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She grins at me. “When was the first time you and Justice had sex?”
I snap back to attention. This is a turn in a new direction. We’ve spent the last few hours discussing Jordan, Salma’s Gems, the IPT, and now she wants to get personal? Curiosity… or some weird suspicion? “That’s not significant to this discussion.”
“It is to me. And since you need our protection—”
I laugh. “If you didn’t get the memo, I did just fine protecting myself and your sister. Unlike your supposed group of professionals.”
Gracie’s green eyes narrow and her pale skin reddens.
I’ve never been a fan of blushing, but frustrated and angry has me wanting to taunt her to see if I can provoke a deeper skin tone. “Where am I?”
“The Mantua Academy.” She smiles after telling me what she surely knows I already know. “When was the first time you and Justice had sex?”
Does she seriously think I’m going to answer that intrusive question? “None of your damn business.”
“Fine, don’t answer me. I guess you don’t care if Salma and her family are in trouble?”
My fists clench under the table. “What are you saying?”
“Well, tough guy, you rescued a group of enslaved women and girls on the same night Walid’s brother was killed. Walid followed the trail of those women, and it led to Salma and you. He’s convinced you and she are his enemy.”
I let that sink in. Not just the statement—how the hell did she have access to that information?—but the domino effect. Salma’s organization—her safety, the safety of those they’d freed—the IPT’s mission… all compromised. And the final domino is the big one.
I’m being bribed.Stay in line, do what we say, keep our secrets, and we’ll protect your friends and business.These are mob-like practices, but I keep my face impassive, giving away nothing, not even my growing annoyance. “What do you want?”
Gracie jerks her head sideways, as if cracking her neck. Frustration? “What do I want? Or what does Momma want?”
“There’s a difference?”
She rolls her eyes. “A big difference. Momma wants your help taking out Walid. She wants you brought into the family, into our inner circle. I have no idea how they can possibly think that you’re worth it. When other men—good men—are… lost to us.”
Brought into the family?That fact angers her. People make mistakes, reveal things when they’re angry.Good men lost to us?“You don’t have sex yourself; is that the reason you want to hear about your sister’s sex life?”
Face heating a deeper shade of red, she takes a step back. “Justice spoke to you about me?”
Damn. My good guess struck bone. Too bad she looks anything but annoyed or suspicious; she looks hurt. I’d let up, feel some compassion, but I’m tired and sore.
Pushing back in my chair, which creaks under me, I snap my spine into better alignment. “Let’s say I agree to keep your family’s secrets and join them.”
“You don’t dictat—”
“You don’t tell me what to do.” In a flash of anger, I bring my hands up to emphasize my point.
Gracie flinches, then reaches under her jacket for her gun. I freeze.
It happens so fast, the threat of violence from this woman. My heart thuds in my chest as I freeze, waiting out the next moment with growing tension. Blinking, she draws her hand back out without the gun.
Not the trusting sort. Not at all.
I desperately want to ask her if she trusts anyone, if she thinks she’s her sister’s keeper, if she thinks I’d have put on that blindfold and come here if not for Justice. I don’t because she’s a loose cannon who’s obviously hiding more than she says, and is a secretive, temperamental woman.
Although Justice was scarce on details, someone in this family has betrayed her. It could be this woman. I intend to find out. Whether it’s her or someone else, I’m going to make sure they’ll never be able to do it again.
And that means… “I’m in. For as long as it takes to find and take out Walid, but that’s it. Justice and I have a personal relationship, and if you want to know more, ask her. Or you can steal into her room at night and read her diary.”
Gracie laughs, then quickly schools her features. “A bad boy who likes to do humanitarian stuff. Is that your story?”
“And I’m sticking to it.” Though the whole bad-boy thing is an insulting way to describe a grown man with specialized training and skills. Still, I’ve got better things to do than throw down over poor word choices.
