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“You speak Russian,” Hansen surmised.
I nodded once, surprised that they didn’t at least speak rudimentary Russian. They’d been working with the Russians for years. But that was men for you. “Not fluent, but close enough to know that those weapons they’re supplying you with are faulty and they’re getting paid a lot more from a man named Miguel to make sure you sell them to city gangs and use them for personal use. I’m guessing selling faulty guns to street gangs won’t make you many friends.”
Curses sounded from around the table.
Liam said nothing, did nothing, just stared at me.
“I thought you were only here to bear witness, not get involved,” Hansen said instead of swearing or promising murder like the rest of his men had,
He was keeping his cool, nothing but a single twitch of his finger betrayed his fury.
“I thought so too,” I replied honestly, unable to give him an answer as to why I hadn’t just scribbled the findings down in a notebook, waited for a story to come from them.
No, I knew why. Because whatever story that came from this knowledge would be likely stained in blood. Most stories were stained these days, blood, oil, dirt. But blood would’ve been certain if the Sons of Templar sold a street gang bad hardware.
Or if they tried to fight the aforementioned street gang with that same hardware.
Smart, exterminating a large chunk of the enemy without lifting a proverbial finger.
Hansen looked to Liam who was still glaring at me. Then his eyes went to Hades. He gave him a single nod.
Then his eyes went to me.
“You’re goin’ with him.”
Liam burst out of his chair. “Like fuck she is,” he yelled at Hansen.
To his credit, the president didn’t have an outward reaction to this outburst. “She is. She needs to see what happens when she decides to stop bearing witness. She needs to be involved in this.”
“This blood is not on her hands,” Liam seethed through gritted teeth.
“It is,” Hansen replied. “Whether or not you like it.”
Hades grabbed my arm and took me out before Liam could do a thing.
Hansen’s words followed me all the way down to the basement where he killed five Russian arms dealers.
I was sitting on my bed—our bed, Liam’s bed, Jagger’s bed—eating a peanut butter sandwich when he burst through the door.
I’d been expecting this.
My peanut butter sandwich was history when he ripped me up from my cross-legged position.
He didn’t hesitate to manhandle me brutally. And my body did not hesitate to respond carnally, despite the situation. Despite the fact I’d just seen five men die. And they did not die pretty. But then again, death was never pretty.
“Do you have a fucking death wish?” he asked. He accused. It wasn’t the first time he’d asked the question and it wasn’t the first time I’d wondered the same thing.
I didn’t flinch from his glare, though the anger was as foreign as the scarred face it was worn on. I’d seen him angry plenty. But this was something different than that. More than that.
“No,” I replied. “That’s the opposite of what put me here. I wasn’t chasing death. I was chasing life. I was looking for a way to feel alive when I felt like I’d been buried along with that empty coffin of yours.”
He flinched.
I didn’t react.
It was spiteful and we were meant to be past that.
“Maybe that’s why I was chasing all of it, all the danger. I was looking for a way, looking for something to replicate the way my heart beat when I was near you. When I was yours.”
He clutched my face. “Babe. You’ve always been mine.”
I smiled only because it hurt so much to do so. “No, I’m not. Not now. Not ever again.”
I pulled myself from his grip and walked out the door.
Or tried to.
He yanked me back. “No,” he hissed. “We’re not doing that anymore. We’re not slinging as many shots as we can get in and then abandoning each other. We’re talking about what you did tonight. What you fucking saw.” His anger rippled slightly at the end, giving way for sorrow.
I sighed. He was right. It was childish, saying the most hurtful things I could and then running away. Maybe because I wanted him to chase me.
“I’m not some delicate flower, Liam,” I said.
I really wanted to call him Jagger, I wanted to show him that he wasn’t Liam to me anymore. But I couldn’t do that. He would never be anyone but Liam to me, no matter how hard he tried. No matter how hard we both tried. “I’ve seen things, maybe not as much as you’ve seen. I’ve done things too, definitely not as much as you’ve done, but enough to make sure I’m not shocked by violence or death. Or pain. You can’t protect me from that now. Especially since you were the one who exposed me to it first.”
