Breathless (Merciless Book 3)

When I heard Eli say we were going to a safe house, this wasn’t what I was expecting.

It’s on the far end of the city, away from the hustle and bustle, in a quieter area and close to Main Street with a few shops within walking distance. There are a few quaint houses that line the street, but nearly a quarter mile separates each of them on this street.

This isn’t like the safe house my father has. This house is in plain sight, but it’s built for war if only you look closely enough at the exterior.

The three-story building is made of stone, with a concrete fence around the property, covered in beautiful ivy. The front door is all steel but beautifully etched with what looks like a Celtic pattern. I only got a brief glimpse before I was led here to the second floor, and each floor seems to be self-contained, so multiple families could live here and never even see each other. I’m in absolute awe, although it doesn’t take the pain away in the least.

The kitchen is open to the living room. The center of the room is focused around a stone fireplace with a darkly stained, reclaimed wood mantel. Its ruggedness matches the iron and spicewood chandelier. But it’s at odds with the clean sleekness of the all-white kitchen, just behind us.

We’re stuck here, with a large L-shaped chenille sofa and matching armchairs that hug the fireplace until the guards say otherwise.

“Only a few minutes,” is what Cason said. But more than a few have already passed as we linger in the beautiful gilded cage.

I’m biting my tongue though; I don’t dare say a word to Addison as I pace behind the sofa. Addison’s still pissed, but it seems fake to me. Like she’s just trying to be angry at being locked up here rather than being brokenhearted over what happened.

She’s been staring for the last ten minutes at the clothes she dumped on the sofa, trying not to cry. I can’t stand seeing her on edge like this.

I’m an asshole, but I’ll admit I’m grateful to be distracted by her. If I was alone, I’d be huddled in a ball crying on the floor.

“This is bullshit,” she grits out the words, still staring at the clothes. “This isn’t what I meant when I said I was leaving!” she screams to no one.

“He said it would only be a week or so, right?” I ask her carefully, trying to calm her down just the slightest.

She nods and visibly swallows before rolling her eyes, seemingly remembering that she’s annoyed with being held here rather than given free will to leave.

“For our protection.” Addison picks up a dress and balls it in her hands before throwing it back down on the sofa. Pushing her hair out of her face, she leans her head back and takes a deep breath. She does that a lot, the leaning her head back and deep breaths. I’ve seen her do it a few times when she gets worked up.

“Is that like a meditation practice or something?” I ask her, wanting to change the topic if I can, to something… less devastating. I’m exhausted from crying, but tired of being exhausted from crying. I don’t want to hurt right now; I need a distraction for just a moment. Just a moment to breathe before I face my reality again.

She nods her head, barely moving from the position and takes a moment before telling me, “It’s a yoga thing, really, I don’t know that I can meditate.” She reaches for the duffle bag on the floor and picks up the clothes on the sofa, one piece at a time, to toss them back in. “My mind is always wandering, and I have to get up and do something.”

I nearly smile, happy that she’s talking to me about something else. It was silent in the car ride here and the tension has been suffocating me.

“Yeah, I get that,” I answer her. “I tried meditation a while ago and it was not my cuppa.”

“Cuppa?” she questions with her brow furrowed, and I stifle a small smile at her curious expression.

“Cup of tea.” I shrug and add, “It wasn’t my cup of tea.” Staring at my own duffle bag on the armchair, I add casually, even as I feel the weight of my heart seem to grow and sink into my stomach, “I like tarot cards better.”

“Oh!” The excitement in Addison’s voice is not at all what I was expecting. Maybe she’s better at pretending life is all right when it’s in shambles than I am. “And like palm readings?”

I have to smile at her enthusiasm.

She keeps talking as she finishes gathering the clothes. “I went to see a gypsy in New Orleans once.” She peeks over at me as I walk closer, taking a seat on the far end of the sofa. I have to, so I can hear her over the sound of the guards still walking through the safe house to make sure everything is in place. As in, cameras. I know those fuckers are putting up cameras.

I have to keep my mouth closed, my teeth grinding against one another at the thought, and keep the anger from showing as she tells me her story of the woman she met by Café du Monde. I swallow thickly as she tells me about New Orleans, a place I’ve never been.

She’s still feigning an upbeat attitude and I’m trying to keep up. I wonder if she can pretend like this when she lies down. When there are no distractions and sleep evades her. Just the thought of what my mind will do to me tonight, makes me grab the throw blanket on the sofa and wrap it around me as if it could protect me.

“I wanted to get my coffee grounds read and all that too, but I didn’t have time.”

“Seven kids?” My brows haven’t moved from their raised position since she casually mentioned that little fact the palm reader told her. “She said you’re going to have seven kids?”

I didn’t hear the rest of what she said about the reading as I stared off absently, pretending to listen but really thinking about tonight and how I know I’ll cry again. I feel helpless, hopeless, and pathetic.

Addison’s expression pales and she purses her lips before she carefully says, “Pregnancies.” She doesn’t hide the pain in her eyes when she clarifies. “She said seven pregnancies. She also said they wouldn’t keep.”

