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Chapter 1
Darius
I want a gun. A loaded, cold steel gun that I can wrap my fingers around and pull the trigger, taking a man down in the blink of an eye.
I’m considering where to get this gun as I’m staring at the only woman I’ve ever loved. At Taylor Erickson’s beaten face. She’s right there within my reach, standing on the other side of the front door of Allie Parker, my half-sister’s condo. Taylor’s light hazel eyes are locked on mine, collapsing the stability and strength of my world.
Minutes ago, I was enjoying Saturday night dinner with Allie and her boyfriend, Micah Holt. Now I can’t move. I’m not even sure I’m breathing. I don’t know how long Taylor and I have been in a staring contest that I won’t ever lose. All I know is every bruise on her face, burning them into my memory so I can repeat these marks on whoever hurt her. “The man who did this to you,” I hiss through my teeth, seeing tears well up in her eyes. “He’s dead.”
I hear the hitch of her breath before she expertly shuts down emotion in that strong way she used to do when we were younger. But that’s not all I remember about her. I remember the way those pink pouty lips felt when I kissed her worries away. I remember how perfect and warm she felt wrapped in my arms, safe from a scary world. I remember how my fingers tangled perfectly in her long honey-colored, wavy locks, holding her tight against me.
I can’t forget anything. She haunts me. Every damn day.
“Oh, hush, Darius,” says my half-sister, Allie, pulling Taylor inside her condo. “No one is going to kill anyone.” She shuts the door behind her with a loud bang. “God, Taylor, you’re shivering.”
I realize then that Taylor is soaking wet from head to toe. One look over my shoulder at the 180-degree view of San Francisco’s midtown shows me that it’s pouring rain outside.
“I’m fine,” says Taylor, returning my attention to her. She wraps her arms around herself, face ashen. “Or I will be once I get out of these clothes.”
“Need help?” Allie offers.
“No. Geesh. I’ll be back before you know it.” She smiles at Allie before giving me a quick look that tells me all I need to know.
She’s uneasy about seeing me again.
I’m wrecked in her presence, too. I force my muscles to loosen, my fingers to unclench, and my hammering heart to slow as I watch Taylor, with her bags in her hands, moving down the hallway, toward the bedroom.
Silence surrounds us. Silence that is heavy and thick, saying so much without saying anything at all.
When Taylor finally disappears and the sound of the bedroom door closing drifts into the living room, Allie mutters, “Jesus Christ.”
I turn, finding her clear blue eyes wide when she looks between me and Micah, nervously twirling her long brown hair around her finger. I know she’s searching her mind for the same answers I want, like what happened to Taylor, but she seems stuck, unable to move past the worry for her best friend. I don’t have that problem.
“Darius, where are you going?” Allie calls out.
I ignore her question. In search of answers, and focused on the emotion crawling beneath my flesh, I leave Allie and Micah behind and move toward the bedroom. Once there, I knock on the door, intent to get them.
“Come in,” Taylor calls from behind the door.
I enter the bedroom, finding her sitting on Allie’s queen-sized bed, now out of her wet clothes and wearing a pair of black yoga pants and a light blue T-shirt. Her hair is pulled up in a ponytail, but her skin is still a grayish color, lacking the rosy cheeks I remember. “Taylor—”
“I don’t want to hear it, Darius,” she interrupts coolly, pulling a pair of socks out of her bag. “No lectures. All right?”
I lean against the doorframe and fold my arms. “Who says I want to lecture you?”
She finishes putting on her sock, then lifts her head and gives me a lopsided smile. “Because I know you.”
That smile is a sucker punch to my throat. Many of my best memories have that smile in them. “If you know me so well, then do tell: Why have I come in here?”
Taylor doesn’t hesitate. “You want to know who did this to me and why it happened.” She puts on her other sock before continuing. “The answer is, an angry ex-boyfriend and drinking . . . lots and lots of drinking.” She zips up her bag, rises from the bed, and turns to face me. “And now you’re going to tell me that you want to hire security to watch over me because you’re concerned for my safety.”
I don’t hesitate either. “You’re right, I do.”
She moves toward me, voice soft yet stern. “I don’t want a babysitter, so that’s not a conversation we’re going to have.” Her fruity scent spirals in the air around me when she closes in. Her bright, intelligent eyes stare me down.
“But because I know you won’t let this go. His name is Shawn Mason. And no, Darius, you’re not going to go and kick the shit out of him.”
