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“You don’t know what he’s done.”
“I know why Mick hates him. He told me. He lied to me when it was his job to lie to me, but on this, on this very important topic, he told me about Mick’s family. So don’t tell me I don’t know him. I know him. And he needs me to know him and believe in him. The way I need him.”
Smith is silent. I’m fucking silent, but my heart is thundering in my ears. This woman loves me in a way I don’t deserve to be loved. But damn how I want to deserve her.
“He told you?” Smith asks, sounding shocked.
“Yeah. I think he wants me to hate him as much as he hates himself. Where did he go? I need to talk to him. Please call Blake.”
I don’t believe for a minute Ashley wants to be with Smith. Not now. I hope not ever. Right now, I need to make sure I keep her safe. If she decides I’m not right for her later, it will be her choice. I need to give her life and choices back to her. I walk to the back door then flip a switch I installed to make sure I could get in and out without notice. I exit before resealing the lock and arming the alarm system.
Once I’m outside, I have no intention of going far. Smith is no match for Mick. Blake Walker, yes. Smith, no. I locate Blake’s number and dial him now. “Coffee shop across from the house. I’m not leaving her alone.”
“Understood. I’m twenty minutes out.”
Exactly twenty minutes later, he joins me at a table. “I’ve got men covering the house,” he says. “You and I both know how dangerous Mick is and that he has good reason to kill you. Tell me why I shouldn’t kill you myself.”
“I fucked up and didn’t do the recon right. I didn’t know about his family being there. I couldn’t stop it. I tried. So my answer is you should kill me. I deserve it, but wait until I save her. She can’t be another innocent who dies. Not her. Not Ashley.”
He inhales and lets out a breath, cutting his gaze before returning his attention to me. “I’ve made some painful mistakes in my past. I lost a fiancée to one of those mistakes, and I couldn’t save her. It becomes bearable, but it never goes away. Guilt is punishment in itself. Revenge is dangerous. Mick wants revenge the way I wanted revenge.”
“Mick doesn’t want revenge. Mick just doesn’t like anyone to take what’s his. It’s about power to him. He’s dirty, but more so, he’s a monster. I can kill and not blink, but I kill monsters like him. I don’t laugh when I kill, but that man would chop off your woman’s head and laugh at your torment. I hurt his reputation. I made him look like he was weak. The family was a cover. Spend some time researching him.”
“I have.”
“Not enough if you think this is about revenge. Dig deeper. You need to know who you’re dealing with. No. Never mind. I’ll kill him while you’re researching.” I stand up.
He stands up with me. “I know where he is. I know who he’s with. You need me. If he’s what you say he is, you need the kind of backup I can provide.”
“If Smith is that kind of backup, he’s not what I need.”
The door chimes and a giant of a man with a scar down his cheek walks in. Blake doesn’t look to the door, but his lips twitch. “That would be the man I propose as our third arm.”
I watch as the man saunters toward us, an evil smirk on his lips. He stops at the end of the table between me and Blake. “Who the fuck are we killing today? And please tell me we get to make them suffer.”
“This is Savage,” Blake says. “He likes to kill bad guys, but you should know that he’s pretty fucking bad at following rules.”
A prickle of unease slides through me that has nothing to do with Savage. My gaze jerks toward the house, and there’s a shadow that moves. Someone is there. “Tell me right now that’s your man,” I say, without looking at Blake.
“It’s not,” Blake says, and the three of us are already moving toward the door.
Chapter thirty
Ashley
Smith and I sit in the living room with me on the couch and him on the coffee table in front of me. “I’m terrified for you with this man, Ashley,” he says. “I need you to listen to me, really listen to me.”
“He left so you could trash talk him. You know that, right? He hates himself. He thinks I should hate him.”
“And you should. You don’t know who he is.”
“Noah. Aaron. The names don’t matter. The man does.”
“You’re right, but his reason for changing names matters,” he argues.
“Yes,” I bite out. “It does. Do you know how he came to be in the CIA?”
“I know how he pissed off Mick.”
