Page 9

Chapter 9

Eden

Aiken's home lays before me. Well, I guess it's my home now.

Open-concept kitchen and living room. Dark cupboards, marble countertops, and stainless-steel kitchen appliances. The front windows in the living room face the street. Nice furniture, but none of it looks overly used, except for an oversized chair.

The place is clean and neat, which doesn't surprise me because Aiken always immediately cleaned up after himself.

Hollow sadness settles within me, taking residence deep in my bones. I push away from the door, trying to shake it off.

As I re-engage all the security features—Aiken either was a paranoid son of a bitch or a smart motherfucker—I make a mental note that I need to follow his detailed instructions so the security notifications are sent to my phone. That way, I'll know instantly if there are any breaches.

Walking further inside, I scan the apartment. Off the main living space, there's a bathroom at the start of the hallway that leads to two bedrooms and a laundry room.

The fridge has food I'll need to toss, but the beer is good. After cracking one, I sit on a bar stool at the island.

"Cheers, brother." My voice cracks, revealing the emotions I'm trying my damnedest not to feel.

I drink my brother's beer that he'll never drink, sitting with my regret, guilt, and shame. But wallowing in that won't get me far. So instead, I take stock of my brother's apartment and his life.

The decor is tasteful for a bachelor in his mid-thirties. It's comfortable, but the place doesn't feel lived in. Gilly's and his office were really his home; this apartment was just where he came to sleep.

Gilly's. Aiken's legacy.

He loved that place. I know this not only from his email and what Gus and the others said, but also from the love I heard five years ago when he tried to convince me to come back and run the bar with him.

I heard the passion in his voice back then. It was a big reason I felt he was pushing and asking too much of me.

Five years ago, I was still so fucking broken.

He asked me to come back to this city, so he could be in my life. But it was too permanent, and I was too good at running and avoiding.

More shame, regret, and guilt fill me as I remember our last conversation.

I had panicked, both at the passion in his voice and that he was trying to convince me to return. That had filled my head with all the memories I worked so hard to keep blocked out. In my frantic effort to regain some semblance of control, I had pushed Aiken away.

"You didn't live what I lived! You didn't lose what I lost!" I screamed at him.

"I know, Ed. I know. I promise to keep our parents away; you'll never have to see or speak to them. Please. I just want you in my life. Please."

I think that's when I started to perfect my resting bitch face to hide and smother my emotions.

I shoved everything so deep down. Refusing to even acknowledge the trauma that I lived through at the hands of our parents, and flatly told Aiken to never to call me again.

The annual text message to confirm I was still alive was all I'd give him.

Aiken had done nothing wrong. He had lost, too—first Fenton, then me—but I couldn't acknowledge that. Nor could I acknowledge the pain and anguish in his voice when he tried to convince me to change my mind before I hung up and refused to take his calls again.

I hang my head, my eyes burning and my chest caving.

So stubborn. So weak .

I made us lose so much more than we needed to.

And now, the opportunity to make things right between us and fix what I had broken is gone forever.

The only thing that remains is the bar he loved so much. I have a chance to make things right by finding out who murdered him.

The ringing of my cell phone shatters my thoughts.

Only two people have my number, but I'd bet my left tit that I know which one of them is calling now.

I pull my phone out of my back pocket and answer, "Hey."

"I'm glad to hear you still breathe," Ohith, my adopted father, says in an accent that somehow sounds like a mix of French, English, and German. You lose the distinctions of the sounds if you try to listen too hard to analyze it, and I have no idea how he manages such a blended sound.

Like the man himself—who prides himself on being a ghost—if you focus too much on him, he vanishes like a wisp in the air.

I half-snort, half-choke on my swig of beer. "As if you don't know everything that went down tonight."

Ohith may have left this city with the feral, untrusting version of me years ago, giving up everything to do so, but the man remains connected.

"I do," he admits. "And I thought your reckless days were over."

He means by how I crashed the successor reveal with the Chamber. It was reckless. Borderline suicidal.

Part of my reasoning for entering the way I did was to gain insight into the Chamber and who I'm dealing with. Part of it was that if I met my end, bleeding out in the bar that Aiken had given his sweat, blood, and life for, then that would be a fitting end for me.

Ohith sighs, and I sense his tension. "I've called to find out what my sources can never report on."

My emotions.

"Peachy." I play with the beer bottle label. "I'm just peachy, living with the ghosts of my past."

"That's the thing with ghosts—are they real, or do we manifest them? Do they haunt us, or do we haunt ourselves?"

Philosophical and rhetorical questions that I don't or can't answer.

"I guess I should be used to ghosts since I've lived with the ghost of all ghosts for years, right?"

He chuckles. "That you have, Eden Dallas Fallen."

Ohith often calls me that. I suspect it's his way of reminding me where I came from, even if the woman I am now is nothing like the girl Eden Dallas Fallen was when she ran from home.

"Do you ever regret it?" I've never outright asked Ohith that.

"Becoming a ghost myself? No, Eden, I don't regret faking my death because it gave us a fresh start. It gave me you, daughter."

I close my eyes, knowing that Ohith does love me like his daughter, and I love him. The lost little girl inside me weeps that my own parents never gave me that unconditional love or that feeling of safety.

"I fear I made a grave error in letting you return without me."

