Istood in the cottage for about two minutes, staring at the spot where Brayden was before he stormed out. And then I snapped out of it and ran after him, ready to demand he look me in the face and tell me how he feels. Because he doesn’t get to do that. He doesn’t get to make me feel so much and then just walk away like Zeke was more important than me.
Leaving out of the front door, I run smack-dab into Dorothy. She says something, but if I talk to her, then I’m going to murder her, and I want to make it hurt when I do, so I shove her to the side and run past, hoping it’s not too late to catch Brayden.
When I make it back to the estate, I see him in his car, getting ready to leave. My chest pulls tight because if he was talking to Zeke why would he be leaving entirely? So I jump in my Range Rover, and follow, because I’m going to make him face me whether he wants to or not.
He drives through neighborhood streets until we hit the heart of downtown, then continues on, and eventually I realize he’s heading toward Kinland Heights.
Does he live out here?
When he pulls into the motel, I drive around to the other side, parking far enough away where he won’t see. My hackles rise from not knowing why he’s here, and I don’t want to rush in and demand answers. I just want to sit back and see what the hell he’s doing.
Turns out, he’s doing nothing.
He sits. And sits. And sits.
The longer he does, the more unease starts to billow in my chest because there’s no good reason why someone would be in the most dangerous part of Kinland acting shady as fuck.
It grows dark outside and my eyes start to droop, exhaustion wringing its way through my bones. But then, finally, he moves to get out of his car. I perk up, my heart stuttering as it bleeds anxiety through my veins.
I grab my Eagle from the glove compartment when I see him slip around the corner of the building, and once again I follow, making sure to walk slow and light so my footsteps don’t ring out in the dead of the night.
Creeping along the motel doors, I hit the edge of the wall and peer around the corner.
He’s at the last door, knocking three times and running a hand through his curly brown hair.
Is he meeting someone? If he’s meeting a prostitute I think I’ll be sick.
Someone answers, and a slight breath of relief hits me when it’s a man’s voice. Brayden gives him a one-armed hug and then they both disappear inside the room. I sprint around the corner, trying to catch the door before it locks, but there’s no need because the do not disturb sign hanging on the handle is lodged between the crack, making it easy for me to push it back open, just a bit. Just enough to see inside.
My eyes scan what I can from my limited vantage point, and I take in Brayden and the other man who’s standing behind a makeshift desk, coffee cups and double-monitored computers in front of him. There’s a gun lying on the table and the two of them are at ease, talking like they’re old friends.
They definitely know each other.
I squint my eyes as I stare at the stranger, trying to place him. He looks so familiar and it sends a twinge down my spine, something prodding at my brain urging me to just think. And then it clicks.
The night all those months ago at the bar.
“I got put on a new job today that’s taking me out of town. We’re celebrating one last time.”
A job. Okay… maybe they’re just friends catching up.
“Galen wants to talk to Zeke,” the stranger says.
Brayden laughs. “Good luck. Zeke is fucking done. It’s a miracle that motherfucker hasn’t given me up yet.”
My forehead scrunches, something heavy dragging its sharpened tip through my middle.
“I can’t fucking do this anymore,” Brayden continues, his voice low and tortured.
His friend watches Brayden with dark eyes, his hands on his hips. He puffs out his cheeks and shakes his head. “Nick…”
The name is a sucker punch to my chest, the breath forcefully pushed from my lungs. Nick.
My middle spins on its axis as I replay every single moment we’ve had together, breaking apart the memories and staring at them from different angles.
My eyes fly back to Brayden—Nick—and I watch him pace back and forth in front of the desk.
The way he carries himself right now is different, the way he talks is different, his name is different, everything about him is different, and I have to throw the back of my hand up to my mouth to keep from puking.
The truth brands against my skin, flaying me open and sinking into my bones. It’s a familiar feeling, but I’ve never felt it burn quite so deep.
I am so sick of people using me. Lying to me. And I’m done because I have nothing left to give. Black slips in the edges of my vision.
