William Archer’s hand on my arm is firm, his voice level as he drapes a cool cloth over my eyes. I’m not in any of those places; not Afghanistan, not Seattle holding a bloody rag to the hole in my friend’s side, not screaming in the backseat while my parents die.
I’m safe, I’m here; I’m home.
Here with the demons, the drugs, and the desperate need for death.
P R E S E N T
We’re wrapped in towels later, sprawled on the bed watching the sunset over the rooftops through the open balcony door, when the burner phone pings from the side table of the hotel room. I glance down and make a face; Sasha, of course, looking for a meet.
Perfect fucking timing.
“Oh, is that Sasha?” Peyton says. She’s being sarcastic, but there’s also that dark look clouding her eyes.
I arch a brow at her; “Easy, tiger. I’ve gotta go meet with her.”
“Of course you do.”
I frown; “Fine, we need to go meet her.”
This time it’s her turn to smirk and raise a brow; “Now?” She grins; “No way, I’m not putting clothes on.”
“Fine with me if you come like that.”
She grins and turns her face up to kiss my chin; “Go meet your psycho ex-girlfriend and let me know what she has to say.”
I shoot her a look; “Not, my ex-gi-”
“Oh, take the joke, Connors.”
“Does she know what she’s getting into?”
I narrow my eyes at Sasha; “No. For fuck’s sake, of course she doesn’t.”
The black-haired women shrugs subtly as she sits back in her chair holding her dark Turkish coffee in both hands with the cigarette dangling from her fingers like a scene right out of narcotics anonymous. Habits, man; we just exchange one for another.
“I think she does,” Sasha says; “I think you need to give that girl more credit.”
I glare at her; “I give her plenty of credit, but credit doesn’t keep my best friend’s kid sister from getting killed.”
“Oh is that what she is to you?” She smirks; “She’s just ‘your best friend’s sister’?” My jaw tenses and Sasha’s blood-red lips curl into a cheshire grin; “You really are not a hard man to read, dear.”
“Let’s move on.”
She rolls her eyes; “Fine. What are they after, Bryce?”
I shrug; “Money? The fuck if I know or care, I just want to get Logan back.”
She sighs and places her coffee on the table; “Well it’s something, darling. They don’t kidnap people like that friend of yours for nothing.”
I wish to God I’d never found those fucking stones in that God-forsaken jungle.
“It’s what you found in the jungle, isn’t it?” I freeze, and the stillness of my movement is all a predator like Sasha needs to pounce; “Oh it is, isn’t it!” She laughs, a brittle sound, and leans over the table towards me; “You ranted about it that last night before you left, you know. We had that horrible yellow Afghani junk, and you swore it was your last hit. And then you couldn’t stop talking about ‘the golden ticket’ you’d found in the jungle.”
I can feel my blood run like ice in my veins, even if it does appear that she never guessed exactly what it was I was raving about; “It was nothing, Sasha. Some archeological dig that Benson and I came across on patrol; old pottery and shit.”
Sasha says nothing, but holds my gaze. This woman’s a shark, and she knows blood in the water when she smells it.
“I have to get back. Is there anything else?”
She spreads her hands and shrugs; “Not unless you want to start telling me the truth it seems.”
I tighten my jaw as I stand, pushing my chair back.
“You going to get her hurt for those secrets of yours, dear.”
I turn back, narrowing my eyes at her and feeling the fury rising inside of me; “What?”
Sasha just rolls her eyes and looks away; “Oh, it’ll just be another person getting hurt after hurricane Bryce comes through.”
“You just don’t know when to stop with the fucking claws, do you, Sasha.” I growl out, my hand tightening on the edge of the table.
“Oh, Jesus, Bryce, do you even know what it was like with you, back then?”
“You were using too,” I say quietly, an edge to my voice; “How’s the view from up in that fucking tower?”
“Oh please! I wanted to get high, Bryce; you wanted to die.”
The silence that descends over us like a frost is enough for both of us to know she’s right.
“Make sure she knows what she’s doing, dear,” She says quietly.
“She doesn’t.”