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I’ve been shot at many times. I’ve been nicked or grazed with a bullet too. That hurt like a bitch. A mean, bitter, coldhearted bitch. But this? This is different.
I don’t feel anything. Well, besides one thing.
Death. This feels like death. At least what I imagine dying feels like.
It should hurt.
Why doesn’t it hurt?
The fact that it doesn’t hurt makes me thankful in a way. Because I know when she died … she didn’t feel a thing—that’s what I keep telling myself anyway. But how can I know for sure? They say time heals all wounds. But six years later, I feel like I’m just reliving that same day.
I was never going to win this war. That’s something I’ve realized in the past few seconds. Though I think somewhere deep down, I’ve known it all along. With people as powerful as the Romano family or Beckett Benson, I was never meant to come out on top. But the further I got into this quest, the more wrapped up I became in it all. I became obsessed with being the hero. No, being her hero.
Briar James made this entire mission one thousand times more complicated than it was supposed to be. All by just being here. And by being herself.
Like tree roots in the ground, spreading their way through the soil, that’s how this world is. Every deal I’ve witnessed, every crime I’ve seen committed, has brought me further and further in. And now? I’m no better than the rest of these cocksuckers. Why? Because I stood by so many of them. Not stopping them because I truly didn’t think I had the power to do so.
Take an already-impossible task and then add her. Briar came into the mix, and I knew this was a suicide mission for me. Because despite how fucked up things have become, I couldn’t leave her.
The room begins to spin, and my vision blurs. And as much as I want to fight the darkness that so badly wants to take over and try to stay alert, I begin to fall headfirst into the land of nothingness. Drifting off into a serene space, and I’ll admit, it feels nice. Because right now, I’m so fucking tired. And maybe, if I let myself go … I’ll see her again.
My body suddenly feels heavy, like I’m stuck here in this spot. I feel like I weigh a million pounds as I slowly begin sinking into the floor. A warm, tingly feeling spreads across my chest.
Blood. That must be blood.
“Hudson!” my sweet Dove screams, reminding me she’s here. “Hudson! Wake up!”
I feel so torn. On one hand, she’s here. And I don’t want to leave her. On the other hand … I know my first true love is waiting for me. I’ve betrayed her by falling for Briar James, but I think she’ll forgive me. I hope so anyway.
Her voice isn’t calming like it usually is. Instead, she sounds scared. No, traumatized. I try to open my eyes to assure her I’m okay, even though I know I’m not, but it’s useless. And the more I panic, scared that I’ll never see her beautiful face again, the further I fall into this pit of nothingness.
I should have saved her from this place. And from these awful people. We could be on a beach right now. Sitting in the sand while she works in her sketchbook with those fancy colored pencils I got her, sipping a girlie drink. I imagine her in a bikini, her hair blowing in the breeze as she runs toward the ocean. I can hear her laughing, even though I know it’s all in my mind. Still, somehow, the thought of her happy keeps me calm, knowing I’m about to die.
Her scent faintly hits my nose, and she lays her head on my chest and cups my cheek. “I love you,” her sweet voice cries. “Stay with me, Hudson. Please, don’t leave me here alone.”
Even though I know it’s wrong and I’ve fought it off for weeks, I want to tell her that there’s nothing more I’d love in this world than to stay with her. Forever. I want to say I love you too. That way, she knows. Because I’ve never gotten the chance to tell her. I’ve known it for a while now, but I was too fucking scared to say the words out loud. Too ashamed because I felt guilty about loving another woman who wasn’t my wife. Now that I want to yell out the words, everything fades to darkness, and I know I won’t get the chance.
She will never know.
And just like my first go-around with love, I’ve failed. It’s all I seem to do.
I never wanted our love story to end like this, yet here we are. And if I could go back and change it all … I wouldn’t. If protecting her means dying, I’d do it. Every. Fucking. Time.
Four Months Earlier
I reach my hand inside my pocket, and my fingertips touch the chain and the pendant that hangs from it. It’s only for a second, and then I pull my hand away. But it’s enough to remind me of the man who gave it to me, telling me it would keep me safe. My dad.
I remember the day vividly. I was just a kid who didn’t have a clue how much it meant to him or why. And even now, half the time, I want to bury it somewhere deep in the ground, where it can never be found. Because it might have kept me safe for most of my life, but it should have been keeping someone else safe. Instead, I kept it for myself, and I’m here, and they aren’t.
Folding my arms over my chest, I keep my eyes focused and my shoulders relaxed. I need to look like I’ve been in this situation hundreds of times. Thousands even. I need to act like I belong in this room. Because as far as every motherfucker in here knows, I do. I need to seem like I am just like them.
Fearless. Soulless. Merciless.
Ruthless.
Whatever the fuck other words have less at the end, in their eyes, I am it. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be standing here, watching one of the largest drug deals I’ve ever witnessed happening before my eyes.
I’ve worked some events for the man who brought me here—Beckett Benson. A plastic surgeon who’s widely known as Dr. Boobs because of how many sets of implants the man has given women. I’ve also traveled with him on a few business trips. I’ve met his wife a few times—who definitely got the family discount and had some watermelons installed.
