"You don't have to come in." Griffin turned to the woman in the passenger's seat of his car as he parked it along a street in the west side district.
CeCe looked at him, not wavering in her decision, "I want to."
He frowned, "Try not to show too much emotion in there. Telling someone their kid is dead is one of the worst things you will ever have to do. The more you're in control of your emotions, the easier this will be on both you and them."
"Have you ever had to do this?" She asked in a quiet voice, her big brown eyes peering up at him.
Turning the car off, he unbuckled himself, "More times than I can count."
CeCe didn't say anything after that. She followed him out of the car, pulling her coat tighter to her body. She was wearing a knitted beanie that Griffin had gotten her, her long black hair spilling out from it. It hung past the middle of her back, shiny and silky, constantly daring Griffin to run his fingers through it.
Since she had moved in, they had barely touched. It was a stark difference to their meetings at the club, where she would have to perform for the cameras. He could still taste her on his lips, though, that one singular kiss staying with him more than any interaction he's ever had with a partner. His nights on the couch were consumed with the memories of her body on his, the sensual sway of her hips, and the way her hands glided over her bare skin.
Outside of that environment, CeCe was completely different. She kept her distance, and she was much more serious. He assumed it came from having to raise a teenager while she herself was only twenty-five. This was the time in her life she should be free to do whatever, but instead she was basically a single mom to her sister. All of that responsibility, the pressure and stress, made her grow up faster than she should have.
Griffin didn't know what to think about his feelings and her lack thereof. He never pushed to talk about it, and took her physical and emotional distance as her placing boundaries. He wouldn't sexualize her or pressure her into doing the things she obviously had to back at the club. He also never wanted her to feel like her and her sister's safety was in jeopardy, because she denied his advances.
So, he stayed away, keeping things platonic, although Griffin knew that Cat, CeCe's sister, knew of his feelings. She had teased him privately a few times, obviously feeling comfortable in their new arrangement.
Griffin waited for CeCe to join him on the sidewalk, then they walked up a block, turning into the driveway of an older house. There was a worn down sedan out front, the hood a different color than the rest of the car. The yard was dead, dirt patches showing through here and there.
The house was just like every one on the street. Even the ones that tried there hardest to look nice were clearly falling apart. This area of the city was known for its poverty stricken neighborhoods, often forgotten by the government and the police, fostering a community that kept cycling through the same poverty and jail time. Griffin knew of a few kids that came from the area that now were employed by the Styles' family. There wasn't a lot of opportunities for the people here, so mob life was often a safe haven, allowing them to provide for their families.
His knuckles rapped against the wood door, the sound of a dog barking across the street joining with the rustle of leaves as the wind picked them up. It was relatively quiet, no one outside on a day so cold. Dark clouds were in the distance, promising a storm in the near future.
Griff was looking out at the empty street, canvassing the area, making sure no one was following them, when the door flew open.
"No solicitors." The older woman with a scowl barked, then started to shut the door.
His palm was flat against the wood before she got it very far, and he said, "We need to speak with you, Mrs. Mueller."
"Ms."
He raised an eyebrow.
"It's miss not missus." She repeated as if they were stupid.
"I'm sorry, Ms. Mueller."
"What's this about?"
"It's about your daughter, Cassandra."
She rolled her eyes at the mention of Rosie, "What's she gotten herself into this time? I'm not paying off another one of her debts-"
"Ms. Mueller," CeCe interrupted, speaking softer than Griffin had, "please, can we come in?"
Ms. Mueller sighed, but stepped aside for them. "Fine, but make it quick. I've got someone comin' over in a few, and I won't want other company."
Griff and CeCe exchanged looks, but walked inside. It was small, a one bedroom that had obviously been lived in for a few decades. The walls were painted an awful yellow, mold in one of the corners, while the shag carpet likely hadn't been vacuumed in a year. There were no pictures on the walls or any hint that this woman had a daughter.
"So, what's she need this time?" Asked Ms. Mueller, sitting down in an old floral print recliner.
Both Griffin and CeCe remained standing.
"We've actually got some bad news."
She only raised her eyebrow.
