Spring

By Tara Sosa

I was trying to save myself. Not be a hero. But she left me no choice.
My friends call me Jenks. My enemies call me Roman Mathers. And me? Right now, I call myself a monster.
Some people would call me a hero. A protector. But I know better.
I might be an undercover cop, but I’m no saint.
I’ve done bad things. And I’ll keep doing them until I put my enemies behind bars, or they put me in a body bag.
That was my plan. Burn their whole world to the ground or die trying. Until her. Livvie Brooks. She was glitz and glamour. Not gang-life, guns, blood and broken bones. She was supposed to be disgusted by the monsters. Not attracted to one of them. But she didn’t listen. She stepped out of the shadows, blew up my life, and then she saved it. Saved me. When she should have been saving herself. From me. My life. All of it.
She chose to save me.
But there was a cost.
Isn’t there always?
But who was going to pay? Her? Or me?
Life or death. For a woman I’ve only known a day. One day.
One day, one second, one moment in time can change your life.
It sure as hell changed mine.

He told me to do anything and everything to save myself. I would do and endure anything and everything to save him.
They say life can change in an instant.
One second, one moment, one breath, one heartbeat. One look.
It happened to me. The moment my eyes locked onto him that was it.
He needed saving. And my life needed purpose.
I didn’t know what stepping out of the shadows would mean for me. The threat to my life. The changing of it forever. I stepped out of the shadows. And into the pit of hell.
Knowing what I know now I still would’ve done it anyway. Because it was him. I wouldn’t have done anything different. I would still want to be right here with him.
He calls himself a monster. Because of what he’s done. What he still has to do. But all I see is Matt Jenks. And that might be my downfall. I stepped into his life and irrevocably changed my own. I didn’t know it then. But I know it now.
It’s only been a few days and I know I’ll never be the same again.
I saved him.
But will he save me?
Truth or lies.
Good or evil.
Life or death.
Giving up ... or going all in?
We’ll just have to wait and see.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tara Sosa
• Release date: Dec 29, 2020
• ISBN: 9781005669591

Tara Sosa

Tara Sosa grew up in New Jersey, went to a few of its colleges and earned her degree with honors, as well as her teaching credentials, along the way. Though she is technically a High School English teacher, she finds it much more enjoyable to read and write all day without restrictions, which is why she is literally without a classroom and students.From a very early age she knew she was in love with books and always would be, and though she tries to get everyone to love them too, she is constantly disappointed to find out that not everyone does. She absolutely loves her family, including her husband and two babies – of the four-legged variety. One day soon she hopes to add a few of the two-legged kind to her total, where she hopes at least one of them has the good sense to love reading and writing as much as she does.Right now she is currently living her dream as a writer.

Book preview

PROLOGUE

Stay in the shadows, beautiful.

Just stay in the shadows.

I don’t think I can save you.

I can barely save myself.

Don’t do it.

Don’t you fucking do it.

…

…

…

She didn’t listen.

She didn’t stay in the fucking shadows.

CHAPTER ONE

LIVVIE

I shouldn’t be going to Inked.

He wouldn’t want to see me tonight, not after how we left things. He loved me, he wouldn’t turn me away, but I knew he didn’t want to see me.

I did the one thing he asked me not to do anymore. I gave into his demands. I set him up again, went behind his back, but I did it to gain the others approval even if only for a moment.

That moment passed and I was still paying the price.

I needed to see him though. I couldn’t take it anymore. I needed him back as my person, my champion. I needed him in my corner.

I was going to Inked and I was apologizing face-to-face. He deserved it. I broke my promise. And with my actions I broke his heart.

I glanced at my watch and picked up my pace. Stopping at Inked would make me late to dinner, which is why along with my ambush, I shouldn’t be going. I’d be late, and because of it there’d be hell to pay. But I needed to see Reed before I went to meet with the devil. The devil who always collected his dues for giving me life.

I needed to apologize and make everything right, and then I needed Reed to build me up high enough so that there was still some of me remaining when the other man in my life tore me down.

If only I could figure out how to move on, how to stand on my own two feet and fight back, to not cave, not be powerless, I wouldn’t need to run to Reed. But that hasn’t happened yet, so I was going to Inked.

Then I’d be late, and I’d be paying again.

One thing he hated was tardiness. Time is money, and there’s nothing more important to him than money and everything that comes with it.

Especially the power.

I’d be the one who set the tone for dinner by being late, and that was never supposed to happen. I’d get the disapproving glare after he pointedly looked down at his thirty-thousand-dollar watch as I walked towards him. Then he’d give me the other look. The look that said I was a disappointment in every way.

But I already knew that. I heard it over and over.

It’d be the disgust and disdain for a few moments, but then his mask would slip back into place and the performance would begin.