My grip on my Eagle tightens as I stand up, my knees cracking as I do, and I kick the door open so it slams against the wall before swinging back. I catch it with my shoulder when I step into the room.
Both of them draw their weapons and spin around toward me.
I cackle as I take them in, realizing that besides when he was torturing me with my own, this is the first time I’ve ever seen Brayden hold a gun. His form is flawless. Like he’s been trained to perfection.
His eyes widen, arms immediately falling to his sides, the weapon dropping on the floor. “Eveline.”
My eyes move to the gun and back to him and I jerk my chin. “You should probably pick that back up. Shoot me now so you have a better chance.”
His mouth parts and he takes a step forward.
My fingers tighten around the Eagle, my gaze flicking to the man behind him. “I don’t think we’ve been introduced,” I say, my voice tight.
He glares. “Oh, I know all about you, Eveline Westerly.”
My nostrils flare, sharp prongs of betrayal tightening around my middle.
Brayden turns around and sees him. “Man, put the gun down, Jesus.”
“Nick, I—”
Brayden freezes and everything in me goes ice cold at the name, even though I’ve already heard it said.
I shake my head, and Nick puts his hands up in front of him, like he’s approaching a predator. “Eveline, I can explain.”
“I don’t want to hear your explanations,” I hiss. My vision blurs with tears and I grit my teeth, shaking my head, so fucking mad that I’m showing everything he’s making me feel.
“Eveline,” his friend says calmly. “Drop your weapon.”
“Seth,” Nick snaps. “Shut the fuck up. I can handle this.”
I huff out a laugh. He can handle this. My chest burns, and then something else dawns on me, the phrasing of the words hitting me like a dagger straight to the heart.
My mouth drops, and I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to keep my focus so I don’t lose it completely. I take a moment and breathe deep to find my center. When I pry my lids back open, my gaze meets concerned green.
But they don’t have the same effect on me like they did before.
My hands tremble so much the gun shakes in my grip. “Are you a cop?”
His face twitches and his mouth parts, but then he closes it again, his head shaking as he takes moves toward me.
I back up, bringing the barrel higher. “Take another step and I swear to god Brayden, I will empty this entire clip in your lying fucking mouth.”
He swallows, his eyes growing glassy. But he doesn’t move again. “Eveline.”
“Don’t.” My teeth ache from how tightly I’m clenching them. “Just… tell me the fucking truth for once in your life.” My tone rises with every word.
He presses his lips together, his nostrils flaring and chin lifting as he watches me with watery eyes. “I’m a federal agent.”
It would have hurt less if he shot me.
My eyes close and my face turns to the side, hot disgusting tears flowing down my cheeks like tangible heartbreak.
“Please,” his voice cracks. “Please, pretty girl… let me explain.”
I breathe through my nose, trying to count back from ten, but the numbers don’t come.
All that comes is anger.
Slowly, I open my eyes and straighten my spine, letting the salty wetness drip from my chin and onto the ground.
I move my aim from him to his partner.
It happens in slow motion after that. Brayden—Nick—drops down and picks up his weapon, his hands as steady as his empty chest must be.
“Don’t do this, Eveline,” he says, bringing up his pistol.
“You would shoot me?” Another traitorous tear falls to the floor.
His jaw clenches but he doesn’t move his aim. “I won’t let you kill him.”
“So it’s like that then?” My mouth tilts up.
He steps to the side, blocking Seth. “Yeah, pretty girl. It’s like that.”
My finger sits on the trigger and I step toward him until the end of the barrel is pointing directly at his chest. He lowers his arms, like he’s accepting death if I choose to give it.
“Drop your weapon!” His friend yells. “I won’t tell you again.”
But I ignore him, craning my neck and staring into eyes I’ve never really known. “Will you let him kill me?” I whisper.
He looks down at me, his Adam’s apple bobbing with his swallow.
His silence is all the answer I need.
“Do it then.” I turn around and walk away, my heart in my throat, half of me wishing he’d just finish the job now and shoot me in the back. But nothing happens. So I leave, a heavy type of numb dropping into place like a curtain, shielding me from anything other than darkness.
