Page 17

I don’t remember exactly how the rest of the night went.

All that I can remember is Cove fixing up my skirt and bralette, given that he tore my underwear to pieces. He instructed me to wait in the stall, and he was gone for maybe two minutes before he returned with my purse and long coat. He helped me get it on and led me outside of the club.

A part of me wanted to argue. The moment was over; hence, I wasn’t going to listen to him anymore. But I was too tired, and I just wanted to sleep. Cove helped me onto his bike,and handed me the spare helmet.

I started fumbling with it, and with a sigh, he put it on me, securing it tightly. I’m not usually that clumsy, but given that he fucked the life out of me, I was feeling drowsy and tired. My legs felt weak, too.

He got on the bike in front of me, and from the moment my arms wrapped around him and he revved the engine to life, everything felt at peace. His body kept me warm through the cold fall night of New York as he sped through the streets.

He didn’t tell me where we were going, and I didn’t ask. I trusted him, holding onto his body like a lifeline. The conscious part of me was kind of pissed that his bike was better than mine, but this just meant it was due for an upgrade.

And that was all I could remember.

I’m not sure how I got here, nor where I am. It’s not his apartment, as I’ve been there before. It’s the day after; the sun is shining through the thin curtains, and I’m on a king-sized bed. The strangest thing is how I don’t feel icky.

I don’t stink, either.

My hands grip the sheets, and I toss them off me. I’m wearing a plain shirt, buttoned up entirely. I lift it up only to find a pair of male boxers on me. My brows narrow as I take in the state of my body. Sure, the bruises and his marks are there, but I’m clean.

Cove actually cleaned me up.

Huh.

With a yawn, I get up, stumbling toward the door across from the bed. The bathroom is small, with a toilet, shower, and a sink with a round mirror above. Everything is decorated in a sage green shade, and there’s an unopened toothbrush waiting for me, alongside some other necessities.

They’re all brand new, and I can’t help but feel a flutter in my chest. Did he buy these for me earlier this morning, or does he always do this for his one-night stands?

I brush my teeth, fix up my hair, and wash my face. The makeup takes a while to get off, but once my face is bare and clean, I wipe it into a soft towel and make my way out of the room. It’s a cottage in the middle of nowhere. There’s nothing but an acre of land around us, and I’m not sure if I should be scared or thrilled.

Slowly, my legs drag me down the stairs, the scent of freshly prepared food filling my nose. I swallow thickly, my stomach growling loudly. Cove’s at the stove, whisking eggs, adding some seasonings.

And he’s not wearing a shirt.

Fuck me.

His muscular back is all I can see. His shoulders are broad and wide, and I don’t think I’ve seen a man with bigger muscles in his arms than Cove. There are a couple of scars on his back from the fights, but they’re mainly healed, in a rosy shade.

He turns to face me when he takes the eggs out of the pan, putting them on a single plate. The plate has two pancakes, the eggs, a few strawberries, and some tomatoes. It looks delicious, and my mouth starts to water.

“Good morning,’’ I mumble, taking another careful step toward the kitchen area.

The cottage itself is small. The living room, kitchen, and dining area are combined in one bigger room. Despite its size, it’s cozy. It’s warm inside; there are more decorations and homey things here than in his apartment.

“It’s one in the afternoon,’’ Cove grumbles. He puts the plate with food on the dining table and motions for me to take a seat. Once I’m seated, he pushes the plate right in front of me, sitting across from me at the other end of the table.

I take a bite, suppressing a moan. Oh, it’s delicious just as it looks. It’s a simple breakfast, but it’s absolutely amazing. It’s one of the things I never knew about Cove. He’s definitely a good cook. I take small bites of everything until the plate is clean.

He hands me a water bottle, and I drink the entire thing in four big gulps. With a deep sigh of content, I put the bottle on the table and lean back.

“How are you feeling?’’ Cove asks, his eyes not leaving my face even once.

A little blush creeps up my neck, and I fiddle with the ends of his shirt, trying to keep up eye contact. After what we did last night, I have no business being shy, yet here I am, struggling to look at him properly.

“I’m alright,’’ I say, voice lower than intended.

“Are you in any pain?’’

I shake my head.

“Good,’’ he nods. “I cleaned you up and put some ointment on the bruises; it should heal up soon.’’