"Your daughter, Cassandra," Griffin started, feeling that uncomfortable weight settle on his chest. This happened every time he was supposed to deliver this news, and he'd done it for many of the men and women in the Styles' employ. It was always awful. Sometimes he could still hear the screams of anguish of the parents or spouses. He cleared his throat, "She's been found dead."
Silence followed that. They watched Ms. Mueller digest the news, her brows furrowed, until she leaned back in her chair and sighed exhaustingly, "I wish I could say I was surprised."
Griffin blinked, never having that reaction. It was CeCe who spoke, "What?"
"That girl was always putting herself in bad spots." She reached over and plucked a cigarette out of a pack, lighting it right in front of them. Blowing out smoke, she continued, "First it was bad boyfriends - always the older ones, then it was the drugs. She dropped out of high school after I begged her to finish out her senior year. She's been in and out of this house since, only coming back when she needed something. Did the drugs finally get her?"
Griffin glanced at CeCe to see her looking rather pissed off. "No, she was murdered. Her body was dumped by the docks."
That stopped the woman, but unfortunately not for long, "Probably one of those men of hers. I head she was strippin' in old town? Was she still doing that?"
"Yes, and just so you know she was sober." CeCe bit out, barely containing her rage. Ms. Mueller didn't even notice. "She's been sober for two years, got her GED last year, and she was saving up to go to community college."
"Hmpf, still strippin', though."
"Well, it's not like she felt comfortable coming back here." She shot back, "What did you expect from her?"
Ms. Mueller finally caught on to CeCe's tone, "I raised that girl. And I tried, I really did, but there is no use in dragging myself down with her-"
"Maybe all she needed was a little support. Maybe all she needed to know was that you loved her, and-"
"Enough!" Ms. Mueller barked out, "Don't you dare try and tell me how I should feel about my own flesh and blood. You come in here, all high and mighty, thinking you have some moral superiority-"
"Your daughter is dead!" CeCe interrupted, "She was murdered in cold blood and all you're saying is that it was inevitable. Maybe it was inevitable because you gave up on her."
"Get out!" She stood suddenly, pointing at the door. "Get out of my house!"
"It would be my pleasure!"
CeCe stormed out, Griffin glancing back at Ms. Mueller, who was puffing her cigarette with annoyance. No grief in sight.
He followed her out, eyes sweeping the area for any signs of danger. It was as quiet as before, but noticeably darker. The clouds were beginning to roll in. He clicked open the locks on his car, but CeCe strolled right past it, her hands balled up in fists.
Griffin locked the car doors once more and silently followed her. It started to drizzle, the sound of thunder off in the distance, but CeCe continued. She walked a few blocks down until she found a park. No one was there, the swings moving from the wind, chains creaking with every pass.
Finally, she found a bench and sat down, stuffing her hands in her coat pockets. "Can you believe the nerve of her? To not give a shit about her daughter like that?"
Griffin looked down at her, her leg bouncing up and down, posture stiff as a board. There was about six inches between them when he sat down beside her, asking, "What's going on?"
CeCe glanced at him, her eyes narrowed, "I mean, did you meet that woman?"
"This isn't about her."
"Then what is this about?"
"You tell me."
She huffed and remained silent.
Griff's lips ticked up in a half smile. She was such a stubborn broad.
"Cecilia." He prodded, "Tell me."
He waited patiently for her to answer him. He could see her sorting out her thoughts, debating on whether or not to open up to him.
"She reminded me of my mother." CeCe said after a long while. "We lived not far from here when I was a kid. After I graduated and turned eighteen, my mom ditched us, leaving a few hundred bucks to keep us afloat. I wasn't an easy child, but she was constantly blaming me for everything. One of her boyfriends left, it was my fault for scaring him away. Our electricity turned off because she didn't pay the bill, it was my fault for not working more even though I was in school.
"I got caught with weed once, and my mom made it out to be this big thing and that I would inevitably go down the path of harder drugs. Harder drugs, by the way, that my mother routinely took herself. She used to pop in every once in a while after she left, judge me for how I was raising Cat, and when she found out I was dancing for a living, she decided that was the time to lecture me about my life choices."
Griffin had wondered about her parents and why she was looking after her younger sister, but he had never asked. In his research, there were profiles on them, but he he hadn't read them all that deeply. As long as he didn't recognize the names, there was no real reason to go too deep. Even back then, it felt like an invasion of privacy to the woman he barely knew but was already slightly obsessed with.
