Page 13 of Undertow

I pull my gaze away and focus on the wall. “You did what you had to do.”

“Look, I know things have been weird since?—”

“Don’t,” I cut in, turning my hardened stare on her. I have enough shit on my plate. I can’t go there right now. Ever. Why is it so fucking difficult for her to accept?

But making an enemy of the boss’ daughter doesn’t help me either. When her eyes narrow, I pull in a calming breath.

You knew it wasn’t over. It will never be over. It can only end one way.

“Sorry,” I say, rubbing a hand over my face. “It’s been… a lot to absorb in twelve hours.”

She softens, and I have to suppress a flinch when her cold fingers land on my wrist. A shiver runs through me as her thumb grazes my skin in slow arcs. Everything in me wants to pull away. Somehow I manage not to.

“You’re probably scared, huh?” she says, tracing the tattoo covering the back of my hand.

It’s an eye nestled in a gash in the skin that exposes the bone and tissue beneath it. Gramps hated this one when I first got it. After I explained it, he hugged me and cried.

“I’d be so scared right now,” she continues when I don’t respond.

Scared. Such an incompetent word. Fleeting and simple in the face of complex monstrosities.

I’ve been ordered to infiltrate a criminal enterprise that won’t hesitate to put a bullet in my head if they find out I’m a spy. Neither would the monsters I work for, if it suits their agenda. Every breath I take will be the difference between life and death, every move a calculated risk that could have me on my knees in front of one executioner or another. Or both.

I’m the master of words and I have none for how I feel right now.

I shrug. “A little. I’ll figure it out.” I try to pull my hand from hers, but she clamps down and threads our fingers together.

“What you’re doing, it’s really brave,” she says.

Brave? Doing something without a choice isn’t bravery.

“Yeah. Look, I really need to get back to work.”

My warning doesn’t faze her, and she flips our hands to draw slow streaks up my arm with her fingertips. Familiar, like we do this a lot. Like she has a right to me. Neither is true, and I tug again, but she holds on tighter. This is a power struggle as much as anything else, and she knows I’m at a disadvantage.

“I guess we probably won’t see you much once you cross into Undertow.” Her voice is low and intimate. “What time are you leaving?”

I look up sharply, tensing at the clear suggestion in her eyes. “Soon. And, no. Unless it’s on Hartford terms, once I cross over, I won’t be able to return to Palmetto Acres.”

I leave it at that. The fewer people who know the details of my plan, the better. Especially someone who wouldn’t hesitate to exploit any leverage they have over me.

She nods, her teeth sinking into her shiny red lip as she scans me with an intensity that takes me back to a weekend I’m desperate to forget. “I wish… I wish things were different. I meant what I said in New Orleans. You remember that, right?”

My stomach rolls, and I yank my hand away.

“Not really,” I lie. Maybe it’s not a lie. There’s a lot I don’t remember about that night. Shit gets hazy when you’re drugged.

She looks hurt, and I have no idea why.

“You’re the kind of a guy who could wreck a person. Would you? Would you wreck a person just because you could, Roman Shaw?”

I didn’t answer her then and I have no intention of responding now.

She shifts closer. “I can’t stop thinking about you, that whole night really. I tried to find you a few times since then, but I didn’t know where you were after they reassigned you.”

I shake my head, refusing to look at her and give more away. Why is she still here? What could this pointless jaunt down memory hell possibly accomplish?

“Your father owns me. You know that.” I meet her gaze, my meaning clear.Your father, not you. Back off, for both our sakes.