From the shadows of the storm, a man approaches me. I muster the energy to stand straight, if only to appear capable and not on the verge of a coma, but I relax the moment I realize it’s Miles. The sight of him puts me at ease.
“Pierce?” he asks as he steps close to me. “What happened?”
“Ms. Timo lost the girls.”
“Not that. What happened to you?”
“Eh. Some cops and thugs tried to rough me up.”
“I think they succeeded.”
Miles moves to my side and grabs my arm to sling it over his shoulders.
“Stop,” I hiss. “Not that arm. The other arm.”
He walks to the opposite side and takes most of my weight. I lean onto him, surprised by how warm he is, but I suppose it makes sense, considering I’m soaked in freezing water. We walk together out of the park and onto the street. I focus my attention on Miles.
He’s quiet and doesn’t look at me as we walk.
There’s not much to say as we trek through the neighborhood and reach our house. Still, I wonder. He’s not normally so distant.
We enter our house. Jayden paces the living room, and Rhett is at the kitchen table, sitting in a plastic lawn chair. Well, the new kitchen table—a flimsy fold-out thing—brings the whole place together in a unifying ghetto aesthetic.
Miles guides me to the couch. I lie back, soaking the cushions, and he unbuttons my shirt. Still, he says nothing, and I don’t protest his actions. He takes my wet piece of clothing, walks into the bathroom, and returns with a towel.
“You’re bothered,” I say as Miles drapes the towel over my body. The room-temperature cloth is a pleasant change of pace.
“I’m worried about Lacy.”
“Hm.”
“Why’d you leave?” Miles asks as he tilts my head to the side and examines my busted eye.
“The gala?”
“Yeah.”
“Rhett came to arrest me.”
Miles furrows his brow. “What?”
“Someone tried to arrest you?” Jayden says, cutting into the conversation. “This guy?” He motions to Rhett. “Is that why he’s here?”
Rhett stops leafing through paperwork and looks up.
“Pierce didn’t do it,” Jayden continues. “Whatever it is. He’s been watching Lacy and Shannon. I know. I’d vouch for him. He’s been busy every minute of every day.”
“Now isn’t the time for explanation,” Rhett says. “But I appreciate how forthcoming you are with information.”
“You can’t arrest him.”
“I have a warrant. But again, now isn’t the time.”
After his declaration, no one else speaks. Miles gives him a quick glance before returning his attention to me.
“Why?” he asks under his breath, keeping our conversation private.
I dry my hair off with my good arm. With the same volume, I reply, “Some asshole from the Vice family killed Shelby and pinned me as the one who hired him.”
“So Jeremy can get you in jail? Is that it?”
“That’s what I suspect.”
He takes the towel from me and inspects the bruise across my gut. Deputy Chief Charleston did a number on me, for sure. I grimace as Miles grazes his fingers over the injury. For some reason, the feather touch hurts more than standing around did.
Miles gets up and leaves me on the couch. I can’t help but feel like something is wrong, but what am I going to say? He returns with a second towel and a pair of tweezers. He kneels next to me, and again, tilts my head to get a better look at my swollen eye.
“Which officers came to look for your sister?” Rhett asks Jayden.
“Which officers? What do you mean?”
“Their names, son. What’re their names?”
“Uh, Chal—or something. And Jones. I think.”
“Challon and Jones?”
Rhett gathers up a few pages of his paperwork and walks over to Miles. When he flashes his information, Miles gets tense, his expression hardening. I don’t need to see it to know what’s going on. Both officers are on our guilty-as-fuck list.
“Stay here,” Rhett commands, looking at me and then Miles. “I mean it. I need to turn over this evidence without delay, and after that I’ll return.”
“What if your buddies come to the house looking for said evidence?” I ask.
Rhett freezes midway through gathering up his paperwork. “Stay at a hotel,” he answers. “Somewhere in town. Somewhere close.” He drops the keys to Castor’s vehicle on the table. “Use this. I called a colleague to come get me. I don’t need it anymore.”
“What about Lacy and Shannon?” Miles asks. “What’re you going to do about them?”
“I’ll send officers to deal with it. You two are to wait to hear from me.”
“But—”
“Don’t go looking for them yourselves,” he states, a definitive tone to his words.
Miles nods once.
Rhett leaves. Before I can say anything, Miles grabs my chin and holds me in place. “Don’t move,” he commands.
Jayden walks over, his eyes wide, and I feel agitated by his presence. What is Miles doing? I’m not reassured when I see Miles pick up the tweezers and angle them toward my face. I close my one good eye. Miles grabs the twisted contact protruding from under my eyelid and pulls back, his movements slow, and the flimsy contact scrapes across my eye. The gradual pain builds with each drawn-out moment. Fresh blood runs the length of my face.
“Sonofabitch,” I hiss. I have to hold myself back from punching the source of my agony.
The moment he pulls the contact from my eye, everything is better. The pain subsides, and I bring a hand up to quell the bleeding. The swollen eyelid still won’t open, however.
Miles uses the towel to wipe up the blood.
“That was sick,” Jayden says. “I should’ve recorded it.”
Once the blood is gone, Miles leans down and kisses me—his mouth gentle against mine, like he’s fearful of hurting me. I enjoy him close like this. I didn’t even realize I craved it.
“Uh, seriously?” Jayden continues. “This is what you’re into, Miles? A guy who’s so messed up he’s practically half beef jerky? You know women are pretty, right?”
Miles pulls away. “Weren’t you defending Pierce a second ago?”
“Hey. He can be a good guy, or whatever,
