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~Dealer~
“MEANS NOTHING, YEAH?”
Charlotte barely reacts to the sound of my voice as I walk into the living room of the safehouse.
It ain’t been that long since we extracted her from Priest’s place. And she’s been conscious even shorter than that. She passed out on the way back here last night and didn’t wake up until a couple of hours ago in the late afternoon.
“What’s that?” she asks, not taking her focus off the task in front of her. She’s got the pieces of three different guns laid out on the coffee table, cleaning them, and whatever the fuck. They’re from her go-bag that we picked up on the way here last night. The woman’s got them stashed all over in a ton of different places. A real good thing, considering Priest confiscated her stuff when he had his guys take her.
“The order to stay put, Char.”
I can hear the smile in her voice as she responds, “Well, we both know I don’t take orders, sweets.”
Sweets? That’s a throwback if I’ve ever heard one. Used to call me that all the time. Ain’t sure what she’s meaning by doing that right now. Is she feeling sentimental after what she just went through? Or, is it just a tactic to get under my skin and try to undercut how pissed I am and what she has to know is coming… me laying into her for the bullshit she pulled? Knowing her and judging by the way she’s operated since we came into contact again, it’s the last one with very little doubt. And it ain’t gonna be as easy as she thinks to throw me off-kilter.
Nah, I’m clear about what I gotta do now. I’m ready to see it through. I ain’t backing down and there’s no point pretending to in front of her no more neither. My plan to keep that up so she’d stand down has gone to hell thanks to her.
Time to lay everything out on the table.
Rounding the couch, I take her in as I sit down opposite her in the scuffed-up armchair. This place ain’t nowhere near as nice as my real home. Well, what was my real home. Now that’s burned thanks to this Gatekeepers threat.
The bulge of the gauze taped over her left side is visible through her tank top. I shake my head to myself, still finding it hard to wrap my head around the fact that she did it to herself. Some sacrifice play for a bigger payoff was the way she explained it when I asked her what the hell she was thinking. Damn, the woman’s a crazy fighter when she’s cornered. There’s red-raw handprints around her throat from some asshole trying to strangle her right before Maverick showed up. It’s bad enough she got hurt at all, but knowing it could’ve been so much worse is a bitter pill to swallow.
I’m seeing a shitload of focus and more than just a slight spark of rage from her. Looks like she’s right on par with the way I’m feeling. That ain’t good when it comes to her, though. She don’t usually bring any kind of emotion into a situation, especially not such a significant threat like this. Likely means some major destruction is gonna be unleashing if I don’t reel it in, reel her in.
“I heard a bike roaring away. Maverick’s headed out, I take it?”
“Yeah, he had some shit to deal with. He was only in for the extraction anyway.”
“I see.”
“How you feeling?”
She shrugs. “The sedative’s out of my system. I’m good to go.”
“You ain’t. You’re hurt.”
“You’re kidding me, right? It’s all superficial damage. Nothing.” She finally shoots me a direct glance. “Then again, with you going soft, I guess these scratches seem shocking to you, huh?”
“Trying to provoke me, yeah? What’s the endgame with that?”
“Maybe more tear-each-other-apart fucking.”
“Yeah? Is that what you need? Me to dominate you into submission with my fucking dick? Will that do it, Charlotte?”
She stills with fiddling with her guns and tosses the pieces in her hands onto the coffee table. Hard.
Daggered eyes try to pierce right through mine. Woman’s forgotten who she’s dealing with.
“What exactly do you want my submission on, Cal? Is it lying down and taking whatever Priest throws at me, disrespect, threats, drugging and kidnapping me, holding me against my will?” Anger radiates off her as she pushes to her feet. I see her wince, she’s hurt herself, but she don’t pay it the mind it needs, striding up to me in a furor instead as she goes on, “Is it allowing the hit on Julian King to succeed, which will give Priest way too much power than the power he already has? Standing down and allowing him to screw over Cristian?” She gets right up close to me, her hands slamming down on the arms of my chair. “Or, is it allowing you to hand yourself over to him like some has-been pussy with a death wish?”
I hold her fierce gaze steady. “Still trying to provoke me. Ain’t like you to be so predictable or emotional. Especially not when we’re on a mission.”
“We’re not on a mission. We’re not a team on this. You made that clear a few days ago when you brushed me off like I was nothing.”
“You could never be nothing. You know that.”
She sneers. “I don’t know anything anymore when it comes to you. You’re clearly not the man I knew. I never should have assumed. I just didn’t think people like us could change, could lose our edges so profoundly and shockingly.”