Fuck. I can’t even look her in the eyes as I struggle to tell her I’m sorry. She only shrugs it off before pulling up on her bag to close it.

The sound of her zipping up the bag is accompanied by the sound of Eli walking back into the room. With his dress shirt sleeves rolled up, the tattoos on his arm are on full display. They’re all in black and white with lots of detail. A compass that fades up his left arm catches my attention, but the tone of his voice brings my gaze up to his.

“The rooms are ready. We’ll be downstairs at all times.” Eli’s blunt and has a hint of some accent. Irish or British maybe, I can’t tell. It’s subtle, but it’s there.

“I don’t want to stay here,” Addison tells him again. Her shoulders rise and fall quickly as her breathing quickens. “I’m not with Daniel anymore.” Her voice cracks, but she continues, “And I don’t need a safe house. I need to leave.”

Eli’s expression is unmoving. I almost question if he’s heard her as the silence stretches between them. The only sounds are from the other men behind Eli in the hall as they walk downstairs to their section of the safe house. “I understand.” Eli’s initial response takes Addison by surprise. She even flinches slightly, but then he adds, “There are some precautions that need to be taken first. But in one week, give or take, we will take you to wherever you want to go, and leave you alone.”

Alone.

I hate that word.

“So, we’re supposed to stay locked up in this fucking house?” Addison’s anger rises as she asks the question, each word getting louder than the last. I watch as her blunt nails dig into her palms as she fails to rein in her anger.

“Main Street has several shops and a few restaurants. We have no objections to you walking the block… however, someone will be with you at all times.”

My mind has been reeling all night with everything that’s happened. I’ve been here for nearly two hours, and I’m only just now realizing why we have to stay here under house arrest with guards for one week. And then we can go free.

One week.

“He’s going to kill them.” With my gaze fixed on the sheer curtain, draped in the moonlight from outside the window, the crushing feeling in my chest returns. “One week until the war is over.”

Addison turns slowly to face me, and I sink back further into the sofa.

“I’m being held hostage until my family is dead.” My throat closes slowly like it’s suffocating me, and my eyes burn hotter as the pain diffuses through me.

I’ve lost Carter. I’ve lost the chance to influence him because I failed.

And now I’m trapped in this beautiful place while everyone I love is murdered. My vision is blurred as I picture the house I grew up in, the blood on the walls, bullet holes in the doors. Licking my lips, I taste my salty tears. “Eli, can you answer me a question?” I ask him with a short breath I’m barely able to hold on to.

The lightheadedness floods my mind as he nods his head, yes.

“Is there someone to clean up everything you leave behind?” I struggle to breathe as I look him in the eyes and continue, “Or when I ask to go home in a week, will I be the one who has to clean up the bodies of my family?” My voice shakes on the last word, but he hears me. I know he does.

I picture my cousin, Brett, and his wife and their baby. In a moment, they’re right where I last saw them during the holidays. And in a blink, they’re lying dead on the floor, their eyes staring back at me as if seeing me for who I really am.

And I hate what they see.

Some of my family may be cruel like Carter, but not all of them are and so many people will die. I know what to expect. I’ve seen it before. I can’t sit here and do nothing.

I refuse.

Eli stares back at me, assessing me and judging me, but I don’t care. As long as I can hold on to the strength of my mentality, I don’t care what he thinks. Knowing I can’t and won’t sit by and do nothing is all that matters.

“I know it’s war, but I would rather be with them right now,” I tell Eli, brushing the tears away as I realize that’s where my place is. “I think it would be best if you sent me back to my home.”

“Maybe when the week is over, you’ll want to go somewhere else,” is all Eli gives me.

It’s not until he’s gone that I realize Addison is silently crying.

She can’t even look at me, but I don’t care.

I don’t care about anything anymore.

“It’s what this life is like,” I tell her solemnly, remembering all the nights the men would fill the kitchen downstairs, clinking their beers and patting each other on the back. “I had an uncle named Pierce.” I haven’t thought about it in forever, but now I’m reliving a certain night when I was fifteen years old. The night that marks the first time I fully grasped what my family did for a living and began to really see the consequences that came with it. I can feel how raw my throat is when I pause to swallow. From screaming, from crying.

“I came downstairs while he was holding something up in the air and everyone else in the room was cheering.” Their voices echo in my head. “I remember smiling, so happy that my father was in a good mood.” I don’t know if she’s listening, but I keep talking.

“My uncle was so happy to see me.” I remember the way his grin widened before putting down whatever it was he’d been holding and hugging me like he hadn’t seen me in years. “I felt like a part of the family that night. My father even gave me a small glass of wine despite the fact I was only sixteen.” I remember the way it tasted, and how I felt when he poured from his bottle and gave me the glass in front of everyone. “He said, tonight we drink. Tonight, we celebrate Talvery. And everyone cheered again when I took a sip.”

I peek over at Addison, who’s listening intently and waiting for the punch line.