He’d stand up in his custom-made suit, move towards me in his Italian leather shoes, he’d give me a hug and kiss on the cheek, hold out my chair and smile while doing so with his blindingly white teeth—because appearances were everything.

The appearance of a loving family must reign supreme, and it must be done in impeccable clothing and at the finest establishments.

He’d wait until we were alone before he’d lay into me. Quietly of course. The disparaging comments, the snide remarks. Nothing for him would be off limits. Nothing. His dark eyes that mirrored the color of mine would cut me even more than his words. His words would be whispered while his eyes spoke volumes. 

I loved him. But I also hated him. He hurt me over and over. Yet I still sought his love, his attention, his approval, his respect.

He’s my father. But I am not his son. And that’s all that mattered.

It’s what I paid for the most.

I wish I could ignore him and disappear from his life the way my brother had. If I did, I wouldn’t be going home at the end of the night feeling not good enough. I wouldn’t be going home feeling unworthy. I wouldn’t be going home with more hate than love in my heart for him—or myself—because I never measured up and still kept trying to. I was the valedictorian of my graduating class in high school, graduated summa cum laude from an Ivy League college, obtained my master’s degree in a field that he wanted, was a rising star at Sullivan-Flannery— one of the youngest to ever hold my current position—but it wasn’t enough. I was never enough.

Sometimes, I let myself think it’s because I’m a woman, but I knew deep down, that once again, it was because I wasn’t his son.

My father would never accept that my brother wasn’t coming back into the family fold, that he’d never again do my father’s bidding. And it was baffling to me how he could think otherwise. My brother has shunned my parents for years—since they ruined his life, destroyed his dreams, and killed any chance of the future he wanted more than anything in the entire world.

But that was his story. Not mine.

In a world such as ours where appearances are everything, my brother’s outward appearance says it all for him. And his disappearance from the family—and every function that is put on to impress others in the high society where my parents reign as king and queen—says it even more: Fuck you and every single thing you care about.

But my dad still thinks that my brother will be his to mold and pass things down to. All you needed to do is put him in a suit, cover up his tattoos and take out his piercings, like that would somehow change what’s going on inside of him. Like that would cover up the hate in his heart or wipe away the betrayal at the hands of the two people who were supposed to love him the most.

I knew my brother would never be his again. Just like I knew my father would never allow me to take my brother’s place.

But I was still trying.

I was waiting for him to finally see me. To see that I was all that he had. All that he needed. I was the one who showed up and dressed the part. I was the one who wanted everything but accepted the scraps.

I don’t know why I needed my father’s approval so much. Why I couldn’t just cut the ties. I just know that I needed it as much as I needed my brother’s love. A brother I betrayed by asking him to dinner, only to have him meet our father instead. Again. After he asked me not to. After I promised. After I was powerless and caved.

My brother was furious and caused a scene, and when all was said and done our father took it out on me and I’ve been paying ever since. And I would be paying even more soon. I would get even more of my father’s spewed venom. Cold shoulder. His turned back.

The last two in private of course.

But I needed to see my brother. It couldn’t wait any longer. I couldn’t wait any longer. I knew what would be happening tonight. My father talked about it all week. Plans of a merger. But not merely a corporate one. A familial one.

Me.

Used as a bargaining chip.

I guess he did see me in a certain way after all. I guess I did have some value.

And I still wanted this man’s approval?

Only a few more steps—and a face-to-face heartfelt apology—and I’d be getting a genuine hug I desperately needed along with enough love to counteract the hate I knew would come later.

Because I didn’t plan on being anyone’s bargaining chip. Not even for my father’s love, approval, or respect would I be that.

I only had a few more steps.

And that’s when I heard it.

Raised voices. Thuds. Groans.

The sounds were coming from the alley next to Inked.

I knew I shouldn’t slow down; I knew I shouldn’t want to see what was happening based upon the sounds I was hearing. I knew I should get my brother or one of the other guys at Inked before I went to see what was going on, that I should call the police, but instead of walking by, getting help, I stood frozen in the mouth of the alley watching a man getting beaten.

I quickly closed my eyes. This couldn’t be real. I opened them again. It was real. And I knew immediately that if the guys surrounding the man kept hitting him as they were, he was going to die. They would beat him to death.

Or they were going to shoot him.

Right in front of me.

I watched as his attackers pulled him up off the ground and put him on his knees. The man slumped forward, but he wasn’t like that for long. One of the men pulled out a gun from the waistband of his jeans, pressed it against the battered man’s forehead and pushed his head roughly back. The man stayed upright on his knees, he wasn’t fighting, he wasn’t begging for his life. He was surrounded on all sides by the same men who bloodied him, broke him, were seconds away from ending his life, and he was doing nothing.

At least that’s what I thought initially.

But I wrong.

I could see the fight in the face that looked back defiantly at the man who was holding a gun to his head. He wasn’t doing nothing. He was doing everything.

