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Kennedy’s face was pale but composed. She knotted her hands in her lap, obviously determined not to show any weakness.
An hour later, we pulled up to the cabin. When I cut the engine, the sudden silence felt heavy, expectant.
When I popped the trunk, Carter and Sebastian pulled out a groaning Santos. His face was a canvas of bruises and swelling, and Kennedy winced.
“He wasn’t that pretty to begin with,” I assure her.
“Greyson…”
“Kennedy, go inside, start a fire. Warm up the place,” I said, trying to divert her attention from the ugliness that was about to unfold.
“Stop.” There was steel in her words now. “Don’t treat me like I’m made of glass. I know who you are…whoweare.”
I met her gaze, searching for any sign of the girl I wanted to protect, but instead, I saw the resolve of a woman who had come too far to turn away now. Her words,whowewere,lit a glow of warmth in my chest.
I nodded.
We hauled Santos inside, his pleas for mercy falling on deaf ears. Kennedy swallowed, and followed us like she would follow us anywhere.
We dragged him through the comfortable cabin and down into the basement. I had a room ready for him. And anyone like him.
As Carter and Jack secured Santos to the chair, the clanging of metal echoed off the sterile walls. Stainless steel surfaces shone everywhere, and plastic sheeting crinkled underfoot. Santos’s face was alive with terror, and some small part of it seemed to be reflected on Kennedy’s pretty features.
As Santos groaned behind us, I was glad to steer Kennedy back into the warmer room outside.
“Suit up,” I instructed as I tossed white painters suits to all four of them.
I could feel her gaze on me as I stepped into the suit, the material whispering over my clothes. There was a question in her eyes, as if she wasn’t sure how I could be both the man she knew who brought her tiger lilies and chai tea lattes, and the one who had an entire room set up for interrogation.
I turned away from her, but my peripheral vision caught the flash of her skin as she shed her outer layers, revealing the delicate curves of her body clad only in her underwear and bra. My heart clenched at the sight. She was an angel surrounded by demons.
“Looking good, Kennedy,” Jack’s tone was light. He never missed the chance to ease the tension. “Who knew crime-fighting could be so chic?”
A soft chuckle escaped her lips.
“Thanks, Jack,” Kennedy replied, zipping up the front, but leaving it cut low enough to expose the curve of her breasts. The painter’s suit bagged on her frame, and yet, somehow, she managed to make it look appealing. Her ability to find grace in the grit of our lives never ceased to amaze me.
Jack pissed me off so often, but I appreciated the way he eased things for Kennedy. As they finished suiting up, exchanging playful banter, I forced my attention back to Santos, pushing aside the swell of emotions that threatened to surface.
“Let’s get this over with,” I said, my words slicing through the air. We had a threat to deal with, and erasing that threat mattered more than Kennedy’s comfort or how she looked at me.
When we walked back in, I locked eyes with Santos, his wiry frame trembling against the stainless steel chair. “Greyson, please?—”
His voice trailed off as if he knew how hopeless it was to beg me for mercy.
Jack, once our high school’s beloved class clown, kept Kennedy engaged in hushed conversation, his voice a soothing murmur that couldn't quite fully command her attention. Her gaze kept flickering toward us..
“Talk,” I demanded. “You betrayed me, Eduardo. And I didn’t come looking for payback until you traitors compounded that error by attacking me. Now I want to hear all about it.”
Santos’s gaze flickered toward Kennedy, then back to me, desperation clawing at his throat. “Greyson, man, I’m clean now, I swear it?—”
“I don’t care. Who attacked her?” I pressed, my hands itching to inflict pain, to rip the answers from his soul if necessary.
“Greyson, please,” Santos whimpered, but I had no patience for weakness, not when Kennedy’s safety hung in the balance.
Without another word, I grabbed the pair of pliers from the tray beside me, the metal cold and unforgiving in my grasp. Santos’s eyes widened as he realized what was coming.
“Last chance,” I growled.