My cheeks warm up, and I internally cuss myself. I look like a moron right now. I’m wearing his shirt that’s around four sizes too big on me, with my face blazing red. One wrong word from him and I’ll start sweating. How pathetic.

“So, uh,’’ I cleared my throat, finally gathering the courage to look him in the eye. “Where are we?”

“I bought this cottage last year.’’

I blink. “That’s it? I know you don’t like talking, but I need more than that, Cove.’’

His brows narrow. “What else do you need? The deed to the house to prove it’s mine?”

An involuntary laugh slips from me. “No, I meant, why are we here?”

“Circumstances.’’

“Which you have a minute to explain,’’ I warn. “I’m not in the mood.’’

He grinds his teeth together for a couple of seconds, contemplating what to tell me. With a curt nod, he leans back in his chair, folding his arms in front of my chest. The whore in me slowly starts waking up at the sight of his flexed muscles and that gorgeous chest.

“To cut a very long story short, the city isn’t safe for you right now.’’

“No, no,’’ I frown, “That’s not good enough. Tell me the long story; I’ve got time.’’

“Remember Jackson?”

I raise a brow. “The guy who stabbed you? Yeah, I remember him. What about him?”

“Apparently, he was a member of a newly rising gang. They call themselves the New York Vipers.’’

“What kind of gang are we talking about here? The kind that’s filled with barely legal kids who have seen The Godfather once and are now playing mafia, or the kind that’s actually a threat to other gangs with connections and a solid business?”

“I fear it’s a mix of the two.’’

My brows raise in confusion. “Elaborate.’’

Cove moves to the kitchen, pouring himself a glass of whiskey and bringing me another bottle of water. I set it aside for later and watch as he returns to sit in his previous seat, eyes on me. He’s serious, and the intense gaze makes me squirm a little.

“They’ve tried getting under Pakhan, but that failed. They’re still relatively small for a gang for this kind of business. Their aim is to go into arms dealing.’’

I nod, absorbing the information. “How’s any of that connected to Jackson or me, for that matter?”

“The attack on me during the fight was planned. Jackson wanted to use me to get to you.’’

The confusion in my head continues to grow with each passing second. “Go on.’’

“Jackson was a part of the gang.’’

“Was? Didn’t Arlo let him live?”

“He was hospitalized, but he went missing. No cameras were able to catch his disappearance. A body appeared in the lake, and well, it fits Jackson’s description.’’

“So, someone killed him because he failed to kill you?”

“That’s what we think, yes.’’ He takes a sip of the whiskey. “I need you to listen to the next part carefully.’’

The stern tone in his voice causes my body to go rigid. With a reluctant nod, I lean forward, listening intently. Cove’s eyes don’t leave mine as he speaks, and the more he tells me, the more I’m suppressing emotions from flooding me.

“One of the members of the gang is a man named Karl Brown.’’

“Never heard of him.’’

Cove pauses. “It’s his new name. He changed his face a little and his name, but you know him as Wyatt Chambers.’’

My heart sinks to my feet, and my hands tremble on my lap. I blink a couple of times, trying to understand what Cove is telling me. I swallow a knot that forms in my throat, but another one appears right after. Cold sweat washes over me, my body frozen in place aside from the trembling hands.

“Pardon?” I whisper.

“Wyatt Chambers is a part of the gang under a different name and face. But it’s him. He’s back.’’

“No,’’ I say, not believing him.

“Yes,’’ he confirms.

A small cry slips from me, and a tear rolls down my cheek. I keep my face as stoic as I was taught, but I can’t prevent tears from sliding down my face, falling onto my bare thighs. I blink the blurry vision away, but it blurs again just as quickly.

Everything comes rushing back to me.

The day I met Wyatt.

I was sixteen years old, hanging out with Rose at one of the playgrounds right next to our high school. It was one of the warmer spring days, and we were counting days till the summer break. Wyatt was there, playing basketball with his friends.

The moment our eyes met, it was like the wind got knocked out of my lungs.

He was charming, he was polite and flirty, and he was handsome as hell. He was good at basketball, had amazing grades, and kept a circle of close friends. Everyone who knew him back then described him as loyal as a dog.

I think that I got hooked on the fact that he was an older boy, in college with a bright future in front of him. Back then, I didn’t know he was slowly grooming me, turning me into his punching bag and puppet.

