CALLEN (Second Chance Novels Book 3) (7 page)

She needed my undivided focus on her safety, and I failed her. The hit man researched me thoroughly, worked diligent surveillance, waited in predatory stealth, and struck the moment he was able.

As soon as I came home with the damn wine, I knew I fucked up. The door stood an inch open, taunting me. I instantly drew my weapon from my ankle holster and quickly swept the house. When I didn't find her, I called Mason as I sprinted to my car.
 

A sick churning in my gut plagued me the entire trip to her old mansion. The home she shared with her asshole husband was the first place I thought to look. Like my apartment, the door was left open for me and a crushing silence pervaded the entire location. By the time Mason arrived, I had already swept the first floor.
 

Already with his weapon in a tight double grip, Mason mouthed "anything?" to me as he moved quietly up the grand staircase in the foyer. I shook my head gravely as I moved with my own stealth, keenly watching and listening for anything which would indicate Evvie's presence.
 

Time stood still when I entered the master bedroom. Evvie was there on the bed, her hands crossed delicately across her abdomen, her face bruised, and her wedding ring resting harshly on her disfigured throat. I dropped to my knees the moment I saw her, because I failed. I was dead along with her.
 

The sound of my collapse brought Mason quickly to the room.
 

"Jesus," he said, going to her and pressing two fingers under her jaw. He shook his head and his shoulders fell. All I could fucking do was stare. I froze up…demonstrated weakness…allowed a tear to fall. I had promised to keep her safe.
 

Every time I follow that rabbit-hole of a memory, I see Evvie's dead body crushed heavily under the weight of that damn wedding ring. I see red.

I look at my hands as I so often do and I try to erase emotion from the mission equation. Hatred will cloud my rationality, and any further grief would drown me altogether.
 

One goddamn bottle of wine.

I say goodbye to Shelby in the morning as we both struggle through the hangover. No matter how badly my head aches, my thoughts ache more. I can't stop dwelling on my past, my abrupt decision to leave the army, the beauty of Evelyn, or my current need for revenge. I think of Quinn.
 

I can only imagine how awkward my meeting with Quinn will be next week. Five days after leaving her standing at her door may not be enough. The longer I examine the moment, the more certain I am: she knew I was full of shit. She's too sharp to be fooled by a fake phone call.

I spend those same five days examining my head, and I've come to one obvious conclusion: I'm attracted to Quinn Porter, and my desire to spend time with her confuses the hell out of me. I force myself not to be distracted at Delta, and by Monday, my house is clean, my groceries are purchased, and my plans for vengeance have evolved into clearer focus.
 

With level upon level of data I've collected, I have an emerging plan. I've identified little-used hallways and vulnerable points for stealth movement through ceiling panels and utility tunnels. Three inmates represent appropriate patsies for my crime, and I've begun the early stages of planning my timing.
 

In order to maintain my innocence, I force myself to maintain a regular life as well, simply in case anyone looks to me for the murder, no matter how unlikely they will search in my direction.
 

I drive myself to Second Chance to demonstrate a sense of normalcy.
 

"Bash!" Mason calls from the bar with a smile.
 

"Hey, Junior," I greet almost flatly. My emotional hangover from every part of the last two weeks remains heavy on me, and coming here straight after a long perusal of my gathered intel leaves me on the more somber side of my brain.
 

I nod to Ledger and nod at the empty beer glass he's holding up for me. "Something dark."

Ledger raises his eyebrows, and by the time my ass meets the stool he's asking me what's going on. I chuckle and shake my head.
 

"It's going to take more than one beer for that conversation."

"Alright," Mason says with brotherly understanding. He tries to distract me with a toast. "To Delta Security."

"To Delta Security," Ledger and I repeat. I take a deep drink from my glass.

Deflecting the focus from myself, I turn to Mason. "Wedding plans still a pain in your ass?"

He rolls his eyes. "Only because of her mother."

I suppose this is exactly what I needed tonight. Two more strong beers later, however, and Ledger asks again how I'm doing. The alcohol has me relaxed at this point, so I don't bother fighting it. I let them in on what's going on with Quinn, all the way to leaving her at her door. I speak almost quietly about the entire screw-up, but Mason jumps in abruptly.

"Jesus, Bash," Mason grits out almost angrily. I narrow my eyes at his typical bluntness. Based on his body language, facial expression, and the tiny tick of his jaw, he's apprehensive to say what he wants to say. I know he'll speak his piece anyway.

"Look," he says, resigning himself to whatever consequence comes. "You knew Evelyn for a month.
A fucking month
. You were in love with the idea of love more than her."

He was right to be scared. In one swift move, I have Mason pinned to the floor. He looks me in the eye and doesn't fight back. I'm furious enough to lose control of the volume of my voice.

"And what
exactly
is long enough?" I shout too loud for a public place. "Remind me again!
How long
did you know Sofia before you were fucking
engaged
?"

"Hey!" Ledger barks angrily. "Out back or leave it alone."

I glare one more time at Mason and walk out the front door without so much as a backward glance. My feet don't stop. I'm shaking with anger and hazy with alcohol, both of which leave me in no condition to drive. Block after block I flex my hands into fists every time I see a surface worth punching. I contain my rage enough not to break my hand on a brick wall, but I'm fuming. More walking changes nothing.
 

