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I blow out another ring of smoke and look over at Tristan, who is leaning away from me, his nose wrinkled in disgust. “What the fuck is that look for?”
“Those things are going to kill you,” Tristan reminds me with a grimace. “Do I really need to be pointing that out?”
I raise an eyebrow. “Thanks for pointing out the fucking obvious. I had no clue.”
Tristan waves a hand in front of his face. “Everyone’s worried, Carter.”
“Everyone needs to do their own goddamn jobs and let me worry about mine,” I reply through gritted teeth. “If you can’t get that point across, I do have other ways to make sure they get my point.”
It’s been days since I beat up another man. Days since I’ve gotten into a fight that’ll help me alleviate some of the anger and tension.
Since running into Isabella and Sam at the bar, I can’t escape the image of myself as I walked back into the bar with dried blood on my knuckles and a haggard and wild look in my eyes. I’ve been replaying the image in my head since then, and it was enough for me to go straight to Ernesto’s and sleep off the hangover.
Every time I feel the pull of old habits, I see Isabella’s relieved face at the bar. Trying to keep my fists to myself is a lot harder than I thought it was going to be.
But if I have any hope of figuring out how to redeem myself, I know it needs to start with my anger. A part of me is restless and eager to express my emotions in the only way I know how, but the other part of me is practicing restraint and hanging onto it by the skin of my teeth.
In the end, it’s the thought of Isabella that makes me stub out the cigarette and shove my hands into my pockets. It’s the image of her beautiful face in my mind that keeps me from marching over to my enemies and making them fall to their knees.
Already, I can picture how it’ll look to have them all on their hands and knees, begging for their lives. The image is so potent that I can almost smell their fear and their sweat wafting up my nostrils. I don’t realize I’m smirking until Tristan waves a hand in front of my face.
With a scowl, I gesture to the same greasy-haired man from earlier and push him up against the wall. Tristan lurches into action, but I stop him with one meaningful and long look. Immediately, he backs off and gives the others a curt end.
A tense silence settles over the gathered men.
All of us have been waiting for at least an hour, and I know exactly what they’re trying to pull. The Natoris and Philipses are trying to teach me a lesson because of the stunt I pulled last time, but I’ll be damned if I let this little stunt go unanswered.
This is my city, and I’m going to get that point across whether they like it or not.
“Where the fuck are they?”
“I told you, they’re—”
I pull him away from the wall and slam him again hard enough to make his teeth rattle. I’m sure he’s seeing stars at this point, and I see a little blood land on his bottom lip. I’m sure he bit his tongue, but I don’t care.
I want this meeting to be over, and I want the terms of the truce to be negotiated properly. It shouldn’t be taking this long.
“Let’s try this again,” I say, a little louder this time. I glance over my shoulder at the rest of the men who are gathered on the other side of the empty street, and a few of them grow tense. Others reach for the guns outlined underneath their jackets. After a quick glance in Tristan’s direction, a few more Blackthorne men emerge from the shadows, all of them advancing slowly and with their guns drawn.
Daniel and I don’t see eye to eye on a lot of things, but when it comes to the security and prosperity of the Blackthorne empire, he and I are in complete agreement. I’m oddly thankful that Anita brokered an unusual truce between us just to get us to stop going for each other’s throats.
“Where the fuck are the heads of the families we’re supposed to meet?”
The man opens his mouth and slams it shut again.
With a frown, I take my gun out and take a step back. I aim it at his temple, and the man begins to tremble. Every inch of him is shaking violently. After forcing him to his knees, I press the gun to the back of his head and glance around the dimly lit street.
None of the men in attendance look pleased, but at least they don’t look surprised. Trying to avoid violence doesn’t mean I won’t act on it when it’s necessary. Otherwise, we’d all be buried alive within days.
As much as I love Isabella, I know I can’t risk any of this spiraling out of control or for any of our enemies to catch even a whiff of my uncertainty—or my reluctance to draw more blood.
Goddamn moral compass.
Of all the times for Isabella to ask me to grow one, did it have to be in the middle of a fucking war? Did it have to be with the Natoris and Philipses, of all people?
Fucking hell.
Before, I wouldn’t have hesitated to leave a trail of dead bodies in my wake for the other men to clean up. Now, I’m counting backward from ten and trying to come up with a compelling enough reason not to put a bullet through this man’s brain. By the time I reach the last number, I’ve all but resigned myself to the inevitable until we hear tires screeching in the distance. Bright headlights flood the dark street, nearly blinding us all.
