34. Michael
Michael
The flames swelled like they understood me, devouring the amber scotch I hurled into the fireplace. A hiss. A crack. Then silence as the blaze died down to its usual controlled flicker. I stared at it, hands braced on the mantle, breathing like I’d just been sucker-punched in the gut.
Behind me, Brett was pacing like a caged bull.
"She’s ours,” he snapped. “And you’re just gonna hand her over to them?”
I turned slowly.
He lunged at me, fists clenched. I didn’t move. Let him slam a shoulder into my chest, grip the collar of my shirt like he wanted to wring my neck.
I could’ve killed him for touching me like that.
But instead, I said, “I hate to say this. I hate to admit it. But it’s for the best.”
His hands dropped.
“We can’t protect them,” I said, voice like gravel. “Not like they can.”
“You’re out of your mind.”
“No. I’m clear-minded for the first time in weeks.” I ran a hand through my hair, stepping away from the fire. “The council’s on my back. The Vegas crew too. Krystal’s brother’s been playing chess behind our backs while I’ve been...”
I paused.
“While I’ve been too busy romancing Kate.
Too busy in her bed. Too busy letting her turn me into something softer.
And you at the fucking toy store after hours every night.
We were victims to our own marketing. The town became our playgrounds of pleasure…
the kind of shit we trap high rollers into doing here— we took part in ourselves.
We got lost. Lost in the power of the pussy and all that… ”
Brett didn’t speak. He didn’t need to. His silence cut like a blade.
“They say I lost my edge. That my mind’s gone soft. That my cock’s gotten too hard for her and not hard enough for business.” I looked at him. “People listened.”
“Fuck them,” Brett growled.
“I wish that were enough.” My jaw flexed. “But it’s not.”
I turned back to the fire.
“They’ll take her,” I said. “Take them both. Just to punish us. To remind us who’s in charge. You think they won’t? You think they’ll hesitate? Claire too, just because she’s guilty by association.”
Brett looked away then. That was the moment he saw it too—the noose tightening around our necks.
“Remi and Drew are a lot of things,” I said, “but they’re the only ones who can keep the girls alive right now. That’s the truth.”
“I don’t trust them.”
“I don’t either.” My voice cracked. “But I trust the alternative even less.”
Silence swelled between us. The tension, the grief. The utter rage.
“I have to marry Krystal,” I said, voice low, guttural. “Lock it down. Make it official. Prove to the council I’m still one of them. That I haven’t lost the game.”
Brett stepped closer, jaw tight. “You still love Kate?”
I didn’t answer.
“Do you?” he pressed.
My fists clenched.
“It doesn’t matter,” I said finally.
“The hell it doesn’t.”
I turned, eyes burning. “If I even try to bring her back into this world, they’ll put bullets in both our skulls and bury her beside us.”
Brett looked like he might punch something again, but this time, he didn’t.
“They’re liabilities,” I said flatly. “Kate. Claire. Too much heat. Too many moving pieces. We got small-time gangs pushing in, old-school mob feuds flaring up, corrupt government contracts teetering. I got war in every direction. Every direction, Brett.”
Silence again.
And then I added, so quiet it hurt. “She’s better off with Drew. Even if it kills me.”
The fire crackled.
Even if it fucking kills me.
I walked over to the window, looking out at the skyline, glittering cold and high in the night.
Somewhere out there, she was. Safe. For now.
But the thought of her falling for him, her laughing like she used to with me, killed me worse than any bullet ever could.
“She won’t love him,” Brett muttered behind me. “She’s not wired that way.”
“She’s not wired to survive in this world either,” I whispered.
And still, she tried.
I still loved her.
Even if I had to let her go.