He looked terrified.

I wish I could say it helped—but it had zero effect.

Now, I was pacing my living room, just like I’d been doing for the past hour. Finally, I open my door, take two steps to hers, and knock.

Nothing.

Great. She’s ignoring me.

I wait a few seconds before knocking again. This time her door opens, just enough so she could peek through it.

I smile, hoping it’s enough. “Hi.”

“What’s up?”

“Can I come in?”

She shakes her head, opens the door wider—just slightly—and steps out.

“What’s up?” she asks again.

My eyes narrow at her now closed door. “You got someone in there?”

“Ky.”

And now she’s avoiding my questions. Fucking perfect.

“Did you want something?” she says, her chin in the air like she’s attempting to rein in whatever confidence I’d stripped from her last night.

“I wanted to apologize.”

“Is that all?”

With a shrug, I say, “I guess.”

I watch her open her door and squeeze back in through the tiny opening she’d made for herself.

There has to be someone in there. Someone she doesn’t want me to see. Probably a guy she has on speed dial to physically take away the pain I’d caused.

I want to puke.

Instead, I go back in my apartment, shower, and make my way to stupid fucking therapy.

***

“How’s things going with the girl?” is the first thing Doctor Aroma asks when I get in her office.

“It’s not.”

“No? Why not? Did something happen?”

“I think I’d like today to be one of those silent sessions where you just judge me and make me feel shittier than I already do.”

She picks up her pen and notepad and starts scribbling.

I stare out the window.

This lasts for an hour.

I tell her time’s up.

She waves goodbye.

9

KY

My phone rings.

I feel around my nightstand for it; eyes still closed and my body unwilling to wake up. When I finally find it, I hit answer and lift it to my ear, groaning into it.

“Parker.”

DeLuca.

Perfect. Just fucking perfect.

“What fucking time is it?”

Seconds of silence pass. “I need you to meet me. Now.”

I throw the covers off of me and rub my eyes. “Where?”

“I’ll text you.”

When he’s hung up, I check the time; six in the goddamn morning. And now I’m officially pissed because no longer do I have control of anything in my life, but now DeLuca feels he has the right to bark orders at me.

And I have no fucking choice but to obey.

***

“Are you a cop?” DeLuca asks, taking a sip of his drink. We’re sitting in a Deli around the corner from my apartment. It’s completely empty, apart from the seedy looking guy fucking around on his phone behind the counter.

“Do I look like a cop?” I say, attempting to sound bored. I hadn’t told Jackson that I was meeting with DeLuca, and now I’m starting to regret it.

DeLuca leans forward and narrows his eyes. “What’s your story, Parker?”

I shrug. “I’m between jobs.”

“No. I mean who are you? Have you got a wife? Kids? Pets? What makes you tick? What makes you wake up in the morning?”

Nothing. Absolutely nothing but a girl I can’t get out of my goddamn head. With a sigh, I lean back in my chair, wanting him to get out of my space. “What’s your point?”

“I don’t trust you,” he says point-blank.

“I don’t trust you, either, so I guess we’re even.”

He lifts a finger in the air, like he’s about to gift me with his shitty words of wisdom. But what he says is, “You don’t need to trust me. That’s the thing, Ky. You’re completely replaceable to me. That built up rage you have—the one that’s worked its way so deep inside you that you can’t breathe—that’s there forever. And you have no other outlet.” He laughs mockingly. “I’m your ticket. I’m your outlet.” He pauses for a moment, tilting his head, letting his eyes bore into mine. “I’d love to know what happened to you. And I know it’s not the war. No...That’s not it. Not all of it, anyway. So what happened?” He smirks. “Did you fuck the wrong girl?”

My fingers ache from their grip on the side of my chair. It’s the only thing holding me back from rushing across the table and treating his face like my personal punching bag.

His menacing chuckle fills my head with fury.

“That’s it, isn’t it?” he continues, leaning forward again. “Or at least a part of it. Is that why you enlisted—to get away from her? I bet you disappointed a lot of people when you left, huh? Your perfect parents. Your brothers and sisters?”

My jaw tightens.

He smiles. “Yeah, that’s it. And guilt. I bet that guilt eats away at you, burning every last piece of your soul—to the point where you’ll never let yourself be happy. I bet—”

My chair scrapes across the floor as I stand and lunge for him.

He’s fast.

Too fast.

The cold metal of his gun presses against my forehead before I’ve even stood to full height.

DeLuca’s eyes narrow, but they’re calm.