Page 20 of Kept in the Dark (Hitmen of Ulysses #2)

Nee-cole. My cheeks are suddenly really hot.

He leans forward, and I swear I am not in control of myself when I mirror his action, expecting to find our faces pressed close. Instead, his eyes drop, and he moves his queen and takes mine. “What is your opinion of law and order?”

And suddenly, I’m reeling from… fuck, I don’t know what I thought was going to happen.

Yes, I do. I’m just mortified because it didn’t.

I clear my throat and sit back as far as the wall allows. The blood is still pounding in my head, but the intense, almost sharp expectations have fizzled into hot embarrassment. Thankfully, he’s letting me save face and keeping his eyes down.

I reach for my bottle of water to give myself a moment for my brain to come back online. “Law and order? Um… I assume you don’t mean the TV show.”

“You assume correctly.”

Shaking off the lingering awkwardness, I square my shoulders.

I want to give my answer carefully, because I’ve actually been considering it a fair amount since our last game.

Clearly, Dimitri doesn’t exactly operate within the confines of the law.

“I think… it’s easy to confuse right and wrong with lawful and unlawful, but they’re not exactly the same. ”

His eyes flash, and he demands, “Explain.”

“I think the intention of the systems in place can be good, and the execution can be bad. Murderers and rapists walk; innocent people are put to death; the more money someone has the more untouchable they are… It’s not pretty, but it’s what we have.”

“You do not like it,” he surmises, and I nod in agreement. “And what is your part in it? ”

“In what, the system?” I laugh once at the idea. “I don’t know; I don’t think I’m really part of it. I don’t do much other than vote… and I had jury duty once.”

“Everyone is part of the system in which they live,” he counters. “Every action has a consequence and touches the life of someone else. In my profession and yours.”

I frown, considering that. I can’t decide whether I think it’s a surprising statement, coming from a man who does bad things to bad people . Does that mean he’s aware that it’s wrong and does it anyway, or that he doesn’t think it’s wrong?

“Working in emergency rooms has put me in a unique position to help work around some of the systems I hate, like the quality of health care depending on the income of the person who needs it. But at the end of the day, I’m still part of a for-profit hospital, and I still take my paycheck and use it to buy stupid shit made in China on the internet.

“I enjoy being a nurse and helping people. I’m not romantic enough to think I’m changing the world one person at a time, but I’d like to think that the majority of the people whose lives I touch are better for it. That’s enough for me.”

“Even if it’s as part of a corrupt system that takes from the majority in order to serve a few?”

I blow out a heavy breath. “Geez, are you going to ask me if I’ve read the Communist Manifesto next?”

“Have you?” he challenges.

This took a heavy turn. I’m not sure exactly how we got here—politics, morality, society and social order... But now that we are, a deep, usually dormant part of me thrills in it.

“No,” I chuckle. “And I’m not arguing that the system isn’t corrupt, but…

it’s not all bad, either. And I think if I let myself feel like it was my responsibility to correct the world’s sins, or fight the man, I’d never get anything done.

I do what I can—what I think is right—and I live my life in pursuit of my own happiness. Just like most people do.”

There’s a beat of silence following that, and I want to suck the words back in. The familiar jeers and criticisms echo like a lost memory too prickly to be forgotten.

You’re so serious, Nicole. Lighten up.

I meant what I said—I almost always do—but I have a tendency to get too introspective and let it leak out into a conversation where someone actually wanted a lighthearted answer or was making a joke.

But his lips quirk up, and I have the distinct impression that, despite the somewhat unsatisfying conclusion, I gave him what he was looking for.

“You are very serious and thoughtful, Nicole. And well-spoken as well.”

A very unserious response nearly springs to my lips. Back atcha, big guy.

“Thank you.”

Warmth blooms on my face and deep in my soul. Whether or not I’d meant to, I’d bared something to him. I showed him the real me—the one who thrives in deep conversation and answers questions seriously, thoughtfully—and he’s not turning away. He complimented me for it. He leaned in.

I move my king backwards, seeing his queen is closing in.

“Someone tried to kill me,” he says, gesturing to the scar on his face as he puts my king in check. It takes me a second to realize he’s answering my earlier question instead of asking another. “And they were very bad at it.”

It should probably freak me out. And it’s not funny—it really isn’t—but a laugh bursts out of my mouth that I can’t help because his delivery was just as dry as it was when he told me he didn’t want a birthday party .

His eyebrows shoot up, but he’s otherwise unmoved by my inappropriate reaction. I settle, tipping my king over to signal my defeat. “I’m sorry; it’s not funny. It’s just… I’m glad they were bad at it.”

He smiles, and for a second, I can’t breathe.

I’m completely caught off guard by how it transforms his face.

It’s not an altogether happy, light look—the smile deepens the pull of the scar bisecting his cheek, giving him an even more sinister appearance—but it suits him almost as much as the serious stoicism.

“I am glad you think so.”