He wasn’t backing down and giving them what they wanted by giving in. He wasn’t begging them in his final moments. He wasn’t giving them whatever remained of his dignity. Even while looking broken, and looking down the barrel of a gun, he didn’t give up, he didn’t plead, he didn’t give them that satisfaction. They might’ve gotten their pound of flesh and more, but they were not getting his pride or his fear. I could see that in his eyes. I could see that in the portion of his mouth that wasn’t split open—the portion that was twisted into a sneer. He sneered at them. He sneered at death.

He might’ve been on his knees, and I might’ve thought he wasn’t fighting, but he was. He was fighting. In his own way.

I was the one who was doing nothing. Nothing to stop them. Nothing to help him.

I know what it’s like to need help and have nobody help you. I know what it feels like to be moments away from death, have someone nearby who can save you, but they don’t want to, they’re scared, they’d rather save themselves. They do nothing.

I would not do that to him.

I couldn’t stand frozen anymore in the shadows with my hand covering my mouth and useless tears stinging my eyes. I couldn’t be that helpless person.

I moved my hand, blinked back my tears, and took a few steps forward. And froze again. Not because they heard me. But because he did. His eyes met mine for a split-second, and in that split-second he gazed at me and gave me all the words he did not give to them. He begged me. He pleaded with me. He gave me his fear.

Do not save me.

Do not let them see you.

Save yourself.

Run.

But the second his eyes met mine, I knew that it wouldn’t happen. I would never run away from him. How could I run away from a man who looked at me like that? While his would-be killers had already beaten him savagely, while they were taunting him with even more cruelty, while they could put a bullet into his head at any second and end his life, he was looking at me and begging me not for his life, but for mine. He wanted me to stay hidden in the shadows. He wanted me safe and unharmed. He didn’t want me to watch him die, nor did he want me to try and help him and possibly end up dead too. He wanted me to do nothing except run away.

He was bruised, bleeding, broken. He was barely breathing.

But he was trying to protect me.

He didn’t want me to risk my life to save his, and I didn’t want him to die. Not after that one second, that one heartbeat, that one moment of time that I knew would bind us together for the rest of our lives. No matter how long that time may be.

He begged and he pleaded but it didn’t matter. None of it mattered. Because I would be saving him. I just needed to figure out how. And fast.

I took another step towards him … and then all hell broke loose.

As soon as I took another step forward out of the shadows and deeper into the alley, I kicked a can I didn’t even realize was in front of me. I froze for a third time, but I was the only one who did. The guys surrounding the bloodied man looked my way, while their leader with the gun swung around and pointed it at me.

And the guy on his knees? The one who I thought needed saving? He popped up like he suffered not one injury and grabbed the other man’s arm and twisted him and the gun away from me.

They all swung and kicked and grappled—they were going at it like it was a fight to the death. And as the gun went off in the melee, a bullet pinging off the brick right beside my head—I realized that is exactly what it was. A fight to the death. There was another ping next to my head—not a loud bang like you hear on television. It was a ping. A ping almost ended my life. Twice.

I looked away from the side of the building that the bullets lodged and back towards the fighting. I didn’t understand what was happening, what I was seeing. The man who I thought was moments away from being beaten or shot to death—who looked to be all but down and out with his black eye, busted lip, bloodied knuckles and face, various cuts of all shapes and sizes, scrapes on his arms and knees, and what looked like a stab wound in his thigh that was bleeding profusely—he was punching, kicking, throwing and slamming with his fists, his feet, his whole body. He was taking on everyone at once, and I was standing there frozen, getting shot at, not helping or running for help.

But then again, it didn’t look like the man needed any help. He grabbed for the gun that went tumbling to the ground when he bent the bad guy’s arm back—an arm that made a sickening crack. A crack that was a mirror to the sound that the man’s head made when it bounced off the concrete after the man who should’ve never been able to get up—let alone single-handedly take down all of the men who had just beaten him bloody, stabbed him brutally, and brought him to his knees—landed a punch that might’ve just ended his would-be killer’s life.

The man who shot at me twice and who orchestrated a deadly beating wasn’t moving. I couldn’t tell if he was breathing. And the others? His friends? They ran away. They were cowards without their pipes, knives and guns. And the man who should’ve been dead? The one who may or may not have been trying to protect me just now after I kicked a can and nearly got myself killed? The one who I thought was going to be okay because of what he just did—even while bloodied and broken and barely able to breathe? He collapsed to his knees.

And once again I didn’t think about what I was doing, or how much my actions could change the course of my life. And maybe his. All I knew as I finally raced to help him was that I needed to help. I had to.

I fell to my knees in front of the man who had just saved my life, not caring about the dirty ground digging into my skin, my scuffed shoes, ruined purse, or the blood I knew I’d be getting all over me. I reached out and put my arm around his waist—trying to take some of his weight and help with some of his pain—while my other arm reached into my purse and pulled out my phone. I had to call for help. I had to save him like he saved me.

