathic hit man in my hallway.

  Today, I was going to wear pants.

  My father would get over it.

  Epilogue

  The Mercedes rocked into park, and I forced myself to take three deep breaths. The familiar stretch of chain-link fence in front of me did little
to calm the fervent beat of my heart, and there wasn’t a single part of me that didn’t want to throw the car in reverse and drive back home.

  Hopefully coming to The Den on my own wasn’t a gigantic mistake.

  I opened the door and stepped into the late summer sun. It had been two weeks since my kill contract was terminated. Two weeks since Samson left my life. In that time, I’d come to the unfortunate conclusion that I’d been a pain in the ass to a particular pair of werewolves. Not only had Cliff come to the rescue when Samson knocked himself out after the fae fight, but I’d also gotten the dead fae’s blood all over Gemma’s car as he transported us to a motel. The remains of the Unseelie fae had smelled horrible to me, a human, so I could only imagine the hell it unleased on Gemma’s werewolf nose.

  With a click of my key fob, the trunk popped open and revealed a pair of bags. Maybe I could make up for it now. Or at least try to.

  “Or maybe I’ll get torn apart by another supernatural creature now that Samson is gone,” I muttered under my breath as I picked up the bags. While they were reusable bags advertising my favorite grocery store, the things inside were decidedly not food. “There’s always that possibility.”

  Before I could get too far into my own head, I slung both bags on my right shoulder and hoofed it through the parking lot, stilettos clicking against the asphalt. While the wound left behind by Rolf’s bite had healed and the stitches had been removed, my left shoulder still ached. The once smooth skin was now a twist of puckered lines, ones I knew would never go away. Probably fitting considering the circumstances.

  I was a murderer now. I didn’t deserve to go a day without thinking about it.

  The Den’s parking lot was protected by Cowboy Boots again this afternoon. He’d ditched the basketball shorts for a pair of jeans, and he didn’t have the smear of blood on his lips I’d seen last time, but his wide smile and missing tooth made him unmistakable. He sat at the edge of the lot, slouched in a folding chair. I hadn’t been sure he’d let me in without Samson, but he hadn’t batted an eyelash when I drove up to the gate.

  “Thank you for letting me in,” I said as I passed, making sure my pace didn’t slow. While he’d never been violent toward me, I’d never forget the blood around his mouth the night I met him and Samson’s insistence that I didn’t want the details.

  “Sure thing, lady.” He looked up from his cell phone and smiled, eyes narrowed in the sunlight. “Where’s Samson at?”

  I shrugged but kept walking, trying my best to ignore the grief lingering in the depths of my chest like an anchor. “I wish I knew.”

  Cowboy Boots bobbed his head in acknowledgment but said nothing.

  The Den’s exterior didn’t look much better today than it had the last time I’d seen it. The piles of cigarette butts lingering in the cracked sidewalk hadn’t done anything but grow, and the flyers taped around the door had gotten soggy and torn in a recent bout of rain. The bouncer, apparently still on duty despite the time of day, kept his dark eyes on me as I approached.

  “Is Cliff in?”

  “Yep. Bar’s closed, but he’s in there.” He stepped to the side and waved me in, nose ring glinting in the sun. “I’m surprised you came back.”

  “You and me both.” I held up the bags in my hands. “I come bearing gifts.”

  The bouncer nodded, a smile teasing his lips. “Is this going to be a reoccurring thing?”

  “I’m not sure. I suppose it depends on if I leave here alive.” He pushed the door open and held it as I passed. “Thank you.”

  “Sure.”

  Unsurprisingly, the entrance to The Den also hadn’t improved in the weeks since my last visit. Actually, that was a lie—someone had vacuumed. There weren’t any stray toothpicks in the carpet or napkins along the baseboards. I teetered on my Manolos at the entrance, appraising the bar with a scrunched nose as my ponytail brushed my neck.

  The stretch of open space was filled with tables, chairs, and a few pool tables. Wet rags sat on around the room, and a citrusy scent attempted to smother the lingering smell of cigarette smoke. Had the bar gotten so gross the last time over the course of one night, or was this cleanliness a recent development?

  “What brings you back here, Matilda?”

  The familiar voice pulled my attention to the back. Cliff stood behind the bar in front of a row of liquor bottles, arms crossed. The fact he didn’t immediately turn into a werewolf and eat me gave me a marginal amount of confidence to proceed as planned.

  I patted the bags slung on my shoulder. “I brought you and Gemma something as thanks for your help during my whole…thing.”

  “Your thing, huh?” Cliff raised a skeptical eyebrow when I reached the bar and slung his damp rag on his shoulder. His silence continued until I hoisted the bags onto the bar top. “I don’t want your organic bananas and quinoa.”

