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“I think…” I fiddle with one of the many spoons in my place setting. Whoever thought someone needed this many utensils clearly never did the dishes a day in their life. “It was,” I continue. “I think you wanted to see what I’d be willing to do for them, and if I had what it took to take risks, to put myself on the line, and how far I’d take it. You brought me into that room for a reason and dangled that dagger right in my line of sight. And I think you wanted to see howtheywould react to me taking that risk. You weren’t just testing me, you were testing them, too.”
"Sounds like you're pretty confident in your reasoning." Gwyneth picks up the glass the waiter sets down in front of her, and she holds it out toward me. "To taking risks."
I raise mine in the air. “And to them paying off.”
But did they, really? Maybe for Dominic, but it’s obvious Magnus is caught in the middle of this back and forth, and poor Simon had his life completely ripped to shreds when I poised that dagger to his chest. Even Coen is more flustered than usual. And here I am, wondering where things went wrong and why none of my men want to tell me the truth about a God damn thing.
I sip the amber liquid and savor the expensive taste. “Was I right?” I ask her.
“Well, you sure weren’t wrong.”
Her strangely deceptive answer causes my head to spin at the other possibilities I may have left out. What other reason would she have had for leading me to that weapon? Unless…
Unless she wanted to eliminate me.
That house had rules, and it was a violence-free zone. The use of such weapons was prohibited. Maybe in bringing me in there, she wanted to see how stupid I really was. To see if I was capable of following orders and doing what was expected of me. And if I didn't, she was within her right to have me killed. To make sure that the guys weren't distracted by some random female. I had already caused them to have a few mishaps, and with me in the picture, their work wouldn't be their constant priority. But maybe Simon really was the wildcard, and his actions were the only thing that stopped her from following through with her diabolical plan.
But, like anything else in my life, I’ll never know the truth—her lips are just as sealed as Dominic’s are.
“Do you have what it takes, June?”
“Excuse me?”
“To make this work.” Her menacing stare goes right through me.
Do I? I thought I did, but with all of the secrets, I’m not so sure. I can’t force them to be honest with me, and the more they push me away the harder it makes things. I can’t build a bridge with only half of the supplies. And until they decide to bring me into the fold, my doubts will only continue to fester.
“Do you?” I ask her.
“I guess we’ll find out.”
12
DOMINIC
"Don't forget about me, tonight,"I recall June saying this morning when I kissed her goodbye.
All I ever think about is her, how could I forget?
I threw our date together last minute, but she's right in insisting we get more time together. It's not that I don't want to, I've just been a bit preoccupied with tracking down the man responsible for ordering her hit and disrupting our business. I hate that I can't be honest with her, but the less she knows, the better. It's safer that way. As long as Simon keeps his word and protects her like his life depends on it, she will remain out of harm's reach.
I drag the edge of the baseball bat across the concrete and approach the man tied to the chair in the middle of the room. “How do you feel about your knees?” I nudge him in the chest and lift his chin with the bat. “Or those teeth of yours.” I step closer and reach for a pair of pliers off the tray. I shove them into his mouth and yank one of his molars out as he whines and moans.
He hacks bloody spit onto the floor next to me. “You fucking psycho. I don’t know anything.”
I discard the tooth on the tray and set the pliers back in their place. “That’s the thing, you wouldn’t be here if you didn’t.” I take a deep breath and exhale. “Just between you and me, I don’t give a shit if you die. I’ll stay here all day ripping you apart piece by piece. I’ll pluck every tooth from your head. I’ll peel your fingernails off one by one. I’ll break every single bone in your body until you tell me what you know. Or you die. It’s as simple as that. And if you think for a second that I won’t enjoy it, you’re wrong. Oh, I’ll get great satisfaction in watching you suffer.”
“You’re fucking sick, man!” the guy cries out.
“I never said I wasn’t.” I grab the hammer and kneel before him, tugging his shoe off his foot and looking up at him. “Do you have anything you’d like to tell me?”
“Go to hell, asshole.”
I drive the thing back and slam it down onto his foot, crushing every bone it comes into contact with. He screams out but it only fuels me to hurt him even more. Eventually, he will break, but in the meantime, he's going to be a fun one to crack.
Despite him thrashing in his seat, I manage to yank his other shoe off. “You’ll probably never walk again after this. But, once I’m done with you, walking will be the least of your concerns.” I steady my aim, hesitating to give him an opportunity to speak. When he spits in my face, I thrust the hammer down harder than I did on the other foot. I stand, ignoring his cries of agony, and stroll over to the table with various torture devices. I pluck a rag off the end and wipe at my face. “This is fun, no?”
I turn toward him, tears streaming down his red-hot cheeks. His face is somehow so pale yet so full of color. What a twisted contradiction.
