10. Magnus
Magnus
Ikind of want to murder Dominic.
I mean, it would make things so much fucking easier.
I wouldn’t have to lie to June. I wouldn’t have to suffer through the wrath of disappointing her, letting her down.
I could speak freely, the way I want to, and she wouldn’t be left in the dark, questioning things left and right.
And honestly, I don’t fucking blame her.
I would, too. We went from a solid and inseparable unit to this detached shit show that keeps her at an arm’s length.
I want nothing more than to pull her into our darkness, not because I want to put her in danger, but because she can handle it.
Hell, she very well could even help us navigate our way through this shit storm that is consuming our life right now.
Maybe she’d even cut us a little slack and understand why we’re so occupied with business dealings. But how can she understand anything when Dom insists on keeping her in the dark?
But, killing Dom would create a nightmare itself. Our entire organization would crumble beneath us and we'd lose the minimal hold we currently have. He is the glue and without him, things would absolutely fall apart.
Plus, June is in love with him, and I can’t imagine she’d take too kindly to me murdering one of her boyfriends.
I don’t exactly hate the guy, either.
He just gets on my fucking nerves from time to time.
Coen isn’t any better. He’s the first to want to hide things from her like it’ll somehow shield her from the threats if she doesn’t know about them. Part of me thinks that he truly believes if he avoids telling her, maybe it’ll stop the bad thing from happening.
That’s not how these kinds of things work, and the longer we harbor this secret, the more damage it does. To her, to me—to us.
Hell, Dom doesn’t even want to inform Beckett, who spends the majority of each day protecting the girl we all love. He’s too insecure that it’ll cause Beckett to doubt his authority and give him an opportunity to steal the throne from him.
As if June didn’t do everything in her power to make sure that wouldn’t happen.
The woman nearly died for him to secure that win, and he repays her by lying to her and being secretive as fuck.
He claims he’s doing it to protect her—that this is what’s in her best interest—but Dom can be a giant fucking idiot sometimes.
I flip the very last pancake and turn off the burner.
My phone buzzes from a notification that one of the people I've hired for today is pulling into the driveway.
I grant them access, send a quick message, and rush to the front door to unlock it.
I go back to the kitchen and finish arranging the breakfast I've prepared for my sleeping beauty.
Once I've tweaked things about twenty-seven times, I grab hold of it and carefully walk toward the stairs.
“You can set up downstairs,” I tell the woman who comes through the front door. “It’s straight through there to the left.”
She nods and carries a long table at her side.
I’m not supposed to let strangers into the house, especially when times are tough like they are now, but I spent hours between—and even during—meetings vetting numerous companies and ensuring this one would pass Dom’s insane security protocol. Okay, maybe not pass, but close e-fucking-nough.
I go the rest of the way to June’s room, nudging the door open with my elbow and stepping inside.
She stirs and opens her eyes, blinking a few times and rubbing at them. “You’re home still. What time is it?”
“About eight.” I place the full tray on her bed and sit on the edge. “Breakfast for my princess.”
“This smells fucking heavenly.” She sits up but then focuses her sights on me. “What if I was craving something else for breakfast?”
My heart skips a beat. “That could be arranged.” I lean over and kiss her cheek.
She turns toward me and catches my lips with hers. "Thank you." June focuses back on the assortment of food and beverages. She picks up the steaming cup of coffee and takes a cautious sip. "When do you have to leave?" A sort of sadness lingers in each of her words.
“I took the day off for you.”
“You’re not serious.”
“Deadly.”
“The whole day? How?” She pops a green grape into her mouth and chews it slowly, her gaze fine-tuned on mine.
“I insisted.”
“And Simon?”
“He has the day off, too, to do whatever he pleases.”
“Interesting.” June drinks more of her coffee and holds out her arm. “Pinch me, I must still be dreaming.”
I skim my hand along her skin but when my sights trail down to her hand, my stomach drops.
“What happened to your knuckles?” I rush over and flip on the light then make my way back to her.
I trace my thumb over her bruised and swollen hand.
