DUTY

THIS IS A SEQUEL, IT IS NECESSARY TO READ 'DELINQUENT' BEFORE STARTING THIS NOVEL. It was a series of things that led me to this moment. Led me to this decision. Clumps of crimson maple leaves on the front lawn. The crew draining our pool out back. But seeing my breath fog with my words, I finally saw it. Fall was here. And I hated it. I had a pool at my disposal, with Roman my full-time dedicated lifeguard and Tom -my glorious teacher. It all just slipped away. Seemingly overnight the city's smothering heat evaporated. Dried up and killed with a vengeance. I stepped up to the cashier and smiled, flashing her the cash in my hand. She grinned like the money hungry girl I used to know. But that girl, that form of myself was gone. I had meant to only buy a coat, something thick and functional. But the shopkeepers knew who I was, everyone in Columbus did. Once I entered the store, every sales associate was on me, pushing the product. I wasn't even in the clothes I walked in with anymore. Now I was sweating under the shop lights in fleece lined leggings, a thermal pullover, thick soled winter boots, a cashmere hat and a parka that ended at my knees. And in the bag next to me, a second of each - just in case. Like I said, I hadn't meant for it to happen. It just did. Not that I was complaining. Hunter kept the car running for my return. Tom insisted on an escort and really, I didn't mind. Hunter was quiet mostly, tall and rugged, battling his own demons he never pointed out mine. Never questioned where I went, what I did. From the backseat, I tossed him a grey beanie, "For you, kind sir." A single laugh, he threw the gift onto the empty seat beside him. I rolled my eyes. I couldn't stop myself from teasing him - who shaved only the sides of their head? It certainly wasn't for warmth and Hunter wasn't the type to stick to fashion trends. Each time I asked him about it, why he did it, he made up something new, something gruesome. The hair doesn't grow back since the acid burns. It's hereditary. My barber can't reach the top of my head. Idiot. At home, we were in full remodel. Abigail, the interior designer and wife of Pierre, one of Tom's closer friends, had a flair for glamour. Sneaking in crystal chandeliers, gold plated silverware and mirrors dripping with excess. Lately, I'd given up reigning her in. Did I really care what silverware we used? No. I'd rather Tom fed me every bite of food I had. My cheeks warmed as I scurried inside the house - our house. He wanted to remodel for me, thinking it would stop me from calling it his. I figured as long as he was mine, I didn't need anything else. Tom, rare and exquisite cut from a finer, more durable cloth than any man I'd met before. He'd kept his word and yet - he didn't. Lavish gifts, expert guards, money spilling from my pockets - he gave me everything. Everything tangible. Me. Stupid little Mila. I only wanted him. I just wanted to go to sleep wrapped up in him, nuzzle my face into his hard tattooed chest. More and more lately he'd been gone. Away. And I'd try to remember his touch, the timbre of his laugh, the strength in his hands, the scarred bullet hole in his shoulder. I used to love that view, his sitting up in bed as the morning sun poured in, his bare back to me, shoulder hunched, hands locked on his phone. Getting the jump on business. Nothing stirred me more in the morning than watching him be him. Watching him run the show. I'd say goodbye to Tom, wrap my hands around his waist and pull The Don under the sheets. What happened? Ridding myself of the layers, I dumped them in the front room. Abigail gave me a soft wave across the room, phone glued to her ear. Alone and never alone. His house - our house - was still a beacon for the neighborhood for the entire city. Stragglers in and out at all times of the day. I was always one of the faces, never surprised to walk into a room and see a new person. Aiming for the kitchen, a smile tugged at my lips. I bit down on it. No, Mila! Roman stood tall and rigid watching me. A monster of a man, he dominated the space, tanned muscled chest poking out from beneath his flannel. A slow nod between us. I couldn't forget what happened in Deliverance that day. How Roman ripped Tom away from me, how he dragged him out of there. How Roman left me. I'd thought we were friends. I'd almost told him as much, let the words slip out, spit out a snide comment about leaving me there to die. Leaving me there to welcome death and then dole it out. He was the reason for my nightmares, for my aversion to drinking. The reason a heavy piece of metal was tucked in the lining of my purse. I should try it out, test the bullets, on his f*****g kneecaps. But I couldn't . . . because while Roman left me for death, he'd saved Tom. It was the reason for his return, Romans clear thinking that brought him in close, tucked just under Tom's mighty wings. For that, I'd always be grateful. Being grateful didn't require me to be his friend though. I stole a water from the fridge with a glare and snuck off to the back of the house to disappear to our private bedroom. Where I'd spend the rest of the day, surrounded by people and completely alone. I hated Fall.