SWNOVELS When He Desires: Chapter 4
Blake walks across my lawn, her arms wrapped around her narrow waist, her hair glistening in the moonlight like liquid gold.
She slips inside her house, but her scent lingers in the air. A blend of vanilla and lavender. Her soap? Or maybe her shampoo?
Whatever it is, it makes me want to press my nose into the crook of her neck and see if she tastes as good as she smells.
I recognized her right away, but it took me a moment to get over the shock of having her next door to me.
‘Don’t call me doll.’
Whenever Sandro and I go to Frostbite and she’s working, he reminds me of that comment. I think he gets a kick out of knowing there’s at least one woman in this town who doesn’t appear to like me. He’ll be fucking thrilled to hear she gave me a scolding on day one as her neighbor.
Yeah, I’m not telling him that.
I turn around and walk back inside my new house.
You know how some people have that little voice inside their head telling them when they’re doing something they shouldn’t? Not me. The voice in my head is loud as fuck.
You really think buying this house will solve your problems?
That’s Nero. The guy I used to be.
You got a better idea?
And that’s Rowan. The guy I am now.
Rowan tells Nero he can be happy running a clean business he bought with dirty money. He tells him that one day he’ll be able to think of his old life without the urge to trash his surroundings and scream into the void. He tells him it’s fine to feel bored and empty sometimes, or most of the time, if that’s the price of staying alive.
And he tells him that everything will be fine as long as he finds himself a woman for the night. After all, women always used to make things better.
But it seems like even that’s not true anymore.
At least none of the women I’ve been with over the past few months did the job. As soon as I slip out of bed, that hollow, nauseating emptiness creeps right back in.
So now, I’m trying something else.
I put Blake’s list on the dusty counter in the kitchen and wash my hands at the sink just as a firm knock sounds against the front door.
“Come in,” I call out.
The door creaks open, and the floor vibrates with the thud of Sandro’s footsteps. A second later, he swaggers into my living room wearing a Handy Heroes T-shirt. There’s a six-pack dangling from one hand and a cigarette from another. He halts in the middle of the room and looks around. “Holy shit.”
He’s probably having the same thought I had when I first walked in. This place isn’t fit for human habitation. But that’s the point. I bought this house to keep myself so busy I’ll have zero time to be idle or think about the past.
I tip my head at the cigarette. “Put that out.”
He glances around. “You got an ash tray?”
“Use whatever you want.” A burn mark isn’t going to make a difference.
Sandro winces and puts his cig out against the closest wall. “The fuck, man?”
“It’s got potential.”
He gives me an incredulous look. “Not that I’m questioning you or anything, but…wasn’t there anything else available? Or were you that eager to get away from me?”
I wave him off. Sandro wasn’t a bad roommate. The two-bedroom apartment we’d shared since we arrived at Darkwater Hollow is more than big enough for both of us, but I was getting tired of the way he kept looking at me. All concerned and shit. Like he’s worried one day I’ll bolt.
He walks over to the window and moves a yellowish curtain aside. “That shed looks like it’s one rainfall away from disintegrating. What’s the rent? They should be paying you to live here.”
“Rent? I bought it. It was a good deal.”
I got the idea from a client. The guy heard through the grapevine that the Jacksons would sell the house on Landhorne for practically nothing, and he thought I might be interested.
There’s a play here—restore the house and flip it for a nice profit. When I drove by and saw the state of this place, I thought it would be a while before I ran out of things to do.
Besides work, there’s nothing to do in Darkwater Hollow. It’s the world’s most boring fucking place.
When Sandro and I first bought Handy Heroes, we had our work cut out for us. It was a three-month crash course in construction and subcontractor management. I learned how to deal with suppliers and clients. Sandro picked up all the rest. The company came with three employees—a project manager, an architect, and an estimator. Somehow, we managed to convince all of them to stay and teach us everything they knew.
But now that we know the ropes, there’s more downtime.
I fucking hate downtime.
I walk over to stand at Sandro’s side and glance out toward the dark backyard. Through the broken fence, I can see Blake’s back porch light is on. Is she outside? Cooling down after our confrontation? Having her chew me out shouldn’t have given me a thrill, but it did.
At least it was something new.
Sandro drops his hand away from the curtain and wanders into the kitchen. He spots Blake’s list on the counter and picks it up. “What’s this?”
“A list of repairs I told the girl next door I’d take care of.”
Am I really going to fix all the shit she listed?
Eh. Why not?
“Oh yeah?” He gives me a weary look. “How generous. Let me guess, she’s cute? Single?”
Yes and probably, but what I say is, “She’s none of your damn business.” I take the list from him and tuck it into my back pocket.
“Actually, she might be.” Sandro scratches his brow. “Look, I’d hate to tell you how to live your life.”
“Then don’t.”
