Rachel Dyken - Entice

Once we were in the elevator, Tex muttered, “Mind telling me what that was all about?”

I waited for the elevator to stop and for our two men to walk out into the lobby before turning and answering. “She needs a family. Someone to trust. It can’t be you, and it sure as hell can’t be me.”

Tex’s eyes widened an inch. “You’re breaking her on purpose.”

“Of course,” I said smoothly as we made our way through the lobby, classical music played in the background. “And we’ll stand by and watch as Chase puts Humpty Dumpty back together again, hopefully saving everyone’s lives in the process.”

The doors opened; the crisp night air was a welcome change from the emotionally-charged hotel room.

“How do you figure?” Tex asked.

“Because in the end, every girl wants a hero, and I just made Chase hers.”

* * *

For the last few weeks, ever since I’d miraculously come back from the dead — Trace stayed up until I got home. I’d told her I wouldn’t leave her again, but it didn’t matter. I wouldn’t put it past her to sew a damn tracking device in every piece of clothing I owned.

It was close to eleven by the time we got back to my house. The lights were on in the kitchen. I walked in and found Trace drinking wine and playing cards with Mo.

“Who’s dead?” Mo asked without looking up from her card game. “Rummy!”

“Shoot!” Trace took another swig of wine.

They seemed normal, we seemed normal, but we weren’t. Who asked that?

I walked over to Trace and kissed the top of her head. “Nobody important.”

“Says the guy who’s aged ten years in the past two hours,” Mo muttered.

Trace looked up, her eyes squinting as she gazed at my face. “What really happened?”

“Death.” I shrugged and took a seat next to her. “Lots and lots of death. Hey, you going to finish that?” I stole her wine and drank the rest of it.

“I’m heading to bed.” Tex took off his jacket and stared awkwardly at Mo.

“Okay,” Trace answered her eyes darting between Tex and Mo. The silence was deafening.

“Like right now.” Tex was still staring at Mo, while she studied her cards as if they held the cure for cancer. “As in, I’m going to bed, to sleep, by myself.”

I groaned.

Could they not bring their drama into the house?

“Sleep tight,” Mo said through clenched teeth, slapping her cards hard against the table. “Oh, and be sure to lock your doors. Wouldn’t want any more skanks accidently falling into your bed like last time.”

“Mo—”

“Goodnight, Tex,” I interrupted him and shook my head once. He threw his hands up in the air and stomped off down the hall.

“Well, that wasn’t awkward,” Trace sang.

“Sorry.” Mo slumped in her seat and leaned back, crossing her arms. “I swear I don’t mean to be dramatic, but if that man looks at me one more time, I’m pulling a knife on him.”

“Him or his parts?” I inquired, raising an eyebrow. “We both know you’re a fan of torture… wonder what you’d go with.”

Mo seemed to think about that. “Both. Definitely both.”

“Damn. Mind filling me in?” I reached for the wine bottle and poured another glass. It wasn’t as if I was going to go to sleep any time soon, not after all that adrenaline pumping through my system.

Trace leaned against me while Mo started talking.

“As you know, we broke up.”

I nodded.

“And then got back together again.”

“Wait, did he know you were back together?” I asked.

Mo rolled her eyes. “Yes, you ass. Do you want to hear the story or not?”

Was that a trick question? I held up my hands in surrender. “Fine, continue.”

“Anyway…” Mo leaned forward, playing with the edge of the table cloth. “We decided to take things slow.”

“So what’s the problem?”

“Stop interrupting me, Nixon, or I swear it won’t just be Tex at the opposite end of my knife.”

What the hell? I glanced to Trace for help but she seemed to be just as shocked as I was. Mo rarely threatened me — she had to be pretty freaked out to actually be serious about her threats. Either that or pissed.

Mo’s eyes filled with tears. “I heard them first.”

“Aw, hell.” I reached for my gun. Trace put her hand on mine and shook her head.

“I thought Tex was talking on the phone or something, and then I heard laughter. I was curious, so I knocked on the door. When he didn’t answer, I let myself in.”

“Mo—” I groaned.

“What?” She shrugged. “I figured it was my right. I mean, we’d been dating for almost a year on and off.”

“So he was with a girl?”

Mo rolled her eyes dramatically as if I was just as bad as Tex.

Trace winced.

“What am I missing?” I asked. “I don’t speak girl.”

“You don’t speak guy either, but we still love you,” Trace joked, jabbing me with her elbow.