“It wasn’t until a few days later that Nikolai told me it was a human tongue. The tongue of a rat who was murdered, and they were celebrating because the charges were dropped with no witness living to testify.” I had to beg Nik to tell me; he told me I wouldn’t want to know, but I pressed him. After he told me, I knew I could trust his opinion if I ever wanted to know something again.

I stare at the fireplace, wishing it would crackle with a soothing flame, but it’s empty and there’s no wood here to start a fire.

“Talverys and the Cross brothers are the same. And they’ll both kill each other or die trying.” It’s a truth I’ve wanted to avoid for so long, but now it seems as if I can only try to limit the damage they’ll cause.

“That’s not the way they grew up,” Addison tells me with tears in her eyes. “They were good people.”

“My family is full of good people too.” My gut churns from trying to defend this life to her. To someone who didn’t grow up in it. “They just do bad things. Like my uncle. He loved his wife, he loved his kids, and he would have done anything for me if he were still alive.”

It’s quiet for a moment as Addison slowly sits down next to me, holding onto herself like she’ll fall to pieces if she doesn’t.

She doesn’t speak for a long time; neither of us does. But neither of us gets up either. “I don’t understand how Daniel got into this. This isn’t what they were like before. I swear to you. They were good and… and… I don’t know how this happened.” She looks lost like she had no idea. I’ve seen women before who are in denial, who turn a blind eye. But she’s truly shocked. Maybe she didn’t realize how real this life can be. How close to death it is.

“I do.”

My response grabs her attention and she waits for more, but I don’t know how much she really wants to know, or what she needs to know.

“For the longest time, there wasn’t anyone south of Fallbrook. That’s where I’m from and basically the territory my father keeps. My father talked about taking it a lot.” I remember back when I was little, how I’d sit in his office coloring and he’d have hushed conversations about the developments in Back Ridge. “There wasn’t anyone living there, no businesses, but then,” I clear my throat and tell her, “then developments grew and there were more people. More opportunities, as my father called it.”

“He and Romano had two territories side by side, and both wanted it. But the areas are like a cross, sort of.” Four quarters, I draw it out on the blanket on my lap, the way Nikolai explained it to me. “Carter’s area is the bottom left, but his portion is bigger now. The bottom right is Crescent Hills and it’s not claimed, just a shit town with no one policing it, no one protecting it. Carter and his crew keep moving closer and closer, but they only take it little by little. My father has the upper left and Romano the upper right. They both wanted the territory where Carter is now, but while they waged a cold war against each other because of my mother…” I swallow a dry lump not knowing if she knows but not in a state to explain. “Carter took over. One by one, killing the men who worked for my father who tried to stop him, or, sometimes, Carter took on my father’s soldiers, proving he would be ruthless and that the area was his, but he had mercy for those who stayed with him.”

“So, it was Carter?” she asks, and I can see in her eyes she doesn’t want to believe Daniel was involved.

“I’ve heard Jase and Carter’s names a lot.” I almost say more, but I hold it back, swallowing my words. “But Carter is the one name that everyone knows. It’s either Carter or the Cross brothers.”

Addison’s brow is pinched but her expression is riddled with anguish as she says, “I don’t know why Carter would do that. I don’t know why he’d want to live this way.”

Again, I almost say, “I do,” but I don’t. It’s because my father knew what Carter was capable of. He knew they would take over. My father tried to kill them before they could become the powerful family they are now, but he failed. His failed attempt is what made Carter who he is.

The truth, and facing the truth, causes a coldness to flow across my skin and I pull the blanket more tightly around me.

“I understand if you could never be friends with someone like me. Someone whose family makes a living through death and sin. Someone who…” I trail off, pausing for a moment before what I’m about to say next. I have to close my eyes to say, “Someone who broke you and Daniel up.”

“Stop it,” Addison breathes the command with a seriousness I wasn’t expecting. “You didn’t break us up and you’re still my friend.” She grips my hand in both of hers as I stare back at her, hoping she still feels this way in the morning. Because I have no one right now and, in a week, I may have even less than no one.

“It’s going to be okay and we’re going to look out for each other. You have to look out for the ones you care about. You know?” Her gaze begs me to agree with her, to stay strong. But I’m not like Addison.

Tears beg to run down my face, but I bite them back, refusing to cry any more tonight. Instead, I nod my head and force out my reply, although the words are strangled. “I’m trying to. But what can I do when the ones I care about want each other dead?”

The silence comes again, but she’s quick to end it this time.

“Let’s have a drink.” She’s off the sofa before I can even tell her how badly I need one.

I can only nod my head in agreement, still wrapping my head around the spiral of horrific events that led me here.

I can’t think about anything but Carter as I hear her open a bottle of wine and the glasses clink on the counter. Instead, all I can do is picture Carter’s face the exact moment I lost his trust and he lost his fucking mind.

It’s going to haunt me forever.

If not that, then the sight of my family in coffins.

There was no way for me to win.

I don’t want to do this anymore. I can’t deal with this anymore.

I need to stop this.