Chapter 31
THIRTY-ONE
I blast the speakers up on my sound system until the walls are rattling around me. The soles of my feet absorb the vibrations, travelling through my body until the heavy beat of Linkin Park’s ‘Fighting Myself’ seeps into my very soul. This song has been my life’s soundtrack for the better part of the past two weeks. You’d think I’d be sick of it, but the lyrics only spur me on as I step up to the treadmill and hit ‘start’.
Running has been my only outlet lately; a place where I can zone out and actually forget about the shit I’m having to deal with. Between Milo, the Russians, and fucking Prescott, my anger has reached new heights. The betrayal hits deeper when I think about Milo putting my sister in danger. He made a fucking promise, and those actually mean something to me. I know it’s a lot to ask for a guy like him to keep innocents like Haven and Alanis out of this shit, but I seriously thought I could trust him.
Now, I’m left feeling like a goddamn idiot for believing him in the first place. I don’t know what I was expecting—because I know his loyalties lie with the Federovs—but that single promise of keeping Alanis safe felt so sincere that the betrayal hurts more than it would from anyone else. I’d protect my sister with my life, and Milo knows that. Our family is everything, and he’s only fuelled the war that’s just started between us and the Federovs.
But two weeks has given me time to think, and I’m no longer pissed with Milo, but myself. I should’ve known better, I should’ve done better. But I can’t dwell on the past when the future is about to get rocky. I need to forget about him and focus on the family, on my role and how we’re going to reset the boundaries with the Russians.
Our mole has had little contact with us, and since he didn’t give us a heads up about the raid at the fight club, I’m filled with even more wariness. We might have shown our hand to somebody we shouldn’t have. While I trust Roman’s uncle and his judgement, it doesn’t stop the uncertainty from embedding itself. We don’t know who this fucking guy is, but I’m assuming he isn’t as close to the Federovs as we originally hoped.
I need to come up with a plan, something that will put us back on top before this shit gets out of hand. I can’t even think about Milo and what he did because it’s just another distraction. One I don’t need.
All those thoughts motivate me more as my feet pound away at the belt in time with the music. It’s like my mind empties with every stride, my muscles relaxing as I focus on the blank space on the wall. It’s blissful the way I lose myself, forgetting about everything but the simple movement of putting one leg in front of the other.
My phone blares on the bench behind me, but I pay it no attention. I’m already in the zone, and I don’t want anything to distract me right now. So, I push on, relishing the burning in my lungs and muscles.
By the time I’ve hit 1:12:24, the sweat is pouring from every pore in my body. My body aches, but it’s the good kind. The kind that fills you with endorphins and helps you see a brighter light through the shadows in front of you. I hit ‘stop’ on the machine and slow down with the belt, filling my lungs with much needed oxygen as I start to cool down.
My music is still pumping when I step out of the shower twenty minutes later, the same song on repeat that boosts my mood. It’s amazing what the power of exercise and a good soundtrack can do when you’re in a slump. I feel lighter, less anchored to the issues going on in my life.
That is until I step foot in my living room.
His scent is the first to hit me, followed by the faint smell of vodka and something else I instantly ignore. If it wasn’t for the morose expression on his face and the way he cups his head and rests his elbows on his knees, I’d already have a gun to his forehead—though I’m still contemplating if I’d actually pull the trigger. Lucky for him, it’s in my bedroom, so he’s temporarily escaped from that situation.
“I thought I said we were done?” I growl, stepping towards the couch.
Milo lifts his head, giving me a better view of his red eyes and sunken features. But his smile is still there; weak, but still there. “And I’m pretty sure I told you I don’t follow your orders.” He stands, taking a step towards me, but stumbles.
Though it takes everything in me not to rush to him, I move away, creating the distance I know we both need. Two weeks gave me enough time to push past my feelings—even if I didn’t succeed entirely. But now that he’s in front of me, they all come raging to the surface, like a volcano about to erupt.
“You’re drunk,” I state, shaking my head. I don’t know whether to be angry or confused that he’s here. All I know is he’s fucking stupid, recklessly stupid.
Milo hiccups, pressing a hand to his chest while pointing a finger at me. “Ahh… see. You’re not as stupid…” hiccup, “ as you look.”
“But you are,” I scold, heading towards the kitchen. I don’t know what the fuck he’s doing here, but I should be kicking him out. I should be doing everything but considering letting him sober up. I open the fridge to pull out a bottle of water, about to turn when Milo’s hands slide around my hips and he runs his nose up the side of my neck. I shudder, resisting the carnal urge to fall into his trap. I can’t go there.
