Page 13 of The Enemy

When we fell into this vigilante crusade over five years ago, we agreed that, if they could be handled legally, we’d do that, and I’d do that part. If the only route was to end their miserable lives, Lorenzo handled it. He’s hungrier for blood than me. I just want justice in whatever form it takes and ultimately the women to be safe.

“Good. You can go back to enjoying your wife now, Carmichael.”

“Yes, I will.”

“We should do lunch. I’d love to meet her.”

“Not a fucking chance, Abruzzo. I’d rather stick my dick in a meat grinder than let you near a woman that belongs to me.”

I’m staking a claim I don’t have, in a way that makes my skin crawl, but it’s the only way to ensure he leaves Audrey alone. Not that I fear for her safety, but I know the effect she has on men, and Lorenzo would stop at nothing if he thought he could have a woman like Audrey. I wouldn’t put it past her to go out with him just to spite me.

“Point taken. Goodnight, Carmichael.”

I hang up and delete the email, ensuring there’s no evidence of it on my computer. I haven’t technically done anything wrong in the eyes of the law, at least not in any way that can be traced back to me, but I have got my hands dirty. I know the blood on my hands will never wash away and I’m okay with that. The stain on my soul is mine to carry.

An alert on my phone lets me know I have a visitor at the gate, and I scan the camera and see Audrey’s Audi RS. Pressing the button to let her in, I move to the door and wrench it open to wait for her. She rounds the corner too fast, gravel kicking up on my drive and I frown, irritated with her for not taking proper care. I’m about to tear into her for it when her car door opens, and I see her step out still wearing the clothes I’d had brought up from the store in the hotel. But what really catches my attention is the utter devastation on her beautiful face.

“Audrey?”

I’m walking before I even realize what I’m doing, grasping her forearms to steady her as she looks up at me on the doorstep and a sob of absolute anguish falls from her. I don’t think, I just take her in my arms and hold her as she falls apart and vow to do whatever it takes to fix whatever it is that made her cry.

5Audrey

I liftmy head from Hudson’s chest as he swipes my tears with his thumbs, and a sense of safety comes over me. I feel like my world is falling apart. I was handling the news I received earlier until I saw him, and then everything was just too much. I knew as I fell apart, he’d catch me.

“Come inside and let’s talk.”

I nod as he releases me and follow him inside, my eyes darting around like a thief taking in every detail of his home. It isn’t what I expected at all. I thought it would be cold with lots of white, clinical minimalism, but it is homey, warm, and inviting.

“Why don’t we talk in the lounge?”

I grip my purse and follow him down the hallway, trying to catch peeks of the rooms we pass. The floor is midtone hardwood, the walls differing shades of cream, and the lounge, when we reach it, faces into a large back garden with a pool. Deep couches in soft fabrics face an elegant fireplace and I see a line of pictures on the mantel, but I’m not close enough to see who is in them.

“Sit, please. Would you like a drink?”

“Water, if you don’t mind.”

I let my gaze wander around the room as Hudson hurried off to get me some water. I don’t know why I came here first, but it was instinctive. The conversation with my parents spins around in my head and I try to fight the choking feeling, forcing tears to drown me.

“Darling, we’re so happy to see you.”

My mother’s warm embrace drives the guilt home even further as she leads me into the den where my father, retired judge, John Jones, is sitting in his favorite chair by the window.

“Pumpkin.” His wide smile is comforting as he opens his arms and I walk into them. I am, and have always been, a daddy’s girl. My father is the man who I measure all men by and only one ever came close.

“Hey, Daddy.”

My mother bustled in with a tray filled with coffee and cake and placed it on the table next to my father.

“Where is your young man?”

I pause at my father’s question, the coffee cup shaking slightly in my hand. I hate that I have disappointed them, that I’d bring shame on them in any way.

“Mom, Dad, I’m sorry.”

My father raises his hand and then glances across at my mother, who has tears in her eyes. I feel an undercurrent of tension and hate that I’m the cause.

“Sweetheart, please, it’s okay. Your mother and I know that sometimes, in the heat of the moment, these things happen. I can’t say it isn’t a bit of a surprise, but you only have to look at the pictures to see how much he loves you.”

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