  “These aren’t groceries.” Even if they were, bananas and quinoa were delicious. His loss. I reached into the bag and pulled out a box. “This is for you.”

  He chuckled and accepted it, turning it around between his hands. The picture of a cabernet sloshing into a wineglass shined beneath the bar light. “Wineglasses? Do you think people here drink wine?”

  “They’ve probably never been given the chance, so how would I know? I’m having some good wine shipped here too.” My lips twisted in amusement when Cliff glowered. “This other bag is for Gemma. Since I got that stinky fae blood in her car, I got her some shoes.”

  “Shoes?”

  “Heels. Manolos and a pair of Jimmy Choos.” I pushed the bag toward him along the bar top. “I think she’ll like them.”

  He finally smiled and gave me a pointed look. “How did you know her shoe size?”

  “I called here the other day and asked her.” After dusting the barstool with my fingers, I slid onto it and leaned on my elbows. Cliff popped open the box and unpacked his glasses, carefully prying the glassware from the packaging. “I also asked her if you had wineglasses here. She confirmed my suspicions.”

  “I bet she did.” Cliff snorted. “Have you heard from Samson?”

  “No. I don’t think I will hear from him either.” When we first met, I never thought I’d get used to him. Now I missed him like crazy. “I got weak the other day and tried to call him. It went straight to voice mail.”

  “He probably tossed his phone.”

  Hearing what I suspected didn’t make me feel any better. “I figured.”

  Cliff’s fingers stilled on the packaging. “It’s to keep you safe. You know that, right?”

  “I know. Still hard though.”

  He continued unwrapping the stemware, corners of his mouth lifted. “It would mean a lot to him to know you tried calling.”

  “I doubt that. He probably forgot all about me after he left.”

  “You really believe that?”

  I focused on the polished woodgrain of the bar top to keep from looking at him. When it came to Samson, I didn’t know what I believed. That man had turned everything I’d ever known upside down and inside out. There was no way I could guess his next move any easier than I could guess who’d win the lottery.

  But regardless of what I believed, it was easier to think he’d never come back. That he didn’t care. If he proved to be like everyone else in my life, then it wouldn’t hurt so much when the months and years stretched on and he never appeared at my door.

  “As you know, I’m high maintenance.” I finally met Cliff’s stare and forced a smile. “He’s probably happy he got a break.” Cliff stared at me, brows pinched. Unable to hold his gaze, I drummed my fingers on the bar. When it got unbearable, I sighed. “What?”

  He set the glass in his hand down and shook his head. “I’ll be right back.”

  My brow knitted. “Um—”

  Cliff turned his back on me and stalked to the door leading to the back of the bar, leaving me alone.

  I blinked, staring at the door. His exit was almost as abrupt as Samson’s the morning he left
.

  The yawning silence inside the bar plucked at my nerves. Maybe saying that Samson didn’t care about me was a mistake. If no one would miss me, especially a telepathic assassin keen on murder and mayhem, then Cliff might not find much reason to keep me alive. I knew he was a werewolf. I knew his bar. Samson had also probably gotten him in trouble with his Alpha after the last time we came in to get some iron blades.

  Great. Maybe I should leave.

  Before I could make up my mind, the door swung open again, and Cliff emerged. In his right hand, he held a small cardboard box sealed with a strip of duct tape. With a small smile, he sat it on the bar in front of me. “Here.”

  I stared at the box, dubious. A piece of a straw wrapper stuck to the curled end of the tape. “What is it?”

  Cliff shrugged and resumed unpacking the wineglasses. “Samson left it here for you.”

  My heart dipped. “When?”

  “He stopped by after he left your place, I think. Just before he left the city.”

  I swallowed, throat dry, and grabbed the box. “Did he happen to say where he was going?”

  “No.” His gaze flickered to meet mine. “But he had a suspicion you’d come here asking, I figure.”

  My cheeks warmed. Apparently, Samson knew I was nosy.

  Curiosity getting the better of me, I gripped the duct tape and peeled it back, the soft tear of worn cardboard hitting my ears. What could he have possibly left behind for me? If he wanted to give me something, he could’ve done it in the month he lived with me.

  Unless our kiss on my doorstep had prompted him to leave something. Something he wouldn’t have bothered to leave had he not known that I wanted him to come back.

  The thoughts of what if brought a smile to my lips, and I pushed the flaps of the box back.

  My smile widened. The contents weren’t what I expected, but they were so undeniably him. A knife—one of the very knives he’d slain Rolf with—lay at the bottom. This wasn’t one of the blades he’d taken from Cliff either. This was Samson’s knife. Plain with a chipped wood handle inside a worn leather sheath. He’d cleaned it since I picked it off the floor of the executive suite, the fae’s blood nowhere to be seen.