Elect(20)

Chapter Eleven


Nixon


“Sit down,” I said softly.

“Still ordering me around?” Trace jutted out her hip and glared.

Smiling, I played with my lip ring and laughed. “Sorry, farm girl. Can you please, sit down.”

“Why, I thought you’d never ask.” Trace winked and sat on the bed.

I moved to stand in front of her and reached for her hands. “I’m not sure what I should tell you or what I should keep from you.”

“Do I get a vote?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Why?”

“Because if it was up to you you’d know every gory detail. You’d want to know names, numbers, details—everything. And the more you know, the more danger you’re in.”

Her eyes fluttered closed for a few brief seconds before she looked at me through her thick dark lashes. “It’s something really bad, otherwise you wouldn’t be looking at me like that.”

How I could be that transparent with her but totally aloof with assassins was beyond my realm of understanding. “And just how am I looking at you?”

“Like you’re never going to see me again. You’re looking at me like you did when we were kids and I told you I was going to save you. Your eyes were so sad; it was like you knew what I was saying I wouldn’t be able to follow through with, but you hugged me anyway.”

And maybe that was the problem. I trusted myself, and to an extent I trusted Chase, but Tracey? I wouldn’t blame her if she left me. I wouldn’t blame her if she chose someone who could protect her better than I could. Because the truth of the matter was, my life would never be safe. Our existence together would never be a for-sure thing. Death was my daily reality; it was my burden, not hers and not Chase’s.

Maybe if I was a stronger man, I’d leave her and suffer alone. Maybe if I was the type of guy who put others first—I would walk away from her.

But she was my weakness. I’d make it two steps before turning around and begging on my knees for her to take me back. Which meant I had to trust in us, I had to trust in her.

“Trace, we can’t be seen together right now.”

She jerked her hands away from mine and glared. “Oh no you don’t, Nixon Anthony Abandonato!”

Wasn’t expecting that. I laughed without really thinking, and then she slapped me across the face. It stung like hell. “What was that for?”

“You aren’t leaving me!”

“Did I say I was?” Although my cheek was throbbing I couldn’t help but keep laughing at her response. And this was why I would never walk away. Who would walk away from such a little pistol?

“Oh.” Trace tugged her lower lip between her teeth and sheepishly looked up at my cheek. “You should probably put some ice on that.” I winced as she touched my cheek.

Covering her hand with mine, I winked. “Yeah, well, I’ve had worse. Promise.”

Her eyes welled with tears, but to her credit she kept them all in. If anything I fell in love with her a little bit more. Her strength was so damn sexy, I couldn’t even put into words what she did to me.

I kissed her softly and sighed against her still chocolate-tasting mouth. “Sweetheart, Chase was… well, today he was gifted with a stroke of brilliance. The head of the Nicolosi family talked with us this evening, and he had Phoenix with him.”

I quickly explained to her what had happened, leaving out all the violence, guns, and threats. So basically I censored everything and then dropped the bomb. “You and Chase need to pretend to be together. People will be watching you, they’ll be following you.”

Tracey swallowed and licked her lips. “And you’ll what? Pretend you hate me again?”

“Hell no!” I snapped, grabbing her ass and lifting her until her body was firmly pressed against mine midair. “I’ll just be the friend. Basically, Chase and I are switching parts. He gets to play the boyfriend, I get to play the jackass.”

That earned an eye roll and a laugh from her. I dropped her to the ground and kissed her nose. “If they find out how much you mean to me, they’ll use that against our family and against your grandfather.”

She was silent for a moment. Her hands traced circles around the tattoo peeking out from underneath my white t-shirt. The writing was in Sicilian, but it said, “Every Saint has a past, every sinner has a future.” I had always wondered which I was. The saint or the sinner?

It was Trace’s favorite tattoo, even though I had several down my left arm and a few on my stomach and back. Her favorite had always been that one, on the left side of my chest. She said it gave her comfort. I guess she was using it for comfort right now.