I had just moved my thumb to connect the call when his hand reached out and stopped me. What are you doing?

His voice was like the ground I was kneeling on. Gravelly. Gritty. Hard.

It sent chills up my spine.

I didn’t want to look too closely at the reason his voice gave me chills. Because he didn’t frighten me. So, what was the alternative?

I’m calling the police. You just got attacked. Those other guys could come back. Not to mention the guy a few feet behind us shot at me twice, tried to kill me and him, and he also might be dead. What did he think I was doing? He was also hurt, he needed help, we needed protection.

No. No cops. At his words, his tone, and the way in which he tried to grab my phone out of my hand, the chills down my spine spread all throughout my body. And this time it was for the reasons it should’ve been in the first place. Not wanting to call the cops could only mean one thing.

"I am a cop."

Not at all what I was thinking.

I looked at the man beside me, and for the first time, I really looked. Not at his wounds or his ripped and bloodied clothing, but at him. His hair was a rich, dark brown, long on the top and shaved on the sides. His eyes—they were probably a beautiful bottle-green when they weren’t bloodshot and full of pain. He had a bit more than a five o’clock shadow that was blending with the blacks, purples and blues that were already marring his face. And the body I checked out before for the damage I could visibly see? It was a plethora of tattoos on layers of bronzed muscle. He would probably be perfection if he wasn’t so obviously pummeled.

He said he was a cop—when everything about him said something different. He was like no cop I’d ever seen before. And his actions? They spoke of something different too. I wasn’t sure I believed him.

You’re a cop?

I am. Undercover. And I shouldn’t be telling you any of this. You shouldn’t even be here. Why the fuck didn’t you leave? Or at least stay in the goddamn shadows. He sounded angry with me. Which was unbelievable. As were his questions. 

And let you be killed?

They weren’t going to kill me. I had things under control.

Didn’t look like it to me with a gun pointed at your head and the beating you took.

I was handling shit just fine.

Really didn’t look like it.

"You really need to get the hell out of here."

I’m not leaving you here like this.

Was he serious? He was still on his knees pressing his hand against his ribs, his other against the stab wound in his thigh, and I could hear that he was struggling to breathe properly. He might have broken ribs. And one of them might have punctured his lung. He was out of his mind if he thought I was leaving him on his own. To die.

You don’t have a choice.

I think I do.

Listen, beautiful—

Livvie. My name is Livvie.

"Okay, Livvie. You need to get the hell out of here, and I need to—"

You need help! That’s what you need. If you won’t let me call the police, or for an ambulance, at least let me help you.

And what’re you going to do to help me?

I—

You going to kiss all my hurts and make them better? Because I have a lot of spots on my body that could use a little extra attention—if you know what I mean.

Oh, I knew. I knew he was being an ass. On purpose. I could see it in his eyes that met mine when he said it. I could hear it in his sultry voice that didn’t belong in a dirty alleyway after beatings and gunshots and bodies. I could see it with the side-smirk he gave me—because that’s all he was capable of with the damage to his face.

His actions infuriated me. Especially since all I was trying to do was help. He almost died. I almost watched a man put a bullet into his head. I had a gun fired at me twice barely missing mine. He couldn’t and wouldn’t push me away with his tone and words if the sight of him on his knees with a gun pressed against his head didn’t. If having a gun fired at me didn’t. I wasn’t going anywhere. Did me not staying in the shadows and kicking a can and setting all of this into motion not spell it out clearly enough?

Also?

I was used to that condescending and cocky tone in men’s voices. I was used to the innuendos and barbs. I had some co-workers who hated that I was a woman and in a position of authority over them. Ones who thought I only rose to the top because of my last name or because I was really good on my knees and on my back.

I also had a man in my life who talked down to me almost daily. A man I wouldn’t be seeing tonight. A man who’d have to save his wrath for another day. I wouldn’t be knee-deep in his disapproval over the way I look, where I live, or my decisions. I’d escape his ire when I refused to marry Edward Nichols the Third and merge two monied dynasties and corporations. Instead, I’d be knee-deep in blood, bandages, and booze. Because I’d most definitely need something to drink after all of this. I was not tucking tail and running. I might cower and cave to my father a lot more than I would like, but I was not backing down on this. Not with the man next to me. No matter how much he tried to push me away. No matter how much he infuriated me. It wasn’t happening.

Let’s go, I said as I stood, my mind made up.

Where exactly do you think we’re going? I’m not going anywhere with you.

"You are. Or I will call the cops."

And I’ll be long gone before they get here.

You see that? I pointed to the camera at the front of the alley. My brother works at a place this alley is attached to. I also know the owner of the entire building. Your attack? It’s on camera. I don’t need you. I just need the tapes. If you’re a cop like you say you are, they’ll know who you are and where to find you. And your attackers? They’ll find them too. You don’t come with me? I’ll make the call. But if you do come with me, let me bandage you up and make sure you won’t be dying anytime soon, I’ll leave it alone.

