Page 5 of The Fractured

“In the meantime, you can fill me in on all your little adventures with him. We’ll schedule you for an appointment later this week for that chat.” He stepped forward, dropped a hand on my shoulder, and grinned again, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “I trust you won’t try to run?”

I faked a smile. “Don’t fuckin’ touch me.”

He tucked his tongue in his cheek as he scoffed in amusement, but dropped his hand and walked to the door.

“You know,” he continued as he held the door open for me and prodded at the faint mark on his cheekbone. “I thought you’d punch harder than that, considering you fight for a living.”

I pocketed his business card as I strode for the door and the low hum of the office beyond it. Those same detectives from before were watching from their desks.

As I reached Mark in the doorway, I slowed my pace enough to respond to him before I left.

“I was holdin’ back.”

Several days passed, and so did that appointment with Mark. I revealed most of what I knew or could remember as he took notes, asked questions, and reminded me what was at stake whenever I failed to reveal much else. From every black-market weapon deal to the cocktail parties Antonio hosted in his penthouse, sometimes with the head of the Genovese family.

Another week came and went. I worked at the garage and traveled to and from mine and Lily’s. The former visits were spent in denial. I couldn’t tell Mom that her citizenship, or lack of one, was hanging by a thread. Then there was the time spent at Lily’s apartment, where I pretended life was normal.

Twenty-nine days from the day Mark had blackmailed me, it was Wednesday evening, and Lily’s apartment was quiet. The only sound came from the city outside and Kira’ssleep soundsplaying faintly from her bedroom. Tonight, she was listening to the sounds of a thunderstorm. The rumbles conveniently complemented the real rain outside the apartment.

Lily was perched on the kitchen counter, holding up the bottom half of her T-shirt while I gently removed the gauze patches from her skin. Her bullet wounds were healed. All that was left of them were small, twisted scars no bigger than two inches. One on the right side of her stomach, the other on her lower back beside her spine —too closeto her spine.

The doctor had given her the all-clear today. Wound care was no longer a thing she needed to worry about, and she could return to work, something she seemed indifferent about for some time. Including now. Beneath the surface, hidden within her blue doe eyes, were the slight hints of doubt, nerves, and something else as she stared blankly ahead. Every so often, she winced when the adhesive gauze tugged at her skin.

“Sorry,” I muttered.

She didn’t say anything.

It was like we had switched roles. She was the one disappearing into her mind.

“Almost done.” I angled my head as I carefully peeled off the rest of the gauze on her back. I smoothed my thumb over the redness, and she inhaled sharply.

When the last of the gauze came away from her skin, she dropped the shirt and flattened it down over herself. The uncertainty on her face was quickly hidden by a smile when she caught me watching.

I scrunched up the gauze in my hands as I slowly straightened. “Feel better?”

“I’m going to wash off the stickiness from those patches.” She hopped off the counter, but her movements were awkward as she walked between me and the fridge to get to her room. Like she was avoiding being touched.

I turned on the spot as she walked by, then leaned my hip against the counter. “Want company this time?”

She stopped in the doorway, glancing back as she gripped the door frame. The movement caused her short braid of golden-brown hair to fall from her shoulder.

“I think I’ll have it alone if that’s okay. It’ll be quick anyway.”

“Yeah, go for it.” I crossed my arms loosely before shrugging one shoulder myself. “I was just wonderin’.”

Her smile was almost forced, as if to reassure me that whatever I was worried about was nothing before she hurried into her room and closed the door. She couldn’t get away fast enough.

I caught myself before I attempted to follow her for answers. She needed time and would talk when she was ready, even if it was killing me to see her like this.

The number for a psychologist, who specialized in treating gunshot survivors, had remained on the fridge since she left the hospital, but that didn’t mean Lily wasn’t trying. She had dialed the number twice, hung up on the first call, but followed through with the second, only to reschedule it the next day. That was about a week ago, around the same time the touch avoidance began.

Chapter 2

Dean

I woke to a strip of light streaming across the room from Lily’s bathroom, and her side of the bed empty. Rubbing my tired eyes with the heel of my palm, I slowly sat up as if that might help me understand why she was up so late.

My phone said it was midnight.