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8
~Charlotte~
“WHERE’S YOUR STUFF?”
Locking the door behind us, I turn to see Sin scanning my condo with confusion as he takes in the gray walls and white marble floors, the wraparound balcony through the sliding doors at the far end of the open-concept space. There’s a single white leather couch and a frosted glass coffee table in the center of the living room, and that’s literally the extent of it. No more furniture, no artwork hanging on the walls, no creature comforts.
I shrug. “It’s functional. I’m always on the move. There’s no point putting down roots at a single residence.”
It’s something I can’t risk doing either with the work that I do, the enemies I’ve made, the proverbial feathers that I’ve ruffled for my clients over the years.
Surviving in such a dangerous, down and dirty business is no small feat, let alone thriving so well in it.
But I’m tougher than most.
Just like Cal.
Or, like he used to be.
He’s clearly gone the other way now. From what I’ve witnessed, it really seems that he’s lost his edge. More than that, he’s lost his will. And in this twisted world, will goes a long way.
Time seems to have finally taken its toll on him.
He’s been going too long and too hard living a brutal existence, engaging with dangerous, unhinged people. It’s left him tired and broken.
Some people have a limit like that, and most don’t know what that is until they’ve already hit it and it’s too late.
Others, like me, are limitless with what they can endure.
“How long you had this?” Sin asks, pulling me from my thoughts.
“A few years,” I answer evasively. He doesn’t need to know the details of my life.
I hear his heavy booted footsteps at my back as I turn down the corridor and make my way to the master bedroom. I smile to myself. He’s afraid to let me out of his sight, even for a moment. Little does he know, a moment is all I ever need.
“At least you’ve got a bed in here,” he comments, as he takes in my sleigh bed to the left of the door as we enter my bedroom. “Not much else, though,” he says, looking around at the empty space.
Ignoring his obvious observations, I make a beeline for my closet in the corner.
Sin stops a few feet from me, as I pull out my duffel bag from the far back.
I eye him standing there, his jean-clad legs spread in a strong stance as he folds his arms across his chest all defensively, his brown leather jacket squeaking at the movement. It’s well-worn with some tears and a couple of bullet holes in the sleeves, just a slight indication of the crazy life he’s led. Just like Cal. I wonder how they managed to get past all the long built up animosity between them over the years, to become actual close friends—brothers, apparently. The fact that he shares a noticeable resemblance to Skinner must’ve made that all the more difficult. His long hair, just like Skinner always kept his, hangs down his back. Those hazel eyes that always seem to be flickering with a dark warning are a carbon copy of his older brother’s. He isn’t built like him though. While he still has the height, almost pushing six-foot-tall, he doesn’t have the muscle mass or linebacker-like form that Skinner did. Sin is toned and in shape, but nothing compared to either Skinner or what I know of Ax.
“Glad you’re doing what he told you,” he says. “Gotta be a first, ain’t it?”
Well, that’s incredibly loaded.
I eye him over my shoulder. “If you have something to say, please come right out and say it. But, I have to warn you, only fools comment on what they don’t understand. And, knowing Cal the way I do, I’m willing to hedge my bets that he’s kept the details of our relationship to himself.”
He fires a harsh glare my way. “What I understand is that you’re one hell of a piece of work.”
I grin. “Thank you.”
“That ain’t a compliment, woman.”
“Yet, I’m taking it as one.”
With a grunt of annoyance, he takes an aggressive step forward, anger flaring. He’s incredibly quick to rile up. It must be a family trait. That temper runs in the Barron bloodline.
