Page 17 of Hurt

Staring down at the grains of wood in the bartop, he tried to piece together what he had just learned. He was interested in Kurt. Interested in a way that he had never been with another person before. But it would seem his interest now went beyond romance—the man was somehow inexplicably linked to Grant’s professional life.

He watched as Kurt went about his duties and tried to find the answers to his questions in the way he wiped down glasses or cashed out patrons.

Unsurprisingly, it wasn’t there. And he knew better than to ask. The man didn’t even want to give him his name, let alone his life story.

Ten years ago, his family died. Kurt dropped off the map for four years, only to reappear here at The Sunspot for the last six. At the same time, his sister gave up a shining future for a dingy stripper pole.

And how did the White Sand Mesas factor in? Luther Elliott had more than enough money to support his only heirs’ maternal uncles for several lifetimes. So why were they scraping by?

He could call Luther, but he would rather not bring him into this. Not yet. Not after their complicated relationship and the terrible way it ended.

No, for now, Grant would have to do what he did best.

It seems like he will be spending a lot more time at The Sunspot.

Elijah loosened his tie as he once again entered the bar. It had been a long day. He had spent the first half of it following Congressman Thomas and the second half chasing a Vega spy he had caught sniffing around the Congressman’s office. The guy was seriously acrobatic, but one moment of hesitation found Elijah’s blade ripping through his Achille’s tendon as he tried to climb a fire escape.

Unfortunately, he was unhelpful. All he knew was the Vega Cabal was paying for information regarding the Congressman’s movements.

The Vega Cabal, like the Weavers, kept their information divided. Except for those at the top of their structure, no single member knew everything. It was a security measure. It made torturing members relatively pointless. Elijah had spent several hours trying, only to end up with blood on his favorite tie and a broken tip on a perfectly good blade.

He was surprised to see Grant sitting at the bar. His posture was straight, and he appeared to be lost in thought.

“Sir,” Elijah greeted, bowing his head slightly in deference.

“Oh, Elijah.” Grant smiled thinly. “How was your day?”

“Fine,” he edged cagily. Grant wouldn’t expect him to divulge family business in a public space like this. Elijah would fill the Weaver brothers in on the day’s events in a more private setting.

“Opal, my delicate flower. You are looking ravishing this evening. Is that a new wig?” Jamie crowed, pushing off the bar and walking toward the woman.

She raised a disapproving eyebrow at him. “I’m too old for you, Jamie.”

Opal had just entered the bar. Wearing a platinum blonde wig and scary heels, she looked fabulous. The coffee in her hand was steaming, and she was wearing sweatpants. All manner of sparkly straps was hanging out of the overstuffed tote bag on her shoulder.

“Babes. Age is an irrelevant number. The only number that matters is the number of inches between my le—”

Elijah slapped a hand over his mouth. “My apologies, ma’am. I will control him for the rest of the evening.”

Opal laughed, extending a hand to gently ruffle Elijah’s hair. “If only you were ten years older.”

They watched her disappear behind the curtain on stage, and Jamie snatched Elijah’s hand off his mouth. “Ten years won’t change the fact that you don’t have a dick.”

Despite himself, Elijah laughed. Jamie was harmless. It was hard to believe that the idiot spouting off cheesy pickup lines was the lethally competent man Elijah had seen him to be.

“Hurry up and get a boyfriend. I can’t compete with your innocent babyface.”

Elijah rolled his eyes. “I’m not competing with you now.”

“Tell them that!” Jamie whined dramatically.

Elijah didn’t bother to respond. There would be no boyfriend. Elijah wasn’t looking for a relationship—how could he possibly explain what he did? That his work was so much more than a job. Being a Weaver meant he couldn’t just clock out at the end of the day and leave his problems at the office. It was more than being on call 24/7. It was who he was.

He was under no illusions as to what he was. Elijah was a killer. He killed without a second thought. He had lost count of how many had fallen to his blade. Knowing that, how could he ask a person to love him?

When he was younger, he tried to romanticize it. He killed, but he wasn’t a killer. He did violent things, but he wasn’t a violent person. But as he grew older, he realized that he wasn’t two separate people in one body. There was no differentiating it. Who would accept that? And if they did, could Elijah love a person who wasn’t bothered by that?

No. Romance, dating, all of it was beyond Elijah. He lost the right for that the moment he accepted the blade the Weavers put in his hand.