I waited silently as the man looked at me after I threw down a proverbial gauntlet. I didn’t know if what I said to him was going to work—I didn’t even know where all of it came from. Too many late-night episodes of Dateline? Too many hours spent watching the I.D. Channel?

I had no idea what I was doing, and to me it was obvious I was grasping at straws. I just knew I needed to say something because I didn’t want him to leave. And it wasn’t only because I wanted to make sure that he got the help he needed before anything worse happened to him. It was also because I didn’t want him to leave me yet. It made no sense to me. He was a stranger. I nearly died because of him.

But he also saved my life.

And maybe, just maybe, even though he said he had it handled, I saved his too?

Or maybe I would be saving his life by getting him the hell out of here and getting him some help.

Regardless of who saved who and how any of it happened, I felt like I came upon him for a reason. And I felt like my time with him wasn’t done.

Plus, I knew I owed the universe one. By putting me where I was—at the exact moment to save his life—it was like the universe was telling me it was collecting on what it was owed.

And now it was telling me that I wasn’t done paying.

Someone saved my life once and they didn’t collect. They told me to return the favor if I ever got the chance, and apparently now was the time. The time to repay the universe for placing that real-life angel in my path when I needed saving the most. This man was my chance. He was also the reason I finally found my voice and legs to stand on. The reason I was acting completely out of character.

So, what’ll it be?

"You have no idea what the fuck you’re doing. You have no idea what just happened, what you got involved in, or how much more trouble you could bring down upon yourself if you keep insisting that I let you help me. I wasn’t lying to you, Livvie. I’m an undercover cop. And right now, I’m also no good. Not for you. I almost got you killed, not once, but twice. If I go with you, and they find me, it could happen again. I am the trouble you’d be bringing to your doorstep. If they find me—if they find you—I don’t even want to think about what would happen to you, what they’d do to you. What just happened to you a little while ago? Shooting at you? They’d do it again, and they wouldn’t miss a third time. But they wouldn’t shoot you until after. After they’ve beaten you, raped you, and sold your body to others to do with it whatever they pleased.

"And once they couldn’t get any more money for you, once they’ve had their fill of all your holes, once they were tired of your screams and tears and blood, then they’d kill you. And let me tell you, by then you’d be praying for death.

So, you need to forget about what you saw. You need to forget about me. It’s the best thing for me, and it’s most definitely the best and safest thing for you. I won’t put you at risk again, beautiful. I can’t.

My name is Livvie.

Out of all the things I could’ve said or asked, I went with that. Because that’s the one thing I got stuck on. It was twice now he’s called me, ‘beautiful,’ instead of ‘Livvie.’ Twice now my stomach filled with butterflies, when it should’ve been full of apprehension, dread, fear. Even while in the midst of the aftermath of unbelievable violence, and a vivid description of what would happen to me if the guys he was just fighting against ever got their hands on me, I felt a flutter, an ache. It was unimaginable that I felt anything other than icy fingers skating up my spine or the clawing need to run because of all the danger that awaits if I stay with him tearing at my insides, but the butterflies and the racing heart were there.

And contrary to the past few minutes where I stepped out of the shadows I was safe in, and especially the last few seconds were I dismissed words like rape, sold, and death, I am not a stupid woman. Far from it. But it still didn’t stop my mind or my heart from getting tripped up and fixated on a word. A word he probably used countless times for countless women—like ‘babe,’ ‘sweetheart,’ ‘honey,’ or ‘doll.’

I closed my eyes, breathed in and out deeply, and told myself I needed to let it go. His endearments meant nothing. While his other words? They meant everything. With my eyes closed so I couldn’t see his, or his rugged face, or his well-defined body, I processed what I should have before—what I heard when he was on his knees the first time, and what he just told me now.

So many thoughts raced through my mind about all of it.

But still.

I opened my eyes and stared into the emerald green. He was silently begging me again to let him go, to leave him, but I already made a promise to the universe. A promise to him. A promise to myself.

I’m sorry, but I can’t. I can’t leave you.

At my words he hissed out a breath, but a second later he was sucking in another to speak. I didn’t give him a chance. Come on, I said as I reached down for his hand. We’re going home.

Livvie …

In an instant I knew that it was better when he called me ‘beautiful.’ Because my name coming from his lips, in just that way, was so much worse than butterflies spreading out their wings and brushing against my insides. It was like a fire-breathing dragon roaring to life and melting everything inside of me. I was no longer chilled. I was aflame. If he wanted to get me to leave him, looking at me the way he was and saying my name low and gritty and with undertones of what it would be like to hear it with the same frustration but of another kind—like me tormenting him with my hands and mouth, and him saying my name like that so I would finish what I started and put him out of his misery—that wasn’t the way to go about it.

