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“Do it. Right now.” He pulls his gun out of his holster for extra incentive, and as I don’t exactly have my service pistol back yet, I’m at a bit of a disadvantage.
“Jesus,” I mutter. “Have you lost your fucking mind?”
“No,” he spits out. “I’m just making sure you don’t drag my sister into any more of your bullshit.”
“My bullshit?” I question. “You’re the one who let the Feds spy on his fucking sister like a turncoat.”
My words have an effect. One that makes him grip his gun tighter. “I didn’t let anything happen. I did what needed to be done so she was protected.” His jaw clenches. “And I won’t say this again. Text her right now. End it right now. You’re going to stay away from her, you hear me?”
“Yeah, bud. Last time I checked, my hearing’s just fine.”
Clearly, I have no sense of self-preservation at this point. My rage has trumped it.
“You will never see her again,” he seethes. “She’s been through enough.”
“Oh, I agree,” I say on a challenge, stepping toward him and his stupid fucking gun. “Because of your scumbag father, and you and the rest of the Feds, she’s been through more than her fair share. I, for one, care about her.”
“I care about her, too, asshole. That’s my sister you’re talking about.”
“Yeah,” I remind him. “She is.”
“Fuck you,” he challenges. “I tried to clear her name a long-ass time ago, and you’ve been on this case for all of fucking five seconds. You don’t know me, and you sure as shit don’t know her. Send the fucking text before I shoot you in the fucking dick.”
Acid swirls in my stomach as I take my phone out of my pocket and open the thread with Valentina.
My phone feels like it weighs a hundred pounds.
Her texts from before we went out yesterday and the one I sent in apology this morning stare me down like bullets fired from another gun entirely.
Valentina: I’ll be up soon. Can’t wait to see you.
Valentina: What should I wear tonight, Smokin’ Hot Shane? White lace or red mesh?
I never answered because she knocked on my door five seconds later, smiling and laughing about keeping it a surprise for later.
The next one is mine from this morning.
Me: I’m sorry for the way I was yesterday. I’ll be busy for a little while, and I know you are, too, but we’ll talk when you get done with work later.
I work my jaw, trying to figure out the words to destroy the woman I’m in love with that could somehow, magically, be anything other than cataclysmic betrayal. I mean, not even an hour ago, I told her we’d talk at the end of the day, for fuck’s sake.
Me: I’m so sorry, but I’m leaving and I’m not coming back. I wish I could explain or that an apology would be enough, but I know it’s not. I’m sorry.
Every part of me revolts as my thumb hovers over the button to send it.
But Nico snatches the phone from my hand and does it for me.
And then, once he’s sure it’s gone through, he winds up and smashes my phone on the bathroom floor so hard it shatters into a pile of pieces.
“So you won’t be tempted to text her back.”
“I can have a new phone in an hour.”
“And I can have you dead in your sleep.”
Fuck.
He leaves without another word.
