“Oh,Iheadbuttedhim, did I?”
“I was there. I saw it with my own eyes.”
“False witness alert,” he grouches. “Are you keeping him as a house pet or killing him?”
“Keeping him.”
“Why?”
“Because.”
He shoots me a disgruntled look. “Are you not telling me because you’re being a secretive dick or because it’s related to this dumb idea that that bitch?—”
“Careful,” I warn.
“—can be our in with the Veronians?”
“Both.” I glower at him. “What’s your problem with her anyway?”
“I told you. She’s a liability. You can’t afford those. She distracts you and it’ll get you killed. Every other woman, you don’t give a fuck about.It’s why your Pope act doesn’t bother you. You don’twantanyone else. And that’s what makes her more dangerous.
“Not only would you go to stupid lengths for her, she’s a big, fat target for our enemies to strike at.”
He’s right.
I know he is.
“She’s mine.”
Gingerly, Misha shapes his injured nose, but he doesn’t argue with me or bitch about Victoria. He only sits there, brow knitted.
Then, after God knows how long of me watching blood drip from the tip of his nose onto the grimy floor, he proclaims, “We’ll keep her safe.” He holds his hand out to the side for me to fist bump. “I still think you’re a lunatic. And that’s without the obsession of you sending her body parts. Someone’ll figure it out one day.”
“That’s one day’s problem.”
“It had better not be. We’re meeting with the Irish tomorrow to discuss boundary demarcations because the last dozen of those cunt Albanians won’t die.” He gets to his feet with a groan and a groused, “Too old for this shit.” Then he holds out his hand for me to take.
I don’t accept it because I wasn’t born yesterday.
That has him harrumphing and stomping from the room, leaving me with Harrington.
“I know you’re awake.”
His bottom lip trembles.
“How about you sing like a canary for me, hmm?”
“I-I can’t,” he pleads. “Look, I’m rich!” When I get to my feet and stroll over to him, he falters. Tension slams into his muscles. “P-Please, let me p?—”
I don’tlethim finish the sentence.
I grab his hand and pierce it with my knife.
He screams, roaring in agony as he struggles like a fish on a hook. Taking a step back, I watch as he loses control of his bladder.
“Are you frightened?”
“Yes,” he whines.