And that had no place here.

I had no business thinking things like that. Not when I was shot at mere minutes ago. Not when I almost watched him die.

"I almost watched you die. Do you have any idea what that was like? Seeing you kneeling there with a gun to your head? All I wanted to do was save you. Or help you somehow. I know you wanted me to stay back in the shadows, but I couldn’t. Just like I can’t go slithering back there now. I can’t leave you be. Not yet.

"I know what it’s like to be in the situation of having someone watch what’s about to happen to you, something painful and deadly, and see them make a decision on what your life is worth. In my case, nobody cared if I died because all they wanted to do was save themselves, so they left me, they ran. It wasn’t a gun held to my head, but what I faced was no less deadly. The outcome would’ve been the same. I would’ve died.

"But after what felt like hundreds of people running away from me instead of helping me, somebody took the risk, came to my rescue, and saved my life. They didn’t run away, and they also never asked anything in return, only to pay it forward. And I think me finding you and helping you now is the universe’s way of collecting on what wasn’t collected yet.

"I know it might be crazy. And I did hear you. I don’t know who those guys are, and I don’t want to. After what you described to me—about what would happen if they ever got their hands on me—I really, really don’t want to.

"I don’t know what I got involved in, all I know is that I did get involved because I couldn’t walk away from you. And I still can’t. And I need for you to not walk away either.

"I don’t know you. You told me I shouldn’t want to know you. To forget about you. But I can’t do either. I won’t walk away from you. Even if you are trouble. Even if—"

"It is not crazy. You are. The universe wanted you to help me? Because you didn’t die before because someone saved you? You need to pay it forward?

You almost got shot, Livvie. Did you forget about that? Two bullets. Only inches from your head.

About that. Why wasn’t it louder?

What?

"It pinged. The gun firing. It wasn’t a big bang like I thought it’d be. It was a kind of … ping, ping."

"Fuck, woman. You got shot at and you want to know why it pinged?" His voice rose—in disbelief? Anger? More frustration?

"He used a fucking silencer, Liv. He didn’t want the loud bang. He wanted quiet. No witnesses. But he got a fucking witness, didn’t he? One who doesn’t care about any of what I just said—beaten, raped, sold into sexual slavery, tortured, killed. Only about how she thought a gunshot shouldn’t sound like a fucking ping, and the universe’s master plan for her. Jesus Christ. Who are you?"

I told you. My name is Livvie. Livvie Brooks. What’s your name?

I knew that’s not what he meant, but I took it as my opportunity to ask him his name. Plus, he wasn’t scaring me.

I knew I should be scared. I knew he was telling me the truth of what those men would do if they ever found me with him. Rationally, I knew that I should run and hide and pretend I never met him. But I couldn’t. Instead, I was standing and waiting for an answer, and staring down at a man who looked at me as if I was the one who was trouble—as if I was the one who was trying to kill him. 

Does it matter now, beautiful? You already invited me to go home with you. You almost took a few bullets for me. You already decided to trust me even though I told you not to. Even after I told you what would happen to you if you did and shit went south. Why does a name matter anyway?

Say’s the one who chooses to call me ‘beautiful’ most of the time instead of ‘Livvie.’ I think names matter too much to you. That’s why you’d rather use anything but mine.

You see too fucking much. His response was quick, mumbled. If possible, he was even more frustrated with me.

Well, he could join the club. I was frustrated too. But I was also determined. And he was right. I did see too much.

Wasn’t that already proven?

The man in front of me, who had still yet to take my hand, who asked me not to trust him, was staring at me intently again, searching my eyes, determining if I was someone he could trust.

After what felt like forever, he did.

My name is Matthew Jenkins. Detective Matthew Jenkins. But everyone calls me Jenks.

I breathed out an unsteady breath—a breath I didn’t even realize I was holding the whole time I waited for him to decide if he could trust me or not. Like that was our biggest issue. But trust was a start.

Nice to meet you, Detective Matthew Jenkins. I wish that it was under better circumstances.

Me too.

Can I ask you a question, Detective Matthew Jenkins?

Jenks.

How about Matt?

"Just go ahead and ask me your question, beautiful. Something tells me I can’t stop you."

You can’t.

His green eyes narrowed to slits. Ask.

Will you come home with me now?

Matt let out a short burst of incredulous laughter then said, Jesus fucking Christ. You don’t give up do you?

If he only knew how many times I had in the past.

But I wasn’t going to this time. And hopefully not ever again.

No.

"Can I ask you a question, Livvie Brooks?"

I nodded at him, still thinking about all the times I did give up. Especially the one time I was giving up, but someone wouldn’t let me, and how because of it they changed my life forever. The time that led me straight to this moment, with this man, wanting him to trust me—and me trusting him blindly when he said I shouldn’t.