“You speak scary mafia mojo.” Mo rolled her eyes. “And he wasn’t with one girl.”

“He was with a guy?” I asked, confused.

“I swear, sometimes I wonder how you’re the leader of our family.” Mo groaned into her hands. “No jackass, he was with two girls. As in two slutty girls, both in barely any clothing, in his room. Alone. With Tex.”

“Was he—”

“You don’t need to finish that sentence.” Mo took a deep breath and leaned her elbows on the table. “He was. They were. And I may have assaulted both of them.”

“The girls?”

“And Tex.” Mo shrugged.

Trace snorted. “He’s lucky you didn’t shoot him in the—”

“Trace.” I nudged her.

“Sorry.” She blushed and sighed against my chest. “But it’s true.”

“So now you’ve heard it all.” Mo ground her teeth together. “You know what sucks though?”

The room was silent except for the droning rhythm of the dripping faucet. Each drop that landed in the stainless steel sink may as well have been a bomb going off in that room. Mo flinched; her eyes darted to the table as if she was confused about her own emotions.

“I could have loved him,” Mo said quietly. “I could have married him. He could have been my future, instead of my past.”

“Do you want me to talk to him?” I reached across the table and grabbed her hand. “Maybe if he says he’s sorry…”

“Tex can ride up on a giant white horse, spouting Shakespeare, and I’ll still want to pull a gun on him. Thanks but no thanks, brother. I’ll deal with it on my own, in my own way.”

“Which doesn’t include going to prison, right?”

“Please.” Mo rose from her seat. “Like you’d ever allow me to get caught.” She waved goodnight and walked down the hall.

“Well, that was a reassuring conversation.” I took another sip of wine. “Any other confessions before I take you to bed?”

Trace kissed me hard on the mouth. “Just one.”

“Oh yeah?” My heart froze in my chest.

“Yeah.” Trace’s tongue trailed across my lower lips. “I love you.”

“I like that confession.”

“Figured that.”

“Bed?”

“But I’m not tired…” Trace’s voice trailed off.

I helped her to her feet, slapped her ass, and bit her ear as I whispered, “Good, ‘cause I’m sure as hell ready to stay up all night.”

That’s all it took and she was running toward the bedroom.

I’d tell her about Chase and Mil later, when I wasn’t ready to physically hurt every one of my friends for different reasons. Damn Tex and Chase.

I slammed the door behind me and pulled Trace into my arms, attacking her mouth with ferocity as she wrapped her legs around my waist. Tonight wasn’t about thinking — I’d done enough of that. There was always room to make war, but tonight? It was time to make love; it was time to remember why I did what I did. Why I woke up every freaking day with blood on my hands. Trace moaned as I pulled her shirt over her head and snapped off her bra, weighing her breasts in my hands. For her, I did this all to keep her safe.

To make sure that we would have a life.

“I love you,” Trace whispered as I placed her on the bed and removed her jeans, my jeans, every article of clothing until I was settled on top of her. “So much.”

Swallowing back the visions of blood, I answered, “I love you too, now let me make you feel good…”

She reached up and traced the outline of my jaw, “As long as you let me help you forget.”

I closed my eyes. Ashamed that they revealed so much.

“It’s okay,” Trace pulled me into her. “I’ve got you.”

Chase

It was officially the worst wedding night in the history of wedding nights. Mil stared at the door after Nixon had slammed it shut. It pissed me off that he’d treat her that way. I swear, I almost shot him, but then again, Nixon never did anything just to do it. I was just too blinded by rage to care about the why or how. I wanted to fix things — I wanted Mil to be okay. I needed her to stop looking like I’d just run over her puppy — repeatedly.

“You should take a shower,” I whispered, trying to sound gentle when really all I was able to do was sound arrogant and controlling.

“Why?” Mil glanced down at herself and snickered. “Am I dirty?”

“You’re lucky I’m tired as hell, otherwise I would have used that opportunity to piss you off even more by making some sort of wise-ass sexual comment.”

“Counting my stars.” Mil licked her lips, her eyes still trained on the door.

Everyone knew how much it infuriated me when people went into shock. Call me crazy, fine. But I hated inaction. I hated when people didn’t fight, when they were passive as hell. When they didn’t march toward doom and thrust their fists into the air. So what if it made me weird? That’s how I survived. I ran head first into battle, not caring that I was David and the world was my Goliath. So watching Mil stare at the door as if just waiting for someone else to come back in the room and try to… kill her — pissed. Me. Off. Didn’t she trust me to protect her? To protect us?