Page 12 of Deadly North
“Wow, that sounds great!” I enthuse. “Much better than my day, for sure.”
Carrie Ann comes up behind her. “Mom’s inside, taking a nap,” she tells me. “Keeping up with London wore her out, I think.”
“Mom!” London protests. “I don’t wear her out!”
“Okay, okay,” Carrie Ann says, putting her hand on her daughter’s head. “Grammy probably just didn’t sleep that well last night.” She winks at me, and I suppress a smirk. “How are you doing, Gigi?”
“Good,” I say automatically, unwilling to get into the less than positive parts of my day. “But I’m probably about as tired as your Grammy, London. I want to go inside and sleep for twenty-four hours!”
London giggles. “That’s too long!”
“Not for me.” I tip my head to one side and do a couple of loud snores, which sends her into fits of laughter.
“I could use a twenty-four-hour nap, myself,” Carrie Ann says. “I’m not likely to get one anytime soon, though. Am I, London?”
“No! Because you have to get up to play with me!” London explains.
Carrie Ann raises her eyebrows at me. “Bet you’re glad you only have a cat.”
Just as I always do whenever someone mentions me having kids, I deflect and change the subject. “Well, he definitely doesn’t mind joining me during nap times, that’s for sure. Speaking of which, I’d better get inside and feed the beast. Good to see you, London! Say hi to your grandma for me.”
“Okay!” she sings, and bounces away.
Carrie Ann gives me a wave, and follows her daughter. I turn away and head back toward my house, my brain switching gears back to the evening ahead and the uninterrupted me-time I’m looking forward to.
As I approach my front door, at first I don’t notice the shiny object glinting in the early-evening sunlight. But as I get closer my steps slow as I see that there’s what looks to be a fancy switchblade with rhinestones, embedded in the wooden railing.What the fuck?
I glance around me, but other than Carrie Ann and London there’s no one else outside on my street. Reaching for the object gingerly, I take hold of the hilt and pull it out of the wood to examine it. The blade has been sharpened expertly to a fine edge. Pretty, but deadly. It’s hard to tell whether the knife is meant to be a threat or a gift. But it makes me uneasy either way.
Inside, I close the blade and set it on my kitchen counter. Suddenly, being home alone isn’t quite as enticing as it was a couple of minutes ago. Feeling vulnerable, I rush through the house, checking all the door and window locks to make sure they’re secure, and closing all the curtains. When I’m done, I go back to the living room and I flop down on the couch. Within seconds, my cat, Tedward the Destroyer, comes ambling in and jumps up next to me. Tedward is a long-haired tabby with a white chest, beautiful jade eyes, and a personality that matches his name. He is a destroyer of toilet paper rolls and catnip mice, and he hates all humans except for me. And right now, he’s exactly who I want to see. He steps into my lap, flopping down into it. I sink my fingers into his fur, letting the vibrations of his purring soothe me.
There’s nobody here. I’m safe. It’s okay. Isn’t it?
“It has to be a coincidence,” I murmur to Tedward. “It has to be.”
His name was Dylan.He was good-looking in a bad boy, he-knows-it kind of way, charming in a caveman kind of way, and had a hard time taking no for an answer.
Dylan was the first guy I had really let myself think about getting serious with. I met him in a totally stereotypical way — in a bar. He came on strong, and I had had just enough alcohol to be flattered and a little turned on. He love-bombed me from the start. By the end of the first week, he told me he was in love with me. By the end of the second week, he was telling me I was going to be the mother of his children. The sex was off the charts. I was falling, and falling hard.
But Dylan had a jealous streak. Back then, I didn’t have the Body Bus yet, but I was working as a tattoo artist at a local shop. He hated that I worked in a profession that meant I got up close and personal with men on a daily basis. At first, he told me it was because I was so beautiful that it made him nervous for my safety. But little by little, he started accusing me of unintentionally leading my male customers on. Then, he started saying that I was doing it on purpose. He told me that if I wanted to be his woman, I’d have to stop being a tattoo artist, because that was a profession for sluts.
So, I broke up with him.
To say that Dylan didn’t accept the breakup was an understatement. He started harassing me. Texts and phone calls at all hours of the day. He’d alternate between pleading with me to take him back and saying some of the most horrible, disgusting, vile things I’ve ever heard. When I finally blocked his number, the harassing turned to straight-up stalking. The final straw was the day I found all four of my car’s tires slashed — with the blade still sticking out of one of them.
A switchblade, with a decorative handle.
It was at that point I had to admit to myself that I needed help. Though I hated doing it, I called in the cavalry, better known as my brother.
When I told Con what was happening, I saw a look of fury cross his face like I’d never seen before. It was the first time I really realized why the Royal Bastards had given him his road name. I realized that my big brother was capable of things I’d never dreamed of.
I never knew what happened to Dylan. All I know is that Connor said he took care of him. Dylan never contacted me again after that day. I never let myself think too much about why.
But sitting here right now, I have to admit to myself that I always assumed that what Con did was… permanent.
So whoever left this knife for me — assuming it is a threat — itcan’tbe Dylan.
Can it?