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“No, no, I don't want to leave. I just. . .” Forcing a smile, I traced his ribs. “It's just that yesterday got me thinking. It was so easy to do what I did, and I guess it scared me.”

Cupping my face, Birched smiled. “Babe, there is nothing wrong with having a conscience. I hate some of the shit I've done, but it doesn't change who I am. I'm a Rottera, I'll always be a Rottera, and that will follow me for life.” His thumbs strummed my jawline, tender and caring. “But it doesn't make us bad people. We do things because we're pushed to, because we have to, not simply because we want to. And we don't kill innocent people just for fun, you know that.”

Nodding, I let my face snuggle into his hands. “You're right, you're absolutely right.”

Holding my cheeks, he kissed me. “You ready? It's time to go.”

“Yeah, let's do this.” Grabbing my gun off the sink, I tucked it into the back of my jeans. “Better safe than sorry,” I said, as the cold steel burned my skin like hot coals.

I was torn inside. I wanted to think that what I did had a purpose. And if someone got hurt or killed because they forced our hand, then that wasn't on me.

That didn't make me evil and stone cold. Right?

Or was I just fooling myself? Was I living in some altered perception of what good really was?

People were killed by the Rottera hands, families lost loved ones because of bad deals and poor decisions.

Some people say that the root of all evil is money. . . But is it really?

Or is it the people holding out their hands, waiting for the basket to deliver that gold? Who decided what made evil and what defined it?

My heart wanted to be pure, but my soul was tainted. I was in too deep to get out now. This was what I wanted, I wanted to be a part of this family and their life.

I held my hands out and took from their basket.

Why stop to ponder it now?