13. Greer #3
"This person," he says carefully. "They're the reason you've been coming here? The reason you've changed?"
"They're part of it."
"A big part."
"Yeah." I cross my arms, defensive even though I don't mean to be. "And before you say anything, I know what you're thinking. That I'm in over my head. That I don't know what I'm doing. That I'm going to get hurt."
"Actually, I was thinking I'm not exactly in a position to lecture you about going after someone in this world.
" His mouth quirks in something that might be a smile if it wasn't so strained.
"I fell for Lilah when she was barely out of Dylan's grip and still fighting her own demons.
I waited nine years for her. I killed for her.
I made her mine even when everyone said I shouldn't. "
The comparison makes something ease in my chest because he's right—Hayes has no room to judge when his entire relationship with Lilah is built on waiting and wanting and choosing her despite every reason he shouldn't.
But I can still see the worry in his eyes. The protectiveness that comes from knowing what this life costs and not wanting me to pay the price.
"I'm not Lilah," I say quietly. "I'm not broken. I'm not running from anything. I'm choosing this."
"That's what scares me." He studies my face, reading things I'm not saying. "The person who chooses violence is often more dangerous than the person who has it forced on them. Because you want it. And once you want it, it's hard to let it go."
He's talking about himself. About Heath. About everyone in their world who's discovered that violence can be addictive when it serves a purpose, when it protects something you care about, when it makes you feel powerful instead of powerless.
I understand that now in a way I didn't before Zaria.
Before I can respond, a shout cuts through the bar noise.
We both turn to see Heath, Hayes's older brother, standing near the entrance, waving Hayes over with an impatient gesture.
His gray eyes land on me and widen slightly in recognition—surprise that I'm here, confusion about why I'm talking to his brother in a Bennett bar when I should be in Manhattan analyzing marketing data.
Hayes mutters a curse under his breath. "I have to go. We have a meeting."
That's why he's here. Not looking for me, not coincidentally passing through Bennett territory, but here for actual business. Carelli business, whatever that means. I don't ask because I learned a long time ago that some questions are better left unspoken.
"Go," I tell him.
"We're not done talking about this." His hand tightens on my shoulder again, squeezing once before letting go. "Be careful. Please. Whatever you're doing, whoever this person is, just—be smart about it."
"I am."
"No, you're being reckless. There's a difference." But he's already backing toward Heath, who's watching us with growing impatience. "I'll call you later. We'll talk."
"Hayes." I catch his arm before he can leave. "Don't tell Lilah."
He stops, looking back at me with an expression I can't quite read. Conflict, maybe. Or understanding. Or the recognition that sometimes the people we love need to make their own mistakes without everyone else weighing in.
"I can't lie to her. She deserves to know I saw you here."
"Tell her I'm expanding my social circle. Meeting new people. Whatever." I lower my voice. "Just don't tell her about this. Not yet. Please."
He's quiet for a moment, and I can see him weighing his options. His loyalty to Lilah against his friendship with me. His desire to protect us both against his respect for my choices.
Finally, he nods. "Fine. But if she asks directly, I'm not lying to her."
"Fair enough."
Heath calls his name again, louder this time, and Hayes shoots me one last look that's equal parts concern and warning before heading toward his brother.
I watch them talk briefly—Heath gesturing toward the back room where private meetings happen, Hayes nodding and glancing back at me once before they both disappear through the doorway.
That was too close. Too revealing. Too much risk of my two worlds colliding before I'm ready to explain how they fit together.
But at least Hayes promised not to tell Lilah, which buys me time to figure out how to explain Zaria without making my sister panic about me following in her footsteps into violence and danger.
Except I'm not following in anyone's footsteps. I'm making my own path, and it just happens to lead straight to a woman who kills people in cages and runs criminal operations and makes me want to be both better and worse at the same time.
I return to my seat at the bar, finishing my beer in silence while Marco studiously avoids making eye contact. He knows what he saw—me pulled aside by a Carelli, talking in low urgent voices, the kind of conversation that means either protection or trouble depending on which side you're on.
But he doesn't ask questions because that's not how this world works. You see things, you know things, and you keep your mouth shut unless directly asked to speak.
I'm learning that lesson too.