Chapter 6
SIX
BOSTON
Arlo is sitting across from me, his fingers drumming on the table as he looks at me.
He hasn’t said much since he sat down. And truth be told, he does that to intimidate people.
It seems he can be calm and collected with everyone but his wife.
He’s one of the best therapists in the city, probably in the country, but when it comes to his wife, he loses his cool and does stupid shit like break into her house.
It was good to see his calm exterior crack for once.
“How is Cora?” I ask, and he leans forward, planting his elbows on the table.
“Good,” he says with a hint of a smile. She’s the only thing that can make this man smile.
“You two are early,” Reon says as he pulls out a chair and sits in it. He adjusts his sleeves, his tattoos peeking out, and looks around but doesn’t say anything more.
He requested an urgent meeting, and I suggested this rundown diner, as no one gives a fuck what you have to say here.
Soren appears, then pulls out a chair and looks at us. “What happened last night?” he asks, his gaze gliding over each of us before landing heavily on me. “Are you aware of what happened?”
Pulling out his phone, he pulls up a video and presses play.
A woman is on the ground, and Bailey is kicking her stomach.
She manages to get to her feet, then swings at him and connects with his jaw.
My jaw clenches in response, a flicker of approval cutting through the rising anger. She didn’t stay down.
Then Marcus moves into the frame. My fingers curl against the table as he grabs her, holding her in place, and Bailey… He hits her, full force, and my pulse spikes. Heat floods my system, fast and violent.
There is a line.
There has always been a line.
This isn’t the hunt.
This isn’t justice.
This shit is sloppy, cruel, and weak.
She spits blood at him, still fighting even after the pummeling she’s taken. I feel it then; not just the anger but something sharper. Respect. She says something I can’t hear, but I see the defiance in the set of her mouth.
Then she tries to break free again, and Marcus eventually lets her go. My eyes narrow, absorbing every detail and committing it to memory. The way she walks away from them, head held high but with a slight quiver in her step. The way they watch her go, a hint of malice in their eyes.
“This will be an issue,” Soren says, pulling my attention back to him. But the tension doesn’t fade. It roils under my skin. An issue. That’s what he calls it? An issue?
“I plan to pay her a visit today,” I tell him, my tone level.
“Good. Clean up the mess. The last thing we need is a woman making a police report about what happens at our parties.” He looks at each of us, and I nod in confirmation.
We leave without another word, knowing each other well enough that we don’t have to say goodbye.
On the drive home, it’s silent; I don’t even have the radio playing. When I finally pull into my driveway, I park the car and go through my normal routine. Home is the one place that never changes for me.
Taking my shoes off, I put my keys in the dish where they belong before I walk deeper into the apartment and then take a seat at the dining room table.
I remove my gun and place it on the wooden surface, staring at it.
I used to watch my father do the same thing every afternoon once he’d finished his shift.
He would take the gun apart, then clean the pieces without saying a word, and I would watch and learn.
I’m the man I am today because of the way my father was.
I try not to think of him often, but on days like this, with a gun in front of me, it’s hard to keep him from my thoughts.