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“I’m so sorry, princess.” I bring her hand up and press my lips softly to the swollen and discolored spots. “You have every right to be angry with me. With all of us.”
“It won’t last forever though, right?”
"No." This would be the perfect opportunity to confess it all. To tell her the truth. That the man who ordered her to be kidnapped and tortured, the man responsible for almost taking her from this world, is still out there. That we made a mistake. We were so focused on our feud with Beckett that we missed the signs when they were right in front of our faces. We thought we eliminated the target, that all of the main threats were neutralized, but we only eliminated what he wanted us to think was him. Something much more sinister was at play. Even Beckett was convinced we had removed the other main person who could potentially overthrow either him or Dom for the top spot. But instead, the guy is hiding behind a false identity and waiting for the opportune time to strike. Only emerging from the shadows long enough to tease and taunt us with the mystery of who he really is, and the constant threat that he will take the two things that matter most to us.
June. And the throne.
Dom has been teetering on a dangerous balancing act of maintaining both, but in doing things the way he thinks is right, he's not only continually losing men to the attacks, and product that is being stolen or destroyed, he's pushing our girl away, too.
But because we insist on this stupid fucking united front, Dom has made both Hayes and I vow that we will not tell her the truth. Not until the real threat has been neutralized and things can return to somewhat normal.
My concern is that if things don’t fucking change soon, it’s going to be too late.
Our businesses are suffering, but more importantly, so are our relationships.
June isn’t the only one who’s angry—I’m consumed by an insufferable rage, too.
“You see this right here.” I point to a spot just to the left of my middle knuckle. A jagged and faded scar is covered with black ink. “And right here.” Another scar just along the other side of the knuckle. “I used to punch shit all the time when I was mad.” I take her hand and run it over mine. “Feel that? They’re all permanently knotted.”
June skims her fingers over mine and examines my hand. “I never noticed that before.”
I chuckle. “The tattoos cover more than you think.”
“Really?” Her dark gaze looks up at me and it’s like her soul is reaching out in hopes that mine will respond back.
I lift my shirt and bring her fingers to my side. “This one was from being stabbed.” I trace a few more on my torso. “I can’t even remember what some of them are from. It’s like they all blur together.” I stick out my arm and point to my biceps. “I got shot here. Flesh wound, nothing serious. Bled like a mother fucker though.” I laugh and bring her hand to my face, trailing it along my nose “I’ve broken this thing countless times.” I skim it down to my upper lip. “This little one is from the time I was driving like an asshole and wrecked my car. Fucking tooth went through my lip when I hit the airbag.”
“Damn, Magnus, how are you not already dead?”
I laugh again dryly. “Your guess is as good as mine.”
“You never really told me how you came into this line of work.” She grips her coffee but keeps her other hand in mine.
“Well, I’d say it was a long story but it’s really not.” I think back to all those years ago. What seems like a lifetime ago, really. “We’re all pretty much orphans, and those make the best candidates for this line of work. People who don’t have anyone else are typically pretty desperate to fit in somewhere. I was a reckless kid…”
“I’m not at all surprised by that.” She grins and takes a drink of her coffee.
“Somehow, I was probably worse back then. Anyway, I was a delinquent. I fucked around and vandalized everything I could. I trespassed; I stole shit to pawn. Anything I could do to earn a few bucks to eat. I bounced around at aunts and uncles, cousins, fuck, I used to crash on random strangers’ couches. I did anything I could to survive.”
I’ve never been one to talk about my past, but with her, right now, it’s like she needs this story more than my desire to keep it in.
June pours syrup on her pancakes and eats a small bite. Without really thinking about it, I reach over and wipe the syrup from her lip with my thumb, licking it off and continuing my story.
“I was fucking around at this construction site one day. Trying to find tools to steal. I heard a commotion, some yelling. Nothing crazy, but then there was a gunshot, and I froze in place. I hid up against a slab of sheet rock that hadn’t been hung yet. It was just propped up along the wall. I remember pressing up on it, trying to fucking disappear. But I leaned back too far and my head went in between the studs and into the insulation. That shit itches like a mother fucker, and I could barely sit fucking still. I had a crowbar in my hand, like it would somehow outpower a gun. I was a kid, ya know?”
June nods and takes another forkful of her pancakes into her mouth.
"Anyway, this big brute of a man rounded the corner into the unfinished room I was in. I held my breath, thinking I could pretend I didn't exist if I didn't move. He held a pistol at his side and stared right fucking at me. I nearly pissed my pants. He looked from the crowbar to me like four times and then he finally spoke. He had asked me what I was doing, and in all my years running around various types of criminals, I knew there was no way I could bullshit this guy. I had spent my whole life reading people, figuring out who I could fuck with and who I couldn't. It's probably the only thing that’s kept me alive this long. Well, that and I can run really fast.” I chuckle and accept the bite that June offers me.
“Was it Dom?” June asks.
I nod slightly. "Dude was intimidating as fuck. Like pure evil had stepped through the door. He asked me what I was doing and I told him the truth. That I was stealing tools to take to the pawn shop. He asked me why and I said I needed money to eat. I remember there was this moment where I swear he was deciding whether or not he was going to kill me right there. I contemplated going after him with the crowbar but I knew I'd never outmaneuver him. Finally, he spoke, but it wasn't what I expected. He motioned with the gun for me to follow him, turning around on his way out and telling me to leave the crowbar.
"I thought that was it, that he was going to just take me somewhere else to shoot me, somewhere that it would be easier to clean up. I had seen and heard about shitty stuff that happened in and around that neighborhood, but I had never been that up close and personal to it. To the fucking grim reaper himself. I followed him through the house, past the room he had shot that other guy, where a couple dudes were cleaning up the mess. He led me out front and told me to get into his car. I still didn't know what he had planned for me, if he was going to sell me into human trafficking or had something more sinister in mind. In those few minutes, I ran every possible worst-case scenario through my head. I couldn't fucking believe it when we pulled up in front of a diner. I thought it was fucking weird, like why bring me here to off me? But he put away his gun before getting out of the car, walked me right into the place, sat me down at a booth and told me to order whatever the fuck I wanted. On him."
June’s eyes widen a bit like she’s hanging on my every word.
“I got the biggest fucking cheeseburger of my life. French friesandonion rings. A chocolate milkshake. I nearly puked I ate so much but I figured, I'm going to die anyway, what the hell. But I didn't die. Instead, Dom remained stiff as a board in the booth across from me. His suit was perfectly pressed and his cufflinks were shiny as fuck. He asked me about where I was staying, how I got money, if I had any family. But then he asked me why I told him the truth. I didn't have an answer really, just that my gut told me to."
