In Too Deep
Author
Zainab Sambo
Reads
428K
Chapters
42
Prologue
She couldnât remember when it started. Not the day, not the time, not even what sheâd been wearing.
But she could tell you one thing for sureâit was a bad day.
Sheâd come straight home from her brotherâs place, her mood already wrecked by the mess heâd dragged them both into. On that day, she was actually glad their parents were dead.
If theyâd seen what their son had become, it would have broken them. He wasnât just making mistakesâhe was drowning. Debts, threats, the house slipping through his fingers.
People always said crying was a blessing, a relief, but after finding out her brother was still gamblingâstill losing everythingâcrying felt like the least of her problems.
She wanted to scream at him. She wanted to shake him and ask why Grant couldnât be the one to help her for once.
He was her big brother. Wasnât he supposed to clean up her messes, not the other way around? He was supposed to protect her from trouble, not drag her into it.
She still shivered when she remembered coming home to find her front door unlocked. Her first thought was to call the police.
But she didnât. She wasnât scared enough to get the neighbors involvedâmostly, she was just confused.
Had she forgotten to lock the door? That would have been easier. At least then, it would have been her fault.
But she couldnât remember.
Bravery didnât run in her family, but right then, she was more worried about what might get stolen. There were things she couldnât replace and things sheâd thought about selling to help Grant pay off his debts.
She stepped insideâdarkness everywhere. The silence was thick.
As she crept forward, a cold, crawling feeling started to settle in her bones. The silence was the worst part.
The first time Nova saw him, she screamed.
A man sheâd never seen before was sprawled across her couch, dark, wet hair hiding his face. Panic clawed at her chest when she saw the bloodâso much bloodâsoaking his white shirt, especially on the right side of his stomach.
Blood had dripped onto the floor, leaving a trail to the couch. She almost felt worse for her ruined couch and the brown curtain stained with red.
It took her a minute to process what she was seeing. Then she gasped, panic rising even higher. Nova edged closer, just an inch, scanning the stranger from head to toe. She stared at his chest, watching for the slow rise and fall that meant he was still alive.
But barely. His breathing was slow.
She took a long look at him. His clothes were dark except for the white button-up shirt. His jeans and the jacket tossed on the floor were both black.
His shirt sleeves were short, and tattoos covered his arms all the way up to his neck. Even his knuckles were inked.
He looked exactly like the kind of guy whose face would be on a wanted poster at the police station. Nova was sure of it. That thought did nothing to calm her down.
If anything, her legs felt like jelly, and she was so dizzy she thought she might throw up from all the blood.
If sheâd called the police right then, maybe her life would have gone back to normal. But instead, she moved closer, hands shaking, and reached out to touch him.
He was burning up. That made her lift his shirt, and she let out a shaky breath when she saw the gunshot wound.
Again, she thought about calling the police, but something inside her said no. If she called, sheâd be part of whatever this was. Sheâd be the first suspect.
No one would believe she didnât know him. How else could she explain a bleeding stranger in her house? She didnât even know how heâd gotten in.
And if the police started digging, theyâd look into her life. Theyâd look into her family. Into Grant.
She knew, deep down, that Grant had secrets. Secrets that could land him in prison, maybe worse. She couldnât believe he was just a gambler.
So, no police. Nova reached into the manâs pockets and found his phone. No password.
She thought about calling someone from his contactsâsomeone who could keep him alive, because she was sure he wouldnât last another thirty minutes.
But scrolling through his recent calls, her fear only grew. None of the names sounded safe.
No Kevin. No Ben. Just The Owl, Razor, Bullet, Shadow, Skullcrusher. Not exactly the kind of people Nova wanted in her living room.
Even if he was dying, she wasnât calling any of them. She decided right then that the stranger in her house was not a good man.
He was a criminal. Maybe a gangster, maybe mafia. Why else would he have a gunshot wound? He was probably on the run, and her house just happened to be the closest place to hide.
A hospital was out of the question.
Nova was emotional. She cried at everything, which was why she couldnât just stand there and watch him die, whether he was a good guy or a bad guy. He wasnât going to die in her living room.
Six months of med school finally paid off. Even though sheâd dropped out, she managed to get the bullet out and stitch him up.
Being that close, she finally saw his face. It was sharp and rugged.
His nose was straight and dramatic, like a knife. He was so handsome it almost hurt to look at him, and she caught herself holding her breath.
His features were hard, his lips full and red, his jaw shadowed with dark stubble. She found herself wishing heâd open his eyes, just so she could see what color they wereâif they were as beautiful as the rest of him.
Realizing she was getting a little too interested, Nova backed away after making sure he was still breathing.
With that thought, she grabbed her first aid kit and slipped into her room, heading straight for the bathroom. The shower was hot and quick, but it took forever to scrub away the bloodstains.
She remembered leaving the bathroom, sitting on the edge of her bed, and thenânothing. Sleep must have snuck up on her, because the next thing she knew, hours had passed.
When Nova woke up, the stranger was gone. The only proof heâd ever been there was the smear of blood on her couch. If not for that, she might have convinced herself sheâd dreamed the whole thing.
But he had been there. And thenâjust like thatâhe wasnât. No goodbye, no explanation, not even a Thank you for saving my life.
Nova should have wished harder to never see him again.
But less than three weeks later, he showed up at her door, passed out and bleeding from another gunshot wound.
And just like that, it became a thing.
