27. Levi #2
Christian slides into the stool beside me, his presence heavy. He scans the bar with a grim expression, lips pressed tight like he’s already made a judgment about the entire place. He’s probably right.
Fuck.
“I’m going to need something stronger,” I call to Cherry. She flicks a wary glance toward Christian when she hears his voice and sets down the glass she was polishing.
Christian lifts two fingers and gives her a look that says he’ll take the same . She hesitates, as if expecting him to flash a badge. Being former FBI, Christian still carries himself like he could ruin your life with a single phone call.
She pours in silence, eyeing him like he’s here to arrest her for slinging watered-down drinks before she disappears back down the bar.
Christian lifts his drink but doesn’t take a sip.
“Place really suits you. I think the moldy rat carcass at the front door is a nice touch.”
“You following me now?” I ask, not bothering to hide the edge in my voice.
“Don’t need to follow you when I already know where you are,” he replies smoothly, cocking a brow. “If the bruises and cuts you come home with weren’t enough, that car may as well be a fucking beacon.”
“Should have bought a fucking minivan,” I grumble, swallowing half my whiskey in one go.
It does nothing but piss me off because it’s not what I want.
No, that unfortunately rests in the little ghost living across the hall from me.
“I don’t need a babysitter.”
“You sure? You look like shit.”
“Thanks,” I mutter. “Glad I could be of service.”
Christian rests his elbows on the bar, glancing sideways at me. “Mila tells me you’ve upset her friend.”
Tattle-tale.
“Mila needs to learn to mind her business.”
“Careful, little brother,” he warns, voice dipping low and dark. Fucker’s as protective as they come over his wife.
Unfortunately, as much as I fucking hate it, I think I’m starting to understand.
“What’s really going on?” Christian asks, nodding at the rundown warehouse we’re drinking in. “Why are you here?”
“Got a better idea?”
“Yeah,” he says. “It’s called therapy.”
“Fuck therapy.”
He snorts and downs his whiskey, then leans in with a smirk.
“I’d suggest you just fuck the little housekeeper, but it looks like you’ve already had that idea.”
I finish my drink and slam the glass down harder than I meant to.
I don’t feel a goddamn thing.
“Did you come to talk about my sex life, or do you want a rundown of my cholesterol levels too?”
Christian’s smile doesn’t reach his eyes. His stare is sharp—cutting.
“Actually, I came to ask what you plan to do about your little problem.”
Of course, he did.
“What do you think?” I murmur, voice low enough to get lost under the low hum of metal playing over the speakers.
Christian exhales slowly, like he’s weighing his next words.
“You sure you want to go down that road? Once you cross that line . . . there’s no coming back.”
“You’re not the only one who’s had to spill a little blood, brother.”
“I’m just saying,” he mutters. “Shit like this? It changes you.”
I grit my teeth, jaw tight. Should have had Cherry leave the fucking bottle.
“Why didn’t you come to me about this?”
“You’ve got your own shit. I can handle it.”
“Like you’ve handled it so far?”
“Fuck you,” I snap. “You finally have your life figured out, Christian. You think I’m going to let you throw it away to fix my mess?”
He doesn’t flinch. Just studies me like he’s looking through me instead of at me.
“When I was in your shoes, what did you do?” he asks.
“That’s different. I’m single. You’ve got a wife to think about.”
“And now you’ve got Ava to think about.”
I swear to fucking God.
“Nothing is going on between Ava and me.”
Christian lifts a brow. “Is that why you bolted out of the house like your ass was on fire last night when you heard she was missing?”
I don’t answer. I don’t need to.
“I’m not saying things have to go the way they did back then,” he says, his tone gentler now. “I’m saying we’re family. We don’t leave each other bleeding in the street. There are only a few of us left.”
I swallow hard. His words hit deeper than I want to admit.
Three months feels like a lifetime ago. Like someone else’s life.
My phone buzzes on the bar, and I glance at the screen, and the number is familiar—too familiar. My gut clenches, and instantly, I reach for it.
Only to freeze. It’s a picture, and I can physically feel the rush of violence that slips through my veins.
It’s my girl at that fucking party I told her to stay away from. Only those aren’t my hands on her.
I zoom in, and sure enough, Alex has his arm wrapped around her shoulder, as if she belongs to him. A smug grin on his face that I suddenly can’t wait to wipe clean.
Ava, on the other hand, looks like she’s ready to bolt.
I can’t help it—I chuckle under my breath.
Oh, baby girl. You’ve fucked up.
Maybe punishing her is exactly what I need.
Christian smirks from beside me.
“Told you he was after your girl.”
I down the last of my whiskey and rise from the stool, my chair scraping loudly against the concrete floor. Christian stands too, watching me with a guarded expression.
“Go home to Mila,” I tell him, tossing a few twenties down for Cherry. “I’ve got something I need to handle.”