I inhale harshly, clinging onto my self control. “What are you doing here, Milo?”
“I wanted to talk to you.” His voice is gravelly, weighted by something heavy that twists at my gut.
“There’s nothing to talk about.” Spinning around, I shove the bottle of water into his chest, gripping his shirt and trying to tamp down my anger. “Drink this,” I snap. “Then get out.”
I go to push past him, but Milo has other ideas. He presses me against the refrigerator door, his breath skating over my face. “Make me.”
Anger bubbles to the surface. I hate being cornered like this, especially after everything, and especially by Milo. I square up to him, pressing my forehead against his. Fortunately for him, I don’t have my gun to warn him off—not that it would stop him—so I opt for other tactics. “Milo,” I growl, forcing him back with just my head. “Back. The. Fuck. Off.”
My warning falls on deaf ears as he smirks deliciously and counters my strength with his own. “Make. Me.”
I’m not doing this.
Barging past him, I don’t spare him a glance. I don’t want to look at him because I know if I do, I’ll want him to stay. I’ll want to confront him and beat the shit out of him for what he did.
Maybe I should, though. It might ease the ice cold fury that runs through my veins. It might also fuel it, and I’m not sure how much destruction that will cause. Heading to my bedroom, I toss my towel into the laundry basket and pull on some sweatpants. I need the distance to try and clear my head, again, because Milo is undoing everything my workout just did.
The space doesn’t help much, but it’s a moment where I can gather my thoughts and calm my breathing, if only just for a second.
“Vee, please.” His slurred voice fills the room, the vulnerability and silent plea in his words doing things to me that I should hate.
I scrub a hand down my face, already exhausted. “I don’t know what the fuck you want from me, Milo.” Spinning around, I come face to face with his sad eyes. “You fucked up.”
“I know.”
Does he, though? I step towards him, my finger pointed at his chest. “You put my family in danger, and that’s something I can never forgive you for.”
“I know.” Milo gulps, his eyes cast to the floor.
“So what the fuck did you come here for?”
He lifts his gaze to mine. It’s all I need to see the regret in his dark blue eyes. Fuck.
“Can we…” he glances around the room before resting his attention on the bed behind me.
I step forward with defiance. “No.”
“No, I want to talk. I want to… I want to tell you the truth. Fuck!” He starts pacing the floor, carding his fingers through his hair. I’ve never seen the guy so fraught with emotion. He’s usually so smug and confident, his will never bending. But right now, I see nothing more than a man who’s on the verge of breaking. That should fill me with satisfaction, but it doesn’t. It just makes me feel like an even bigger asshole than I know I am.
“The truth?” My pulse picks up, blood pounding in my ears. I don’t know what to think when he finally stops pacing back and forth across my bedroom floor, but the worry in his eyes sets something off inside me. The urge to reach for him and comfort him is so fucking strong, but the need to keep some semblance of distance between us is stronger.
Taking a seat on the edge of my bed, I wait patiently for Milo to get his thoughts under control. His chest heaves under the weight of whatever is on his mind, fists clenching and unclenching at his sides.
“There’s no easy way to say this…” he sighs.
I blink back at him, trying to keep my emotions on track. I can’t afford to blow up on him—as much as I’d love to—because I need to hear what he has to say before I decide whether to put a bullet between his eyes.
“You asked me a while ago if I was a mole.” His dark eyes lock onto mine, and I don’t correct him that I’d considered he was the mole for The Five. “I lied to you.”
The words fall flat, like they’re numbing every part of me while simultaneously burning me up from the inside out. My hands bunch up in the sheets beneath me, my jaw clamped shut. It’s probably the most self control I’ve ever had in my life, and Milo’s lucky I’m not within reach of my gun. I keep my mouth shut as he continues, though I don’t know how much more of his betrayal I can withstand before my whole bedroom turns into something from The Shining.
“I wanted to tell you, but I couldn’t. Shit! There’s so much going on right now and I wanted to tell you, Vee. I really did!”
“But you didn’t.” Milo winces at my flat tone. “You let my sister get caught up in this shit between the Russians. Cillian sought you out to help us, and?—”
“What?” Milo cuts me off, his expression filled with confusion. “Cillian never came to me.”
“But you said you’re our mole.”
“No, I’m not your mole, I’m… fuck …” he growls, hands tugging at his hair. “I’m with the FBI.”