"I'm fine," I say hoarsely and clear my throat. "Tired from the jet lag and being up for so many hours."

He sighs, and I know he doesn't believe me, but he doesn't push it. "How is my old friend Tommaso Santoro?"

Ohith has a history in this city that's tightly interwoven with the criminal factions.

"He's the leader you said he is."

"You need to watch your back. No one, not even Tommaso, is your friend."

"I know." I finish my beer. "We've been over all this already."

"That we have. And I have implemented safety provisions."

Pressing the beer bottle to my forehead, I groan, knowing what Ohith's safety provisions are. "Send Axin home."

Axin is Ohith's right-hand man and is as much my family as Ohith is. When Ohith decided to leave this city and his life behind, Axin came with us.

"He should be with you, Ohith."

"I have no active contracts at the moment, but even if I did, your safety is our utmost priority."

"I'm not in imminent danger."

"You've taken Aiken's place. Until we know who's responsible and why he was murdered, we'll treat it as if you're a primary target."

"Ohith," I grit, even though I know it's pointless to argue.

He makes a tsk sound. "I understand Edna and Peter know you're back."

"Son of a bitch—"

"Language, daughter," he snaps.

I roll my eyes but am still peeved. "Does Axin have to tattle back to you for every little thing?"

"Like me, he wants what's best for you."

"Edna and Peter…" I pinch the bridge of my nose. "It won't be a problem."

"It will always be a problem when you refuse to face the effects of their sins on you, Eden," Ohith says sharply.

I sigh, tilting my head back and staring at the kitchen ceiling. "Don't kill them."

"Killing them—while that would be exceptionally gratifying—will not do for you what is needed. What is needed is for you to talk and face what they did to you."

"Enough," I snap.

This—my history with my parents and refusing to acknowledge and deal with my trauma—is the only thing we ever fight about.

He tries to push me toward healing and coming to terms with it, but I steadfastly resist because that would mean I'd have to put my horror into words. I'd have to relive every horrific thing that happened.

"There's going to be something that cracks you, Eden," he warns gravely. "Something you'll never see coming will force you to finally face what you were forced to lose. And if it comes about that way… I fear it may break you, daughter."

"Please." My voice and hands shake as the repressed memories try to push to the surface. "Just let this go."

"Eden—"

"Vito talked to me tonight." I desperately and awkwardly change the subject. If Ohith hasn't mentioned Vito giving me a ride home and warning me away from behavior like that, I'm guessing Axin doesn't know about it, so I leave that detail out. "About Aiken's murder. Aiken called him. Did you know that?"

"That… I wasn't aware of."

"Aiken told him to call Ed. To call me."

Ohith sucks in a breath. "I know the other details, Eden. It sounds like a professional job."

And Ohith would know, given his past career, as well as his current.

"And it sounds like an inside one."

I bite my thumbnail as I process everything. "They knew how to get around the security system, and Aiken took his security systems to the next level. How they got in or out is unknown because the place was locked up tight."

I've considered that the secret back entrance was a possibility. However, even if someone had a key they also needed the code, and Aiken stressed in his email that only he knew it and he regularly changed it. The underground passageway into Aiken's office isn't an option either because that is a well-guarded secret for Gilly's owner-operators, of which, I'm the only living member.

"Killing Aiken at Gilly's means something." Ohith hisses out a tense breath. "I need you to watch your back and trust no one."

Ohith and Axin are the only two I trust; that's how I've lived the past nine years.

"Axin is there for whatever you need, Eden; he'll watch over you."

"I need to go to sleep." I rub my forehead, but a sudden thought slams through my fatigue. "What are the chances that Aiken had hidden cameras someplace?"

"What do you think are the chances?" He puts the question back on me.

"I… I don't really know my brother." That's the harsh truth. "Not anymore."

"What's your gut telling you, Eden?"

I chew on my bottom lip. "That it's possible Aiken had hidden surveillance. But why didn't he mention anything in the email? Everything else was outlined and laid out."

"That's a valid question. One neither you nor I, unfortunately, can answer. However, I guess you'll be hunting for secret cameras, then. But don't take any unnecessary risks."

His warning brings Vito to my mind—the tempting but forbidden fruit I need to ignore.

"Stay safe, daughter."

"I will," I promise.

After I disconnect the call, I stare at the empty beer bottle. I can almost hear Aiken telling me to deal with it now instead of leaving it on the counter. He was such a meticulous and creative person, but so predictable in so many ways.

"Fine, brother. You're a real pain in my ass," I mutter, grabbing the bottle and finding the empty box by the back door.

Turning off the lights, I walk down the hallway to the spare bedroom. Aiken's is the master bedroom, but I can't sleep in it. Even after I change the bedding and clean out his clothes, I don't think I can sleep there.

Too many ghosts and regrets.

My duffel bag sits where I tossed it before the funeral. I push it off the bed, strip down, and crawl under the sheets.

In the dark, a blue-green-eyed god appears in my head, and I groan in frustration.

"You'll have to bend over ."

My cooch throbs.

My hand pushes between my legs, and I'm not surprised that I'm wet. The mere thought of Vito Santoro does something truly wicked to me.

I have an ever-growing to-do list, but tomorrow, getting a vibrator is top of the list. Because that's the only way I can let Vito, that fucking cunt, be associated with my dripping one.