He asked me out, and I accepted. Our relationship lasted for a year. The first six months were one of the best months of my entire life. He was attentive and loving, and he’d bring me little gifts every day between classes. During winter break, he’d take me out on romantic dates. There’s not a restaurant we haven’t visited; there’s no concert we haven’t seen.

I’m not sure how it changed or when.

At first, he’d get slightly annoyed when I spent time with Rose. Then he’d be mad when I cancelled a date to help out my parents or if I had something else going on. It soon morphed into him telling me how much Rose isn’t good for me.

His words were sweet, and I thought he had my best interest at heart.

I didn’t realize at sixteen that he was isolating me from everyone I love. He made me doubt Arlo, my parents, Rose, and everyone else I had in my life at the time. He made me believe he was the only one who truly loved and cared about me. He made me think I was nothing without him, and I let him.

I was too weak to realize it was manipulation at its finest.

And the worst part? Despite everything, I loved him. When he hit me for the first time, I made excuses. He didn’t mean it; he was angry; it was my fault. The first time didn’t leave a bruise, and I didn’t tell anyone.

The second time he hit me, he left a nasty bruise; my entire right eye was swollen. To cover it up, I started a fight with random men and blamed it on them, just to protect him from Arlo and my parents because I knew they’d kill him.

The men I ended up fighting with put me in the hospital.

I’ll never forget Mom crying next to my hospital bed and the defeated look on Dad’s face. They thought I was asleep, but they blamed themselves. That was when I strategically started planning my exit from Wyatt and that relationship.

It took me another four months, but I had to leave.

I’d been over at his place for a couple of days, and he’d taken away my phone. He responded to Arlo’s texts, pretending it was me. I guess Arlo could tell it wasn’t me, and he came storming into Wyatt’s apartment. That was when he saw Wyatt hit me.

It took all the power and strength in my body to pull Arlo off Wyatt. He would’ve killed him.

I should’ve let him kill the bastard.

But I couldn’t.

As pathetic and as stupid as it may sound, I loved Wyatt. I didn’t want him dead. Arlo took me to his place and kept me there, lying to our parents until I was all healed up. Eventually, he pulled it all out from me, and I told him everything.

That was the only time I saw my brother crying.

He was blaming himself for not noticing sooner, for being too busy to pay attention. Mom and Dad didn’t know I was dating someone because in the past, whenever I had a crush on a boy, they’d do a detailed background search.

I didn’t tell them about Wyatt to prevent it all from happening. I should’ve told them.

The aftermath was catastrophic.

It took me a long time, but I managed to convince Arlo not to kill him. Instead, he had him banished from New York. Telling our parents was difficult, too. I saw how much they blamed themselves, how much this entire thing hurt them too.

So, one night, I just felt numb.

Wyatt’s words were constantly running through my head. Whenever he’d hit me, he’d tell me it was my fault. I thought it was my fault that my parents and Arlo were suffering, too. I didn’t want them to suffer anymore.

I sliced my wrists open and lay in the full bathtub.

Somehow, it didn’t hurt. The water in the tub changed color quickly, and my eyes felt heavy. I was letting go, completely tired and numb. Yet one piercing scream from Mom was what managed to get my eyes open.

The cold-hearted assassin, Noelle Campbell, the woman who killed her husband’s brother and tried killing the said husband on many different occasions, was on her knees in front of me, crying and begging for me not to die.

My eyes are filled with tears, cheeks stained, and vision blurry. All I can feel are Cove’s arms wrapping around me and pulling me onto his lap. He holds me closely, gently, stroking my hair, and I release a cry of pain.

For the first time since I was seventeen, I let myself cry. I cry until his chest is soaked with my tears, until my voice is strained, and until there are no more tears left to cry. He rocks me softly while holding me, letting me let it all out.

“He can’t hurt you anymore, bunny,’’ he promises. “Don’t worry. I’ll make sure he cannot even get within a walking distance from you. He’ll be dead before he can even land his filthy eyes on you. I promise I’ll keep you safe.’’

That only makes me cry harder.

Cove is many things, but a liar isn’t one of them. I trust him. All of me trusts him and believes his words. So, I let him hold me, burying my face in his chest and crying until I’m entirely spent. He’s patient, softly speaking in my ear. This big giant is so gentle with me, and I just can’t help but wonder if I even deserve it.