CeCe clenched her jaw, then let it go. "I just kept picturing her as my mom and how she would react if that happened to me or Cat. There's no one to care that she's dead, not even her own blood."
"You care." She looked at him, and he continued, "You care about what happened to her. She wasn't alone, Cecilia."
A thin layer of tears built up, but she refused to let them fall, blinking and looking forward now. The rain pellets grew bigger, a flash of lightning lighting up the grey sky near downtown, but she didn't move. And neither would he. Not until she was ready.
"There's so many girls still there." She whispered, barely heard over the rain and wind. "He might not be going in as much, but his people are still there."
"I can see if I can put some of our people there. As security." Griffin suggested.
"You would do that?"
"You care about the people there. They're your friends, your family, so yes, I will do whatever it takes to keep them safe."
Her brown eyes searched his, more emotion in them than he had seen in a long time, like the wall she had erected was temporarily down.
"What about your parents?" She asked tentatively.
"Mine?
She swallowed, then nodded, "I mean, only if you want to. You don't have to tell me if you don't feel comfortable, or-"
"It's okay, CeCe." He chuckled, "I grew up here too. Old town, though. Actually, at the building that burnt down near Christmas. I spent the first twelve years of my life there. My mom worked at the elementary school."
"Roseland?"
"Yeah, did you go there?"
She shook her head, "I went to Montgomery. What about your dad?"
"He was a cop."
Her eyebrows shot up, "Your dad's a cop?"
"He was a cop." Griffin corrected, "When I was really little, I wanted to follow his lead. I wanted to be just like him."
"What happened?" She shifted closer, pulling her damp hair over her shoulder.
Griffin didn't answer right away. He had only ever told Harry about what happened to his parents, and in very sparing details. His boss didn't even know what measures he took to ensure justice.
"There was this case." The words spilled passed his lips before he really thought of it. It was easy speaking with her, and suddenly he wanted her to know the darkest parts of him. "He was working on it with his partner, and involved some low level dealer who was selling to kids. Bad shit too. Heroin laced with other shit that got the user addicted with one hit and they would deteriorate quickly."
"I don't remember this one."
"It came and went quickly. Only one dealer was daring to sell it, mainly because it killed their buyers, so no one wanted to risk their income like that. I think in the grand scheme it was on the streets for... six months. I was only fourteen, just starting high school, so my dad took it really seriously. Something fishy was going on, though. My dad was sleeping less and more stressed than ever. I overheard him one day with my mom calling his partner dirty.
"Then, not even a week later, there was a shootout. An officer came to our door in the middle of the night to tell us that my dad was dead." Griffin was staring at the merry-go-round, slowly spinning by itself.
He startled when CeCe's hand covered his, squeezing gently, "I'm sorry."
Griffin didn't let go.
"The bullet retrieved from his body wasn't the same as the shooters." He cleared his throat, remembering that day after. He and his mom sat at the dining room table, staring at their cold breakfast in silence. It was the loudest silence he could remember. "It was the same as what the cops are issued when they get their firearm. Friendly fire, they called it. An accident."
"It wasn't an accident?" CeCe asked, already knowing the answer.
He looked down at her, a flash of lightening reflecting in her eyes, "No, but that was when I learned the police were as corrupt as the criminals in this city. More, really. At least the criminals never pretended to be good people. My mother pressed for an internal investigation, but got nowhere. They just called her a grieving widow." A boom of thunder followed.
CeCe was now right next to him, their bodies touching, the warmth of hers keeping him from shivering. They were both soaked by now, the rain only intensifying.
"She didn't give up, though." Griffin smiled at the stubborn woman his mother was. Fierce and loyal, his dad always thought Griff took more after her than him. "She started her own investigation, working with a reporter from the Queenstown Times. They were making headway too, but she wasn't careful enough."
He stopped, a painful pull in his chest causing his breathing to stutter. CeCe moved his hand to her lap, threading their fingers together. Looking down, his gaze fell on them, her small hand being swallowed by his.
"She got too close to the truth." He continued, voice thicker than before, "I came home one day from school to her shot dead in the living room."
CeCe inhaled sharply.
