Page 6 of Murder & Mayhem

My lips part in surprise. The sound of my real name on his lips slaps me across the face, clashing with a memory of him saying it in a much more concerned tone the day of the explosion.How had I forgotten that?What’s more bothersome is the realization that he knows my deepest, darkest secret. I’m frozen speechless as he once again stands to his full height in front of me, giving me a small, impossible-to-discern smile before he turns on his heel. The squeak of his polished shoes against the tile is the only noise as he walks out the door.

***

I get through the next week by keeping myself busy. I check in on Sheryl and Grace, who seem to be really flourishing away from Python’s control, and take on three Reaper jobs in between shifts at Strip Tease. Anything to stop me from thinking, because every time I stop, for even a second, my mind goes into overdrive. I feel like I’m slowly losing control of everything around me, and I’m struggling to cope with all of this change and ambiguity. Every single moment of my life growing up was filled with uncertainty. With a drug addict mom who dances to the beat of her own drum, coming home whenever suits and dragging strange men into the house without a care for her children’s safety, it’s safe to say I had a less than stable upbringing. Following that with years of living on the street where every day is a new battle and you never knew what was in store for you, a life of inconsistency and constant change was all I knew.

Until I got us into this apartment. Ever since I got us off the streets, I’ve worked seriously fucking hard to ensure every aspect of my life is undermycontrol. Yet, somehow I’ve managed to go from keeping the Reaper a carefully concealed secret to now three people—three people I don’t remotely trust—knowing my hidden identity. It’s concerning, to say the least, and I’m twitchy and restless all week, unable to function knowing I have no control over any of it. I keep expecting to get ambushed or come home to the apartment building ablaze as a result of one of Antonellis’ strikes. The Rejects at least have a vested interest in keeping my identity a secret, but what does Enzo want? And who else has he told?

The stress of it all has me strung out and on edge, and Luc has had to bear the brunt of my shitty mood all week.

“Jesus, Sawyer, you’re a fucking bitch this week,” Luc grumbles when I blow a fuse at him for leaving his sweaty clothes all over the bathroom.

“Hey!” I snap, spinning to glower at him. “Watch that tone, mister.”

He simply rolls his eyes. “Whatever. You don’t need to take your PMS bullshit out on me.” He stomps into his room and returns a moment later with a bag slung over his back.

“Where the fuck are you going?” I demand, scowling at the bag as if I can magically remove it from his shoulder and back into his room by sheer will.

“I’m going to stay with Jon and the guys for a few days, until this”—he waves his hand in my general direction—“has fucked off.”

“Like hell, you’re going to stay in a gang clubhouse,” I laugh humorlessly. The whole point of me constantly arguing with Cain over the issue is because I don’t want Luc exposed to that life twenty-four seven.

“Well, I’m sure as fuck not putting up with your shit for another day.” He shakes his head. “I don’t know what has been going on with you recently, but you need to sort it out.”

As I open my mouth to respond, there’s a sharp knock at the front door and Luc spears me with a deadly look before moving past me to answer it.

I hear the flicking of the lock before the door opens, followed by Luc’s low voice. “Hey, man… yeah, give me a sec.” He ducks his head back into the living room. “I’m heading out. I’ve got my phone on me, and you know where to reach me…” He lingers for a second as I swallow roughly, struggling to find my voice. I’m worried that if I try to speak, I’ll end up barking at him. I don’t want to make things even worse between us, so instead, I just stand there mutely, watching through blurry eyes as he walks out the door, leaving me alone.

The second I hear the car engine start on the street outside, I grab the closest thing to me—a glass—and chuck it at the wall. I can’t handle this lack of control and having my strings pulled in different directions. I’m used to being in charge of my life, of not answering to anyone. Sagging onto the sofa, I release a long, unsteady breath, letting out some of the stress from the last week.

There’s nothing I can do about Enzo right now. He’s obviously known my identity for years, and no one has come after me, so I can only hope he won’t say anything for the time being. As for Cain and Oliver, I need to learn to trust them. Cain’s a pain in my ass, but he’s one I can handle. Oliver… Well, he’s a completely different can of worms. He’s not a threat, but he is a hazard to my heart, and every time I’m around him, I feel myself softening toward him, craving his touch. My stomach turns into a riot of butterflies every time he so much as looks at me, and I’ve got no idea how to make it stop. It doesn’t help that he knows how much he affects me and plays on that every time I’m around him. How did my life become such a fucking mess in the space of a few weeks?

I let myself wallow in self-pity at the chaos that is my life before picking myself off the sofa and getting ready for my shift at Strip Tease tonight. At least that’s one part of my life that’s continuing as normal. It’s the one time I can pretend everything in my life is the same predictable routine it used to be. When my heartstrings weren’t being pulled at, and my head wasn’t second-guessing my every thought and action. When putting food on the table, paying rent, and killing abusive assholes were all I had to worry about.ThatI could handle. It was as easy as breathing. But trying to trust the very type of people I’ve been taught to avoid? Worse, to feel some sort of kinship with them? That goes against every fiber of my being. The more time I spend around Cain and Oliver, Jon and the kids, and even the other Rejects, the more I want to let my barriers down. Iwantto trust them. Hell, if we have any hope of achieving what we want to, Ineedto trust them. Butfuck,actually putting that trust in them feels about as comfortable as not breathing.

My shift goes by in the usual fashion of groping, drunken males, and sleazy comments, all of which I navigate with a tight smile as weariness tugs at me.I’m getting too old for this shit.By the time I’m leaving the club in the early hours of the morning, all I can think about is collapsing face-first onto my bed. Even the gnawing worry over Luc won’t be enough to keep me awake.

I stutter to a stop as I reach the sidewalk and find Oliver leaning against his car. “What are you doing here?”

“Jon said Luc was staying with us for a few days, I figured you’d want an invite, too.”

I cock a brow. “Luc and I are not moving into the clubhouse,” I state adamantly. “We just… had an argument.”

Oliver has enough sense to squash the smirk pulling at his lips. “I never said you were. Just figured, if he’s there, then you’d wanna be too.”

I hesitate for a second, but ultimately, if Luc is there, I’d rather be nearby. Just in case. Besides, the thought of going home to an empty apartment doesn’t sound all that appealing.

“Sure,” I agree. “But I need to go home to grab some stuff.”

With a nod, he pushes off the side of the car and walks around to the driver’s side while I climb in beside him, and we drive over to my apartment.

“You don’t have to come up,” I begin, when he gets out of the car. “I’ll only be a minute.”

He just shrugs and continues to follow me through the door. I glance around nervously as he trails behind me, taking in the grimy walls and threadbare carpet with fresh eyes and wondering what Oliver thinks of the shabby interior of my building. By the time we reach the door to my apartment, my palms are sweaty, and I’m mentally berating myself for even caring what he thinks.

No one in Black Creek has money. I’m sure he’s well used to buildings like this.

God, has there always been the stench of piss in the hallway, or is that new?

Stop it! Who cares what he thinks? I thought you had no interest in being with him anyway.

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