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Kane is going to throw a fucking fit.
His pupils swallow his green irises whole when they land on me. He’s not three steps through my apartment door—hasn’t even shut it behind him—and he already knows something is wrong.
Kane watches the way I’m sitting on my couch, the way I hold in a wince as I lean up to set my wineglass down on the sleek coffee table. He takes stock of the stiffness in my muscles, the light bruising across my neck, the fake smirk plastered on my face.
He notes everything, organizing the information in his mind until he can find the right emotion to pair with what he’s seeing.
I don’t say a word as he kicks the door shut with too much force and stomps toward me. The swatches of green swirl in his eyes as he puts his fury on a tight leash.
“I’ll be fine,” I whisper. “I skipped the pain meds today.”
“And opted to drink yourself into a state of numbness?” he questions, upending the empty bottle of wine to show that it is, in fact, empty.
“No, Kane.” I glower at him. “That’s the bottle we opened last week, from our bender. There wasn’t much left.”
He uses his thumb and middle finger to apply pressure to his eyes, but I know what he’s doing.
I see it all too.
Every bit of darkness that festers in his soul.
He fights with the reaper inside himself, battling his inner demons every time he challenges his moral code to save the people he cares about.
And it makes me love him even more. My stupid heart skips a fucking beat every time I get a peek at the little black stain that lives inside him.
I smile tentatively as he holds his hands out for me. When he pulls me up gently from my seat, his palm cups my jaw delicately. It’s too easy to melt into him and feel safe in his embrace.
His skin is satin against mine as he wraps his corded arms around me, the clean scent of his body wash caressing me more than his hands.
But I’ve watched these hands choke the life out of a man with no remorse.
I know I’m safe, cared for, adored, fucking worshipped. And I know that if I tell Kane Lawson the truth, he’ll do something utterly reckless that will put his livelihood in jeopardy. Again. It won’t kill him, but if they ever caught him, it would ruin his aspirations.
He’s a federal agent; it’s not like he doesn’t know how to cover his tracks. My family pays more than enough money to keep the higher ups under our thumbs, but I can’t let him throw his life away for me. Senior won’t keep him safe just because I love him; that is why he would have him disposed of, though.
“How was your day?” I inquire, mumbling against Kane’s shoulder.
“I spent the day with the fire department, trolling through debris from a series of bombs that went off last night in the industrial park.”
I cough lightly, covering it with a laugh. “You’re joking? That was a quick call to the feds. Why aren’t the local guys on the case?”
“It’s a fucking mess, but local PD thinks it’s related to a cartel turf war that’s found its way to Crimson Bay. We have a few guys going through their past records, looking for anything that could be connected. But so far, the records are clean, too clean for my liking.”
“Want a beer?”
With effort, I pry myself away from Kane and walk into the kitchen. I’ll have to pay a visit to Trevor soon; I need to know who they’ve put on this case other than the man I share a bed with twice a week. Shit is going to get awkward really quick if I can’t pay them off.
I didn’t leave a trail of evidence pointing to me. That doesn’t mean I want them sniffing around the Maldonados’ businesses—legal or not. The feds coming into cartel territory is dangerous; for them and us. I don’t want to kill decent people for doing their jobs, so I need them to forget all about our war.
“Sorry.” He groans. “I know you don’t want to hear about my boring work stuff. It’s just really bothering me. There are so many little details that aren’t adding up.”
“I can tell it’s bothering you. I don’t mind you talking about it, and it certainly sounds more interesting than my day. Tell me about what’s on your mind.”
I feel like an asshole for opening the invitation to talk about his case, because I don’t need to know the details. I mean, I do, but not from him. Not like this. I don’t want to corrupt his investigation; although I would love nothing more than for him to stay as far away from it as possible.
It.
The investigation. Cartels. Turf wars. Me.