“I wouldn’t if I didn’t think your behavior might be affecting our business. You know, the one we’ve worked our asses off to turn around in record time? The one that’s finally getting some good traction?”
“Traction. Isn’t that the title of one of the business books I saw you reading last week? Learned a new word, kid?”
He frowns.
Fuck. I’m being an asshole.
Sandro works hard. Really fucking hard. I’ve lost count of how many business and construction books he’s inhaled since we arrived here, and that’s on top of working twelve-hour days.
He’s earned my respect over the last few months, no doubt about that. The fact that I’m the only reason he’s here is something that bothers me more than it seems to bother him. I feel like I owe him, which is why I push my irritation down. “Sorry. All right. What are we talking about?”
He crosses his arms over his chest. “Your body count. Do you know Abigail is married?”
Oh, that. “I know now. I didn’t when…” I rub the back of my neck.
Sandro puts his hands on his hips. “When you fucked her?”
What happened with Abigail was sloppy, I’m not above admitting that. I was drinking that night at Hawk’s, a bar not far from here. She sidled up onto the stool next to me, I offered to buy her a drink, and the next thing I knew, we were in the bathroom, and my dick was inside her.
“I didn’t know her name until that night, let alone know she was married.”
“Well, it doesn’t really matter, does it? Her husband appears to have found out, along with a good portion of the town. This is a small place. People talk. And your personal reputation is tied to the reputation of our business whether you like it or not.”
A hint of unease prickles inside my chest. “You think this Abigail thing is going to affect us?”
“I think we’re going to start losing contracts, because most smart men won’t want a guy like you buzzing around their wives.”
“I wouldn’t have done it if I’d known. I don’t make a habit of going after other men’s women.”
“I don’t think anyone is interested in hearing you explain your nuanced code of ethics,” Sandro snipes. “Just go easy for a while, okay? Focus on the work.”
My temper flares. “Since when did you become my boss?”
Sandro gives me a don’t-give-me-that-shit look. “We’re partners. And partners watch out for one another.” He blows out a heavy breath. “Look, are you okay?” He gestures vaguely at the living room. “Is this a cry for help?”
I swipe my knuckle against my nose. “I’m fine.” The word “fine” tastes distinctly like a lie.
The dreams have gotten bad the past few weeks. I’m always in a cage in the center of a cold, dark room, hands bound and ankles chained. Things are happening outside the room, a gunfight and scuffles, but I’m isolated from them. I’m useless. Helpless.
Sometimes, the dreams turn absurd. I’m a lion with no claws. I’m an eagle with no eyes. I’m a snake without a tongue.
The symbolism isn’t lost on me.
In the dreams, my stepdad walks around the cage, studying and judging. He’s silent, but I can guess what he’s thinking.
You are not built for this. Men like you can only be happy doing one thing.
Sandro sighs. “I don’t know, man. You’re different than you were before.”
“Of course I’m different. I have to be, don’t I? I’m a fucking civilian now.” Just like my useless, piece-of-shit father.
“That’s not what I mean.”
“Then what do you mean?”
He clenches his jaw. “You’ve always been an upbeat kinda guy. But these past few weeks… You seem angry all the time. In your head, you’re still fighting this, aren’t you?”
I shove my hand inside the pocket of my jeans and feel around for my cufflinks. The steel is cool against my palm.
I am fucking angry. I was never supposed to end up like this. I miss the thrill of my old life. I miss the danger and the exhilaration and the power.
It’s been four months since we left New York, and you’d think I’d get used to the new normal by now, but it only gets harder with each week that passes.
“I know this has been an adjustment,” Sandro says. “But you’re a resilient motherfucker. I know you are. Ever since you and Rafe took me under your wing, I’ve looked up to you guys.”
His words dig right into me. I look at him and remember how he agreed to come here with me without a second thought.
I owe it to him to keep trying to accept this new life. And at the very least, I owe it to him not to do anything that could jeopardize our business.
I nod. “Okay.”
“If you ever want to talk—“
“I heard you about the women. Let’s move on.”
He stares at me for a long moment, obviously worried, and I hate that he feels the need to worry about me.
I’ll figure it out. I have to.
Sandro gestures at the six-pack he brought. “Want a beer?”
Usually, I’d say yes, but I’m not in the mood tonight. “I’m good. Long day. Can you drop off the trash I’ve got outside at the garbage dump?”
“Sure. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Once he’s gone, I take the cufflinks out and toss them in my palm.
They’ve gotten scuffed in the past few months from sharing the same pocket as my change.
My old initials are engraved on the back of each.
NDL.
Besides my gun, they’re the only artifacts I have left from my old life, and I can’t bring myself to get rid of them.
My stepdad gave them to me when I became made at seventeen. He was so proud of me. It was one of the best moments of my life.
And if he could see me now, he’d be turning in his grave.