I turn it over and take in the small cuts on her palm, too.
“Nothing.” June tries to pull away but I latch onto the other hand, examining it, too.
“That’s not nothing.” I try to remain calm even though my first initial response is to burn the whole world to the ground. “Please, tell me what happened. I won’t be mad, I promise.”
For a second I worry that she isn’t going to give in, but she surprises me by sighing and turning both palms toward me. “I got mad.”
“So you punched something and dug your nails into your palms.” It’s not a question but more of a clarification of the damage that’s been done.
“Yeah,” she confirms.
I push around the edges of her knuckles. “Does this hurt?” I move her fingers to make sure everything is where it should be. “I can have our doctor come to the house and check this over.”
“No, I’m fine, really. I don’t want to make a big deal out of this.”
How can she not realize that her health and well-being is our main priority? But in being so focused on her overall safety, we’ve neglected and ignored how she was actually feeling.
“I’m so sorry, princess.” I bring her hand up and press my lips softly to the swollen and discolored spots. “You have every right to be angry with me. With all of us.”
“It won’t last forever though, right?”
"No." This would be the perfect opportunity to confess it all.
To tell her the truth. That the man who ordered her to be kidnapped and tortured, the man responsible for almost taking her from this world, is still out there.
That we made a mistake. We were so focused on our feud with Beckett that we missed the signs when they were right in front of our faces.
We thought we eliminated the target, that all of the main threats were neutralized, but we only eliminated what he wanted us to think was him.
Something much more sinister was at play.
Even Beckett was convinced we had removed the other main person who could potentially overthrow either him or Dom for the top spot.
But instead, the guy is hiding behind a false identity and waiting for the opportune time to strike.
Only emerging from the shadows long enough to tease and taunt us with the mystery of who he really is, and the constant threat that he will take the two things that matter most to us.
June. And the throne.
Dom has been teetering on a dangerous balancing act of maintaining both, but in doing things the way he thinks is right, he's not only continually losing men to the attacks, and product that is being stolen or destroyed, he's pushing our girl away, too.
But because we insist on this stupid fucking united front, Dom has made both Hayes and I vow that we will not tell her the truth. Not until the real threat has been neutralized and things can return to somewhat normal.
My concern is that if things don’t fucking change soon, it’s going to be too late.
Our businesses are suffering, but more importantly, so are our relationships.
June isn’t the only one who’s angry—I’m consumed by an insufferable rage, too.
“You see this right here?” I point to a spot just to the left of my middle knuckle.
A jagged and faded scar is covered with black ink.
“And right here?” Another scar just along the other side of the knuckle.
“I used to punch shit all the time when I was mad.” I take her hand and run it over mine.
“Feel that? They’re all permanently knotted. ”
June skims her fingers over mine and examines my hand. “I never noticed that before.”
I chuckle. “The tattoos cover more than you think.”
“Really?” Her dark gaze looks up at me and it’s like her soul is reaching out in hopes that mine will respond back.
I lift my shirt and bring her fingers to my side.
“This one was from being stabbed.” I trace a few more on my torso.
“I can’t even remember what some of them are from.
It’s like they all blur together.” I stick out my arm and point to my biceps.
“I got shot here. Flesh wound, nothing serious. Bled like a mother fucker though.” I laugh and bring her hand to my face, trailing it along my nose “I’ve broken this thing countless times.
” I skim it down to my upper lip. “This little one is from the time I was driving like an asshole and wrecked my car. Fucking tooth went through my lip when I hit the airbag.”
“Damn, Magnus, how are you not already dead?”
I laugh again dryly. “Your guess is as good as mine.”
“You never really told me how you came into this line of work.” She grips her coffee but keeps her other hand in mine.
“Well, I’d say it was a long story but it’s really not.
” I think back to all those years ago. What seems like a lifetime ago, really.
“We’re all pretty much orphans, and those make the best candidates for this line of work.
People who don’t have anyone else are typically pretty desperate to fit in somewhere. I was a reckless kid…”
“I’m not at all surprised by that.” She grins and takes a drink of her coffee.