I knew you’d worry, he’d tossed back.
Yeah, well, when she’d asked Tohr about any kind of workout schedule, the Brother had had no idea who L.W. was even exercising with. He hadn’t been to the training center in months.
After that? There had been no more hidden bandages, but the injuries had continued. A limp. A scratch—or worse, a deep cut or concussion. And when pressed, always a ready explanation: Trail running. Bike riding. Skateboarding.
In February? In upstate New York?
No more sparring bullcrap, though, because clearly, Tohr had circled back and talked to him.
So holy shit, she was terrified. Her son had been taught the basics of self-defense and weapons handling by the Brothers, but all of that had been just going through the motions. He wasnotsupposed to be out in the field—
A blinding light made her cringe back like a vampire—natch—and then a blaring horn had her jumping to the side as the car that had screeched into the alley tore past her. As it blasted by, the old beater splashed filthy water on her legs, and wasn’t that perfect.
The awful moist flush was just registering as she cocked her head. Turned and looked out across Market Street. When her precise location sunk in, she thought, oh…wow. She was back in her old haunts, and she instantly recast everything. Instead of the AI server companies and the data processing businesses that were taking up space in the squat buildings, she saw what had been there some thirty years ago. Ruben’s. McGrider’s. Screamer’s. The tattooists and the local restaurants. And farther down the street, the oldCaldwell Courier Journaloffices.
Which had been closed for a good twenty-five years.
Making a right, she went along the sidewalk at a slower pace. Until she came up to one of the few restaurant fronts left.
Tootsie’s Southern BBQ.
It had been a Chinese place years ago…where one night, she had phoned in her beef with broccoli order, and when she’d headed over to pick up the dinner, she’d crossed paths with Billy Riddle. That attack by him had been the start of everything. She’d been living in that ground-floor studio, with the glass door that opened out into the courtyard with the picnic table. When she’d gotten home, bruised, shaken, with a split lip…Wrath had come and found her for the first time.
She’d been scared to death of him.
But when he’d come back—
“It’s Tuesday,” she blurted. “Oh, God…it’s Tuesday.”
Even though there was no need to, she took out her phone and glanced at the date with a ringing shock. “I missed it…oh, my God. It was yesterday…it was Monday.”
She had missed their anniversary.
After however many years of dreading the night, and being relieved as soon as it passed, she’d actually forgotten it altogether.
“How did I not remember…” she whispered.
And go figure, the only thing worse than getting through their anniversary…was realizing she had spaced the date completely. The stinging guilt and ringing sadness was losing Wrath in an all-new way—
“What are you doing out here?”
Beth exhaled in a rush. And then just stared straight-ahead as she tried to compose herself. “I could ask you the same thing.”
When L.W. didn’t respond, she pivoted around—and oh, holy hell, her heart dropped. He was dressed in black leather, and she didn’t need to see under his jacket to know that there were weapons on him. Weapons…all over him. And with his tremendous height and the muscle he’d bulked on lifting weights and the cruel face that was set with aggression…
“God, you look just like your father,” she said hoarsely.
One of those black brows lifted. “Not a surprise.”
And yet it was, in such a bad way.
“This is not for you.” She shook her head while a horn honked somewhere off in the distance. “This life of fighting…you’re meant for something else.”
His eyes shifted off to the side, so he was looking over her shoulder instead of at her.
“L.W., please.” She closed the distance between them. “Listen to me, this is dangerous—”
“Go,” he snapped. “You gotta get—”
