Page 92 of Safe Word

He raised his hands in mock defence.

‘She is.’ I frowned.

But I couldn’t let myself get pulled in. My gaze darted around the room, scanning the masked hosts, the guests, anyone who might be the one I was looking for.

The unease layering itself over the back of my neck, the stutter in my pulse – they didn’t whisper. They screamed.

He was here.

And if he found me with Cain’s gaze already branding my skin, what version of me would answer?

Cain sat like a loaded gun with the safety off.

Each tap of his fingers felt as if it counted down to something neither of us could stop.

SEVENTEEN

With shadows and throbbing neon, the club was an assault on the senses. The playlist was merciless, vibrating through the floor and into my chest like a steady, grating reminder of why I despised places like this. They were too loud. Too crowded. Too artificial.

And yet, here I was, chained to this event like a puppet on strings, flashing the occasional polite smile to fans who clutched their signed books like sacred relics.

Vinnie hovered nearby, grinning and schmoozing as if he were born for this circus, his ease only adding to my irritation. His latest acquisition – a tiny brunette barely out of university – had spoken all of two words since joining us at the table. He couldn’t care less about the years she hadn’t lived – it was the shape of youth that held his attention.

I would’ve said a thing or two about his increasingly fraying morality, but I wasn’t really the one to preach. Besides, my mind wasn’t really here.

I was back in that hospice room with Ezio. His reawakening should have been a distant problem, a footnote to a twenty-year-old past I’d buried. Instead, it dawdled like a dark spectre gnawing at the edges of my thoughts.

I clenched my jaw, adjusting my cuffs just to keep my fingers busy. No amount of alcohol or feigned charm could blunt the blade of knowing he was awake – alive – still capable of dismantling everything I’d built.

‘You know brooding doesn’t sell books, right?’ Vinnie’s voice cut through my spiral, and I shot him a sidelong glance. He was perched on the edge of the table, inspecting the merchandise setup with a look of unabashed satisfaction.

‘They’re flying off the shelves,’ he continued, gesturing to the crowd around my stand. ‘You’ve got these women eating out of your hand.’ His grin turned sly, his tone dropping into something annoyingly conspiratorial. ‘Speaking of which… Paula hasn’t arrived yet?’

I levelled a cold glare at him, but Vinnie only raised his hands in mock surrender, his grin never faltering.

‘Hey, relax,’ he said, laughing under his breath. ‘I’m just saying. She has a vibe, you know? A little… tension.’

‘I’m not in the mood, Vinnie,’ I muttered, scrubbing a hand over the scruff on my chin.

He stopped dead, the casual smirk fading as his gaze turned hawk-like. He angled towards me, voice lower. ‘You’ve always hated these events. But that look… it’s not about crowds.’

Our eyes locked. A beat. Then another.

I could lie. I could deflect. But Vinnie wasn’t some colleague or a curious fan. He was the only one who knew where my cracks ran deepest – and I knew his. I had seen past the curated charm and flashy teeth, right to the ruin beneath. He never talked about it, but I remembered the headlines. A ‘perfect marriage’ turned murder-suicide, both his parents found splayed like broken puppets at the bottom of the stairs. Gunshots to the chests. Matching.

At their funeral, I’d told him we should leave. Start fresh. He’d said yes without blinking – insisted, days after he’d put them to rest. Before the soil had settled on their coffins, we’d already booked our flights. New lives on a new continent – two nineteen-year-olds crossing the big sea.

‘Ezio woke up,’ I said finally, the memory cracking through me like brittle bone.

Vinnie held completely still, breath held in. His lashes didn’t waver, as if time had caught in his eyes.

‘When?’

‘This week.’ I rubbed my neck, the muscle tight, my skin cold.

A girl came up to us, clutching a copy of my book as if it might vanish. I signed it, forced a smile, sent her off with a thank-you that barely hit my vocal cords.

Vinnie reclined a touch, lips thinning in thought. ‘No wonder you’ve been brooding like a Brontë hero. So, what now?’