Page 28 of Fallen Hero

The need to hunt down, maim, kill every man who dared to harm the innocent was a living, breathing beast inside of me. A monster I didn’t bother to control. The people who perpetrated those atrocities didn’t deserve mercy.

I wondered if Calista felt the same way I did. Not that it would excuse her for putting herself in a position where something precious could’ve been stolen from her in a way that would forever mark her . . . but it would explain her asinine behavior.

Christ. The thought made me murderous.

I bowed my head and blew out a breath. I had five minutes to pull my shit together and meet Pete, Fallon, and the woman who was driving me insane back downstairs. The woman who was currently in the bedroom next to mine with nothing but a wall separating us and a shared balcony that connected the rooms. This was torture. Pure fucking torture.

The two-story penthouse was cavernous and disgustingly opulent. The wall-to-wall marble floors throughout the apartment extended into the bedrooms. The thick rug under the bed protruded just enough for your feet to hit plush carpet, yet it did little to purge the cold and uninviting feel. There was nothing—from the gold trim on the furniture to the teal-green walls to the ugly brown silk comforter—that fostered warmth. Nothing in the room made you want to come in here after a long day and relax.

I hated everything about this room and the penthouse in general. I’d take my condo in Imperial Beach with my view of the ocean over this monstrosity any day.

With a final exhale that did nothing to quell my loathing, I started for the door. As soon as I stepped into the hall, I nearly ran into Calista.

“Sorry,” she muttered, and tried to move past me.

I did that. Made her want to avoid me, since I’d been a dick to her again. I didn’t want to be an asshole, I just couldn’t figure out what it was about her that made me want to bang my head on the wall, or toss her over my shoulder and lock her away so she couldn’t make shitty decisions with her safety, or kiss the living fuck out of her to shut her up.

“How’s your room?” I asked, as if I had the right to speak to her after I’d been a monumental prick just a few hours ago.

Those pretty eyes flared.

Yeah, sweetness, I get it, my audacity knows no bounds.

“It’s an in-your-face display of wealth.”

My lips twitched at her description mirroring my own.

Which spurred me to ask my next question. “How do you like the view?”

Her grimace said it all, but still she answered. “You mean the view of the city built by slave labor and corruption? It’s repulsive and makes me want to track down every land developer and stab them in the heart for exploiting people from around the world who came here with the promise of opportunity to better the lives of their families. How’s yours?”

“Same, sweetness.”

She tilted her head a fraction and narrowed her eyes.

“With one slight difference,” I continued, before she could unleash that runaway mouth of hers and call me a much-deserved name. “Disembowelment is far more painful than a quick and easy blade to the heart.”

Calista nodded. “You’re right. And while I don’t mind mess, cutting someone open from throat to groin to remove their innards takes too much time. My way is quick and efficient.”

Fuck but I liked this woman.

“Fair.”

I gestured for her to precede me down the hall.

“Scared I’ll shove you down the stairs if you go first?”

I hadn’t thought of that, but now that she had, I realized I was off my game and needed to focus, because Calista would absolutely shove me down the stairs or over the balustrade.

“Just being gentlemanly.”

She gave me an unconvinced look before she skirted around me and started down the corridor.

“I don’t believe that,” she noted.

As crazy as it was, it was the truth.

“I don’t care what you believe.”