Everything for Us (The Bad Boys #3)(16)
Author: M. Leighton

Likely . . .

“That’s fine. We’ll be fine. I’m sure no one would dare come through that door with him in the house.”

I say it in jest, but it’s probably ninety percent true. Only the scariest of criminals might not give Nash a second thought. Of course, those are the ones we’re all worried about.

“Damn straight,” Nash murmurs from his spot.

I grin at Olivia when she rolls her eyes. “See?”

“Well, I’ll check back in with you later, anyway. I won’t be working a shift. I’ve got some homework I need to get done, so . . .”

“Please stop worrying about me,” I plead earnestly. The more compassion and kindness she shows me, the worse I feel about the way I’ve always treated her. And I already feel like a steaming pile of poo. “You’ve got your own troubles to deal with. And your own happiness to bask in. I’ll be fine. I promise.”

Her smile is reluctant, but it comes. And I feel better for having helped put it there. It feels good to be this person, this pleasant, thoughtful person rather than the scathing bitch I was before. The girl no one really wanted to be around unless they had something to gain from it.

“Yeah, we have basking to do,” Cash reiterates huskily as he pulls Olivia to her feet and into his arms. He nuzzles her throat and she giggles, wrapping her arms around his neck.

“Okay, okay.”

“Good. It’s all worked out then. Let’s go,” Cash says, taking Olivia by the hand and towing her toward the door. As she passes me, she impulsively bends down and winds one arm around my shoulders, hugging me to her.

“I’m glad you’re back,” she whispers in my ear, giving me a light squeeze. I reach up to return her hug, feeling the warmth of her personality more than ever.

And to think, if it weren’t for a case of being in the wrong place at the wrong time, I could’ve gone the rest of my life missing out on someone as wonderful as Liv. That would’ve been the biggest tragedy of all.

“I am, too,” I whisper back. From the couch, I watch the trio leave. The last thing I see is the black pools of Nash’s eyes when they meet mine as he’s shutting the door.

I feel the complex heat of them long after he’s gone.

ELEVEN

Nash

I thought when I finally got to come out of hiding, when I finally got to live, I’d never have a reason to go back. Ever. To any part of the life I’ve had for these last seven years.

But I was wrong.

Of course, I never imagined that Dad would want us to give up the fight, that he’d be content to rot in prison and let Mom’s killer go free. But then again, he’s known who killed her all along.

My stomach clenches at the thought of Duffy. My fingers ache with the remembered desire to wrap my hands around his throat and look him in the eye as I squeeze the life out of him.

But Duffy’s just one man. Even though he’s technically the one who killed my mother with that bomb, whether he intended to or not, he’s just one of several who were ultimately behind Mom’s death and all the hell that followed. My thirst for revenge won’t be satisfied until they’re all dead or in prison. Maybe Dad knows that. Maybe that’s why he wants us to give it up. Maybe it’s a lifelong pursuit, trying to get to the bottom. Or the top, rather.

Either way, it doesn’t matter. I’m not giving it up. Not ever. I can’t. It would kill too much of me, of who I was and who I am, to let it go. So I’ll see it through. No matter what it takes or how long I have to fight, I’ll see it through.

After dropping Cash and Olivia back at Dual, I drive the quick trip across town to the train station. I stopped there on my way into town and got myself a locker. Having no roots to speak of makes it a little more difficult to keep important things safe. Even some people with roots choose locations such as these to keep valuable things out of harm’s way. Like Dad, for instance. It was at this very train station that he’d stashed his bag of goodies.

My smile is wry and a little hostile when I think to myself that it’s probably a good thing only one of us boys followed so closely in Dad’s footsteps. I just always assumed if either of us turned out to be a criminal or turned out to possess criminal tendencies, it would be Cash. I think everyone assumed that. In a way, I guess Nash really did die the day of the explosion. The guy he was and the guy he would’ve grown to be are dead. Both of them. Gone forever. The question is: Who am I? Who rose to take their place?

Pushing those troubling thoughts aside, I find a place to park in the lot outside the station. Glancing casually over my shoulder, a habit I doubt I’ll ever break, I make my way into the building and over to the small stand of lockers to the left. I’d picked a locker number I’d remember easily. Number four thirteen. Mom’s birthday. April thirteenth.

As always, when I think of her birthday, I think of the day she died. As if that’s ever far from my mind. But sometimes it’s more . . . poignant. The guilt of surviving when I should’ve died, of being the douche on the dock filming a topless girl rather than on the boat where he should’ve been, eats at me. She shouldn’t have been alone. She shouldn’t have died alone. I should’ve been with her. But I wasn’t. I was spared. And look what’s become of me. The world would be a much better place if she’d lived and I’d been the one blown to bits that day.

But that’s not the way it worked out. So the least I can do is bring the culprits to justice. One way or the other.

I pull a small key with an orange top out of my boot. It’s nondescript. If someone were to ever find it, they’d never know where it came from or, if they happened to figure it out somehow, what locker it fits.

It slides easily into the lock and I turn it until the door pops open. Inside is a black bag with a few emergency supplies and a couple of phones. One of them is very important. Like the one Dad had left us, it has all sorts of numbers that I might need at some point. I had hoped I’d never have to use any of them, but I kept them for a reason. Because things rarely go as planned. Dammit.

It also contains another copy of the footage from the dock. There are a few other odds and ends stored on it. Things that could easily get me killed. Things about weapons and smugglers and routes I should know nothing about. But I do. There’s enough insurance here to save my life a dozen times over. Or cost it. Depends on who has the phone. And who knows what’s on it. Right now, it’s only me. And that’s how I plan to keep it. Trust no one. I’ve survived a long time on that motto. It’s kept me safe. Alive.