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I let it pass. Picking my battles right now is key to not getting a bullet in my back from my gun.
The door snicks closed followed by the chilling sound of a deadbolt sliding into place.
Self-loathing settles like spoiled milk in my gut. I let myself get distracted by Asena. Or, I would have seen this coming a mile away.
I turn to see that yes, in fact, the door is locked. The other exits are also covered with additional guards posted on the outside. Even the double glass doors leading to the garden and the quickest way off the property.
Shit. This is not good.
“I got your message.” I let my defiance hang out there like three-day-old dirty laundry—raunchy and stiff. I’m not exactly known for my suave approach.
No answer.
Eyes the color of swamp water find mine and I funnel the full weight of impending wrath so there’s no doubt the hell-storm coming his way is something he can count on.
“What the fuck do you want, Titan?”
“Don’t sound so put out, Theon.” The bald man turns in the leather chair, his mouth appearing to be a flat line of regret. Meaning he’s already thrown me under the bus. Using my given name solidifies that as Gospel truth.
“Titan and I were going over some details.” His eyes flick to a large book opened on Titan’s desk.
“I see.” And I did.
“Thanks for taking your cock out of the boss’ daughter long enough to join us. While you’re here, I thought you might be able to fill him in better than me. You know, get it straight from the horse’s mouth.”
The Druid who is perched on the end of Titan’s desk cleaning his backup piece stops what he’s doing long enough to hold his phone up. On it is a video of me with Asena. Her back is to the camera but you can tell exactly what is about to happen. And then it does. I’m on her, picking her up and laying her down on my bed.
Rage roars inside me for the invasion of her privacy. It’s raw, wild, and ready to burn the world to smoking embers. I turn away from the video, pretending it doesn’t mean shit to me. “Get what straight exactly?”
The Druid chuckles and puts the phone away. He’ll probably jerk off to it at some point.
Rosario’s bark of laughter is high-pitched enough to peel paint off cement. “Com’on, Theon. We all know how the game is played. Some pieces on the chessboard have to get knocked off for the larger players to win the game.”
I can’t believe my ears. “You piece of shit.”
Thin shoulders shrug. The bouncing knee, the twitchy fingers playing an invisible keyboard on his thigh. The fucker is nervous, but the shit-eating grin on his face has him hoping he’ll get out of this alive.
My temper blazes but I manage to tamper it down so I don’t find something to end my handler’s life a little bit early. He’s the only connection I have between me and the outside world. To anyone else, I am legitimately John Hark—and all that entails. Criminal record and all.
Fucking great. This dirtbag is on the take?
I eye the leather-bound book the size of a family bible sitting open on Titan’s large mahogany desk. Inside holds all the names of people with debts to the Titan family and more. From high-up politicians with the governor’s ear, to snakes like this one apparently. I wonder what Titan has on him to make the piece-of-shit turn his back on the family I thought he adored and the little girl who looks up to him?
Then it hits me.
“Rosario,” I say flatly. No use in hiding behind my legend at this point. “It’s a Saturday night; shouldn’t you be down at the casino losing your lousy paycheck? Or are you here to borrow more?”
Rosario’s response is to toss my badge on the desk, all but sealing my fate.
When I take my eyes off the hunk of shiny metal, I find cold, aging blue eyes on me. Silver brows pinch and the deep lines of age crinkling the corners of Titan’s eyes shoot arrows of dread through me. I don’t scare easy but the fucker at his side cleaning his backup gun puts me on edge.
“Enough.” Titan’s voice is even, cold and flat.
I long ago learned a man with a controlled temper is someone to fear. Because when they strike, it’s fast and furious. And often deadly.
Slipping my hands into the front pockets of my jeans puts off an unworried vibe. But I keep my eye on the Druid. The crazy fucker who fancies himself a druidic priest in some past life. I don’t know. I think he’s bat shit on a good day. But before he puts a mark in the ground, he whispers a prayer over them in some druidic language earning him the nickname. Creepy as fuck.
I watch him flick the revolving chamber of his backup piece into place after slipping in six bullets.