"My father's ex partner was the officer assigned. He filed it under a failed break-in. A fucking break-in." He muttered bitterly. "I turned fifteen the next day. One of our neighbors took me in."
"I'm so sorry, Griff." She whispered, resting her forehead against his bicep.
He kept going, now needing to get this out. To tell the whole story. "I tried to leave this city. I wanted out. I hated the fucking memories this place gave me, so for the four years after high school, I ran. Travelled across the country, got into shit I shouldn't have, but eventually I came back. Queenstown called to me for revenge."
She lifted her head, and he met her gaze.
"I finished my mother's investigation." He studied her reaction, "It took years, but I got all the information I needed. I tracked down my father's ex partner and cut off parts of him until he was confessing his crimes. Then I slit his throat. Shallowly. So I could watch him struggle to breath, his eyes staring at me, pleading me to end the suffering. Styles had already recruited me, so I had gotten tips from watching him and his people. He was the reason I had the resources to figure out exactly what had happened. There were four more involved in the cover up. All of them filthy fucking pigs. All of them met the same fate."
She didn't flinch. There was no horror at what he had admitted to. Resolve was glinting in her eyes, so strong that it made his heart skip a beat.
"My father joined the police to try and clean it up. To be a beacon of hope to our community, someone they could trust on the inside." Griffin told her, "And they murdered him for it."
"So you became someone who did just that." CeCe stood up, standing in front of him, fitting her hips between his knees. "You protect your community. The families have done more to provide for this city than any government ever has. They can be cruel and brutal, but they're also the beating heart of Queenstown." Her hand cupped his jaw, "Your dad would be proud of you, Griff. Proud that you found a way to do what he was trying to do without selling yourself out to the very people that robbed you of your family."
He furrowed his brows at that, surprised by the fervor in her declaration.
"You're a good man." She whispered, drowned out by the storm raging around them. He read her lips, "And if you think by telling me this that you're going to scare me off, you're wrong."
His eyes shot up to hers, his skin burning where she held him. She stepped closer, both hands framing his face, tilting his chin up to look at her. Her jeans were soaking wet as he grasped her hips, feeling her soft curves for the first time in months. The phantom feeling of her bare skin had his fingers itching to pull her tighter to him.
"Cecilia," he murmured, eyes focused on her lips once more, "you don't know what you're getting into."
"Yes, I do." She was now as close as she could be with the bench stopping her from fully touching without climbing on top of him. "You've shown me exactly who you are, Griffin."
He was shaking his head, "I'm dangerous."
"You're safe."
"I kill people for a living."
"People that don't deserve to be here."
"Not always."
Her thumb swept across his bottom lip, raindrops gathering on the pad of it. "I trust you to make that judgement."
"What if I make a wrong one?" He asked, needing her to understand he wasn't infallible. That he could and would make mistakes, that he would do things that she might not be able to stomach. "What if you can't make those excuses for me anymore?"
She shook her head, "You're not going to talk me out of this."
He clenched his jaw, "Half of me wishes I could."
Silence. "Do you not want this?" She asked.
Swallowing, he tells her the truth, "I want this more than I can breathe most days."
She leaned down, resting her forehead against his. The breath stole from his lungs as her warmth encased him, the seconds lengthening as she slowly closes the space between them. He wouldn't do this. It had to be her. He had to know it was her choice.
A ear splitting boom crashed in the sky above them, jolting them apart. They both looked up, seeing the trees swaying dangerously, branches snapping all around them. Griffin stood, taking her hand, "We need to get out of here. C'mon."
She huddled near him, hooking her arm around his as they rushed out of the park and back to his car. They were dripping wet when they finally climbed inside, and Griffin looked to his right to see the gorgeous woman who had accepted him for his gruesome past shivering violently. Her face was pale, mascara smudged underneath her eyes.
She was stunning, and he wanted nothing more than to pull her into his lap, but a thin tree snapped in half in the yard beside them, a gust of powerful wind flinging it into the car parked in front of them. They needed to get home.
Storms in Queenstown were known to cause more than just injuries. Turning up the heat, he reached over and settled his hand on her thigh. As he pulled out onto the street, avoiding the fallen branches and tipped over trash cans, he felt her hand on his, fingers interlacing.