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Her grin turned sheepish. “It’s hard to change the habit of a lifetime.”
“Not true. Yesterday’s proof of that.” As expected, pride lit up her eyes. It both bewildered and amused me, but mostly, I was just relieved. I remembered Ma after the Aryans had done with her. She’d been a broken wreckage. Of course, her situation, her experience was different than Camille’s, but either way, they were both survivors.
I remembered how useless I’d felt back then, too.
I’d watched the little sanity my father possessed drain away like water in a bathtub when Ma came home.
The rampage was known the city over. Even the cops hadn’t tried to stop that particular war, and I was fucking honored to have taken part in it.
There was a reason there were no remaining Aryan groups in the vicinity—my da had annihilated them all from the East Coast to the Midwest. He hadn’t just gone city-deep, he’d gone coast-wide.
“Brennan?” She was there. In front of me. Close enough to touch. To reach out to hold. “I lost you for a second.”
Her smile was teasing, but the words resonated.
Because I needed to, I cupped her chin and murmured, “I have something for you.”
She shook her head. “I don’t need anything.”
“I want you to have this.” With my free hand, I slipped the pouch onto her palm. Her ravaged palm that was only just starting to heal up. Bright pink striations of fresh skin that had once been torn open by her razor blades.
“What is it?” she asked, not bothering to open it.
Arching a brow at her, I dropped my gaze to the pouch and waited for her to huff, pass over the bright green concoction to me, then let the coin drop out onto her scarred palm. Amused that she’d handed the glass to me when there was a sideboard beside us, I dumped it on there, then returned my attention to her.
She frowned at it, then at me, and said, “Huh.”
My lips twitched. “Huh?”
“Never took you for a numismatist.”
“I shouldn’t be surprised you know that considering you’re a crossword buff, should I?” I questioned ruefully, scratching my stubble.
“Nope.” Her eyes twinkled. “Consumable product of melting numismatist’s prize.That was the first time I came across it.”
My brows rose. “You remember the clue?”
She hitched a shoulder. “Sure.” Unaware she’d blown my mind, she lifted the coin to her eye, before gulping, “1880?”
“I collect all kinds of coins.” I frowned at her. “What was the answer to the clue?”
“Rarebit. It’s a type of grilled cheese.” She blinked. “Why are you giving this to me?”
“I want to do a deal with you.”
Warily, she lowered the coin, her gaze drifted to me and back again to the rare Stella with the coiled hair. “What kind of deal?”
“That’s my most favorite coin. It’s unique. It cost over one and a half million dollars.”
“And you’re giving it to me?” she rasped, swallowing when she raised the coin to eye height again. I watched as she almost dropped it as she fumbled, before she snatched it back up in her hand—at least her reflexes were semi-decent. That boded well for our training.
“I am. On one condition.”
She bit her lip. “What condition?”
“You can cash that in anywhere in the world, Camille. I’d suggest you don’t,” I said wryly, “I’dsuggestthat you take it to Sotheby’s or somewhere like that, because you’ll earn more money that way—”
“Is it stolen?” she interrupted.