Fucking Mason. When it comes to his brothers, he has the personality of a battering ram and always has. Tonight's comment shouldn't have surprised me, but I never saw it coming. I hate every syllable he uttered.

Battering ram though he is, the man is rarely wrong. He's intelligent and has a keen understanding of situations. He doesn't have the ability to read people the way I do, but he can analyze every piece of a puzzle and see the big picture like no one I've ever seen.

That pisses me off, too, because I need to consider his take. I'm too angry to think rationally right now, but I know I'll have to roll through his words soon. God damn it. I loved Evvie. I
loved
her. I still do.

I walk for another half hour, and when I reach my car, Mason is standing against the passenger door with his arms crossed, staring me down. I clench my jaw. I am not ready to finish this conversation.

"We're done for now, Junior," I say flatly.

"The hell we are," he says. "Just fucking listen for a minute. I know Evvie was important to you and I understand your need for justice. Go kill the bastard. I'd help if you let me. But as for Evvie? You're hanging onto a fantasy."

I can barely breathe for the anger, and Mason's point taunts me from behind my red vision.
 

"Come on, Bash. You're smart enough to see it. If Quinn is half of what you described, then she's worth the chance. Evvie's not coming back, and you're not honoring her memory by being alone."

I shake my head and walk to the driver's door. Mason turns and watches me leave as his shoulders drop in disappointment. I don't know what the hell he expects from me. I need to quit drinking. Over-sharing is becoming a bad habit, as is loss of control.

I find myself sitting on my couch with my forehead resting heavily in my hands.
A fucking month.
Does Mason think I haven't uttered those words to myself a thousand times? Either side of this argument is ridiculous. How could I love her after only a month? But if not, how could I need vengeance so desperately? Both halves swirl in black and white, taunting me without a single deviation in the form of gray.
 

My circular thoughts are interrupted abruptly by a harsh knock. With a grumble, I walk to my door only to see Mason standing there with a twelve-pack of shitty beer. I shake my head and walk away from the door, leaving it open so he can come in.
 

"Cheap-ass," I mumble as I hear him crack open a can of bottom-shelf brew. A moment later I'm handed my own and watch as Mason taps my can with his.

"To assholes like me," he says flatly.
 

I glare. In spite of the promise to myself to quit drinking, I sip my beer anyway. It's awful.

"Look," he starts, "Back there at the bar…it needed to be said, but it didn't need to be said like that. Sorry, man."

"Yeah," I mumble as I stare at the floor, imagining the thoughts in my head no longer swirling in black and white. Now, one streak is the glowing gold of Evvie's hair, the other a dark camouflage stained red. Together, yet separated, those two halves chase each other in circles. If they blended, however, nothing but a muddy brown would occupy my brain. I realize in this instant if I manage to avenge Evelyn's death, the mottled color of my past would forever stain the beautiful future I lost.

I don't give a damn. Bennett will die.

Mason quirks his eyebrows at the expression on my face. I glare again.

"Ok, out with it Bash. It's written all over your face…for the first time ever. Where the hell is your head? And how the hell did it get there?"

I furrow my brow and choke down another sip. I glance up at Mason who is staring me down, waiting for me to open up like he's some fucking therapist. I shake my head.

"That's all I get?" he snarks at me.

"Yep."

He scowls and sips his beer. He looks at the can and grimaces. "You have anything better?"

I chuff and point to the fridge. "Get me one while you're in there."

With a decent bottle in my hand, I clink the beer I shouldn't have with Mason's and settle back into my couch with my feet stretched out in front of me. Suddenly my shoes are very interesting.
 

"Two years on your own," he says flatly. He asks about those two years at least once a week.

A long silence passes before I give into the inevitable. His determination is stronger tonight than I've seen it before, and apparently
sharing
is my thing now. Either way, Mason can latch on like a pit bull when he wants to, and I see that expression on his face now. I either talk, or I forcibly kick him out of my house. I'm not in the mood for either, but I'm not in the mood for Mason to stay for days on end as an option.

"Two years drifting," is all I say at first. He meets my words with stoney silence. I nearly smirk when I realize he's going to treat this conversation like a mission debrief. I suppose such a tack is better between us. He waits as long as I do, the damn pit bull. With a deep breath and a small shake of my head at his stubbornness, I start.

"First of all, fuck you for leaving without me."

Mason only cocks his head in annoyance and waits for me to continue.

"I drove off base in my Monte Carlo, which became my mobile home. The only nights I spent in a hotel were paid for by the women who took me there. The whole time in the states, I lived in my car and showered at truck stops."

Mason nods in confirmation of his assumptions.

"Part of me loved those two years. Most of me was bored stupid, and frustrated to be living without purpose."
 

He needs to know how empty my life was, and exactly why Evelyn got in me so deep. "I played cards for money. I even went to Europe for a few months and cleaned out enough deep pockets to be more than comfortable. …and the women. I went through a checklist of bra size and hair color. You'd be amazed at how many hot twenty-somethings have daddy issues."

"Jesus," he shakes his head, darkly amused.