I wanted his trust.

I wanted to help him.

I wanted to save him.

And he wanted— Why couldn’t you just stay in the fucking shadows?

He wanted me to bare my soul completely.

It was easier to trust him with my life than to tell him the whole truth of what happened to me. I gave him the quick version before. The long version—it would expose things about me I didn’t like. It would expose how much of a coward I truly am, how weak, how I was nothing like him. How I gave up. Prayed for death.

I didn’t want to tell him why I couldn’t stay in the shadows—that I almost died in them. In the darkness. Alone. Curled up in a ball. Crying. Whimpering. But I would, if I had to. If it was the only way.

I’ll tell you. After we get back to my place.

Matt shook his head and closed his eyes. The pain that etched onto his face in that moment was unlike any pain that I’d seen from him before.

He bowed his head and whispered, "Why couldn’t you just stay in the fucking shadows?"

After a few moments, Matt rasped in a harsh breath, opened his eyes, and said something I feared I would end up saying to myself at some point in the future:

You should’ve stayed in the fucking shadows.

CHAPTER TWO

JENKS

I reached out and took the hand of the most beautiful and stubborn woman I had ever met. Livvie Brooks. She was either incredibly stupid and naïve, or incredibly hardheaded and too smart for her own good.

I mentally reviewed the events of the last ten minutes and realized she was all of the above.

Livvie was stupid to get involved in something so blatantly dangerous, to not leave me then or now, and to trust me blindly by inviting me into her home and her life when she knew nothing about me. I could be lying to her. I could be the bad guy. Those men who tried to kill me could be doing the world a favor by ending my life. But I wasn’t lying. About any of it. Especially about what they’d do to her if they got their hands on her. Those men would beat her, rape her, sell her body and her soul to people who should not be allowed to walk this earth. Men and women sweet, innocent Livvie should never know existed.

To believe that I’d be able to protect her and shield her from them again if they came at me and her a second time using all they had at their disposal, it reeked of her naivety of the world and its seedier cruelties. Her complete disregard of everything I said to her because of what she believes to be the universe’s grand plan for her future and mine lent credence to her stubbornness and that thick head of hers.

Livvie should’ve stayed in the fucking shadows. She should’ve left me in the alley and forgot about me and what she saw. 

One look at her and she seemed like the type who’d run. She had a coat on that was probably worth more than I earned in a week. She owned a purse that looked like it was more than my mortgage payment. Her shoes were the ones with the red soles, and the jewels in her ears, on her fingers, and around her wrist and throat? I knew they were real.

Before I knew her name, I knew she came from money. Born into it. Went back generations. And now that I know her name? I knew I was right. Livvie Brooks.

Reed’s sister.

I knew her brother—I knew all the men and women at Inked. As soon as she said her name, I could see the resemblance. The shape of her eyes, the dark hair, the cheekbones, the stubborn jaw. But that’s where it ended. Reed was rips and holes, tattoos and piercings, barroom brawls and one-night stands. And his little sister? With her beautiful chestnut hair that smelled like wildflowers and honey, and her dark eyes that reminded me of a rich, melted chocolate—she was Chanel No. 5 and Prada, diamonds and country clubs, private estates and forever after.

She was also a woman who stepped out of the shadows to try and save me. A woman who ran towards me after I collapsed, fell to her knees and ripped her stockings, scuffed her shoes and threw her expensive purse down on the dirty ground like it wasn’t one that came with a number inside labeling it as one of a very few. She put her arm around me getting my blood all over a coat I knew would never be worn again because it was ruined. Just like my chances of getting rid of her.

I could’ve told her to fuck off. There was no way she could’ve forced me to do anything, into anything. No matter what she did, said, threatened. I could’ve told her to call the cops and let them look at the footage. It’d go up the chain of command and no fucking way would they pull me out of my assignment unless I told them to or until it was done. No way would they put me in even more jeopardy than I already am by arresting those assholes, making me look like a snitch and painting an even larger target on my back. No way would they blow the case of a lifetime I single-handedly built because of a slip of a girl who watched too much 20/20 and believed in karmic balances.

I did need to reach out to my superiors though. Shit was even more jacked then the brass knew, more fucked than even I knew until twenty minutes ago. There was no way I was giving up months of undercover work, not after all I’ve been through, not after what I learned tonight, not even for her. Even though those assholes tried to kill me, I knew I wasn’t the one they wanted dead. They made a mistake tonight. Because while I was a cop, I wasn’t a rat. And they were looking for a rat. They definitely had one in their organization and based upon what they were saying and asking when they were beating the shit out of me before Livvie stepped out of the fucking shadows, it wasn’t me. I knew I didn’t fuck up and blow my cover because the information that was leaked, the information that got some of their stash-houses, whore-houses, and grow-houses raided and a lot of their men arrested, it didn’t come from me. I didn’t even know about some of the places and people they talked about, and I’ve been undercover with them for the last six months. Which meant it was someone higher up the ranks. I just needed to wait it out and not get killed by any one of those pricks before they figured out it wasn’t me.

