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AJ stares at me. Still smiling. “I just happen to think it’s true.”
“Well, it’s fucking annoying. So knock it off.”
“Why are you in charge?” Yvette asks me.
“What?”
“You,” she says. “Why would he put you in charge?”
For a second I think she’s talking about AJ, but then I get it. “Damon, you mean?”
“Yeah,” she says, getting out plates and placing them on the large stainless-steel table in front of me. “He never liked you, ya know.”
“He doesn’t like anyone,” AJ says. “Fucker is paranoid.”
“Yeah, I know that,” Yvette snaps, grabbing a wire basket filled with silverware and placing it next to the plates. “I lived with him, remember?”
AJ puts up a hand. “Hey, I’m on your side.”
“No,” Yvette says, shaking her head. “Neither of you are on my side. You’re here to kill me.”
“We’re not gonna kill you,” AJ says.
“Maybe not. But your intention was to kill me. And none of that matters anyway. I just want to know how you got to be in charge, Logan. Because I remember them talking about you and you were always a joke to them.”
“Whoa.” AJ laughs. “Just… relax, Yvette. We don’t need to—”
“It’s fine,” I say, cutting him off. “I know,” I say, locking eyes with Yvette. “I know what they think of me. They might not like me—and I certainly don’t like them, so who cares. But I do my job. It’s such a simple thing, you know? Doing one’s job? But almost no one actually shows up and does what they’re supposed to on a consistent basis. Being reliable is the easiest thing in the world. There are no feelings attached. There’s no emotion. You just do what you’re told. So no, I’m not gonna step out in front of a bullet for anyone. Least of all Damon. But if I’m told to make sure that no one’s in front of that asshole pointing a gun at his face, you can bet your fucking ass ain’t nobody gonna be there because I took care of it.”
They both stare at me. I feel like I just made a speech and speeches aren’t my thing, so the ensuing silence becomes uncomfortable and I feel the need to say more.
“You don’t have to like me the way you like him,” I say, nodding at Aje. “You don’t even have to trust me. Hell, anyone who trusts me is a dumbass. Because everything I do, I do for me. But if you want to find a way out of this, then you need to fucking help me do my job.”
“Help you kill me?” Yvette laughs. “Should I make it easy for you, Logan? And just take those pills?”
I shrug. “Up to you. I’m not here to save you, Yvette. I’m here to save me.” And then I sigh and look at AJ. “And him, if I can manage it.”
Which makes AJ squint his eyes in confusion. “I don’t need saving.”
He does. For sure. Because if I do my job he’ll be dead too. But I’m not gonna argue with him about it.
“So what do you want from me?” Yvette asks. “How can I possibly help you with this little dilemma?”
“Well…” I say, thinking it over for a second. Because I don’t want to kill her. I don’t want to kill anyone. I don’t want to launder money. I don’t want to work for Damon. I want to go to that fucking island, live in a goddamned beach house, and start over as someone else. Live the rest of my days bumming around on the beach with a metal detector, or collecting rocks, or painting mountain lakes while watching Bob Ross reruns. Or some other stupid hobby boring people do. That’s what I want. But there isn’t a single person on this planet who gives a fuck about my dreams. And there’s no possible way to get out of this situation unless these two people in this kitchen end up dead.
So I say… “You can start by telling me how the fuck you got away. How the hell did you escape? How did you fly under Damon’s radar for so many years and why is he fucking with you now? Because it doesn’t make sense. Not even if you add in the kid.”
Both of them look at me. Just stare at me for a few seconds.
Then AJ clears his throat and says, “Uh… OK. Let’s eat before it gets cold.”
I let out a long, tired breath. Because I’m sick of this shit. I’m sick of this fucking life I’m living. I’m sick of being the monster, and I don’t want to fuck over the only guy I actually consider a friend.
I just don’t see any way around it.
Yvette uses tongs to lift a small pitcher of syrup out of a pan of boiling water, and places it on the table next to small bowls of powdered sugar. And then she pulls out a tall stool hiding underneath the large, commercial table, as AJ picks up a fork and begins doling out slices of French toast.