I knew I had my work cut out for me on that one. They came out of nowhere tonight. I was walking down the street one second, and in the next, I was being dragged into the alley while blow after blow rained down on my head, my body. The few seconds of tingles up my spine, the raised hair on the back of my neck, the feeling in my gut that was honed after a decade of experience on the police force wasn’t enough to get me out of the situation I found myself in. By the time I realized shit was wrong, it was on.

I thought I was being targeted because I was part of the Reapers, not that I was getting attacked by them. As soon as I saw who it was, I knew it was worse than if I was getting attacked by another group of low-life gangbangers trying to make a name for themselves. I tried to fight back as best I could, but then I was on the ground, and for a second, I thought that was it. They pulled me up to my knees and put a gun against my head—but then they asked me who I gave the information to, who I was working for, when the next raid was scheduled. I knew right then and there they wouldn’t kill me until I gave them the information they needed.

I had just started to formulate a plan when I heard her. When I looked up and saw the glittering of the diamonds around her wrist that caught the light at the front of the alley as she pressed her hand over her mouth, I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. I looked further up and into her eyes for a split-second, and it felt like my heart skipped a beat. She was standing in the shadows, but not blanketed by total darkness, and if I could see her, so could they. I quickly looked away and silently prayed that she left, or at the very least moved further into the shadows. But before then, in that split-second when my eyes met hers, I begged her to leave, I pleaded with her to save her own life. I was trying to save myself, not be a hero. All she had to do was stay in the fucking shadows, but she didn’t. And now that she knew my situation? All she needed to do was turn around and leave.

And me?

All I needed to do was not put my hand in hers and follow her—somewhere, anywhere, everywhere?

She didn’t stay in the shadows. And I followed her willingly.

Livvie nearly got her head blown off when I thought she’d run the other way. She was glitz and glamour, not gang life and guns, blood and broken bones, and yet she raced to me, threw herself on her knees, held my weight, got covered in my blood, and demanded that I go with her even after I told her why I wouldn’t, couldn’t, and why she shouldn’t want me to. I thought I’d scare her off if I gave her some of my truth. But a few words out of her mouth and I knew I was fucked. I gave her my name and my hand, and I sealed our fate.

But why? To make sure she got home okay? Because I knew who she was? Her family? Who she belonged to? Because I wasn’t ready to let go of her either?

Fuck my life.

When we get back to my place, after I tell you about why I didn’t stay in the shadows, will you tell me why those men wanted to kill you?

I looked over at Livvie, but she had her head turned away looking over her shoulder. I knew she was looking at Marcus, probably wondering if he was dead.

He’s not dead, I said as we walked out of the alley. Livvie looked up at me, all big, beautiful eyes, relief lacing their depths. She was unbelievable. He shot at her twice, he would’ve killed her, and she was relieved he wasn’t dead?

Okay. That’s good. Now will you tell me after I tell you? Livvie looked away from me and led me down the street in the opposite direction of Inked, but I didn’t look away from her. I couldn’t.

Livvie was an enigma. Like nothing I’ve ever come across in my ten years on the job, or nearly thirty years of living. She was like a puzzle I couldn’t wrap my head around. Like one of those fucking Rubik cubes my partner Aiden is always messing around with. If Livvie didn’t have blood all over her coat and torn stockings, and if I didn’t have a stab wound in my thigh, an eye that was definitely going to turn black, cuts, bruises, and ribs that were killing me like a motherfucker every time I took a goddamn step or breath, not to mention the blood all over me, it would’ve looked like we were taking an evening stroll hand-in-hand after dinner at one of the surrounding restaurants. It was like she didn’t have a care in the world. It was like she was unfazed that she was just shot at. That she almost fucking died.

What the hell was wrong with her?

It wasn’t good that Marcus was still breathing. It wasn’t good that the others ran away and were still living either. Eventually they’d figure out I wasn’t the traitor, but who knew how long that’d take. Even after they did, it wouldn’t guarantee Liv’s safety. She was a witness, a liability.

And now she was my responsibility.

Matt? Livvie squeezed my hand, trying to get my attention and my answer. She also called me Matt. The only other person who called me that is my mother. Normally I hated it, but hearing Livvie say my name? I liked it. I liked her looks and the way she said my name a little too much. I knew that being attracted to her would cause nothing but more problems. And our problems? They were already legion. It was about time Livvie knew just how much she should’ve stayed in those shadows.

Yeah, Liv, I’ll tell you everything.

Livvie reached into her purse and pulled out her keys and hit a button that had the lights flashing on a shiny black Mercedes. It was nothing like the Ford truck I drove. For a second, I was worried about getting blood and grime all over her