Page 79 of Only the Devil

His gruff tone could mean many things, but he cups my jaw and shifts until I can’t avoid his gaze. “You got that?”

“You’re too good of a guy to do something solely for money. I got it.”

And yes, I sound like such a spoiled whiny bitch and, again, I hate it. I should just shut my mouth.

“I think I know what this is.” He shifts back on the sofa, a smug smile on his lips.

I don’t see how that’s possible, as I’m not clear at all why I’m so emotional. When is my period due? Maybe I’m getting hormonal.

“I’m not going to tell you what to do, but I’ve always felt like the only real way to be happy is for your head and your heart to be in the same place.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Is he going on about us? About sex?

“You know why soldiers can endure hell and still feel good about themselves? Because their actions align with their beliefs. But when your head and heart are in different places...” He lets the implication hang. “You ever wondered how you could have two sides at war, and both sides feeling good about what they’re doing? Like to the point they’re willing to die for their side? You know how that happens? Each side believes in themselves, believes what they’re doing is right.” His fingers trace my arms. The light touch soothes.

“Like the Iranians…or Iraqis…or let’s go all the way back to the Nazis… I’m not talking about who’s right or wrong. I’m just saying that all those soldiers, they had conviction. Life’s pretty shitty when you’re at war, food rationed, sometimes cold, hot, tired, but the men are usually in a pretty good headspace because each day their actions mesh with what they feel they should do. Serving a larger purpose. There are studies on it.

“I’ve seen men who took jobs outside of the military for the paycheck and sometimes…depending on what they’re tasked with…they go to a pretty dark place. A paycheck is a paycheck, and there’s no doubt you gotta have it. But you gotta feel good about what you’re doing.”

“Well, yeah, especially if you’re killing people.”

“Even if you’re coding.”

My palm flattens across his chest. His heart thumps beneath his sternum, rock steady.

His story, his words, slowly weave their way through. He’s making a point about me, saying that I don’t believe in what I’m doing… But I’m writing code to track the markets. There’s no believing in that. He’s making a comparison that’s not warranted.

“Are you judging me?” How dare he? Not all of us are soldiers.

“Come on now,” he drawls, accentuating his accent. “You’re smarter than that.”

The tip of his finger taps against my temple.

“Do I look like someone who would judge somebody? I spent years as a male whore. More than that, when I served, I racked up a sizeable body count. Worse, if it were up to me, I’d still be serving and adding to it.”

If it were up to him?

“We haven’t talked about what’s going on between us. But maybe you need to hear it. I’m on your team. I’ve got your six.”

I push up on my elbow, shifting so I can see his face.

“Military lingo? You’re telling me you’ve got my back?”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying. I’m not the enemy. I’m the one in your corner. No need to attack me. I’m here for you.”

Attack him?

“I’m being bitchy, aren’t I?”

“A mite. But I get it. You’ve got a big heart and a big brain, and you’ve got to sort through it all.”

That big hand of his caresses my hip, and my butt, and I relax against him, resting my head back down on his big bear chest, willing all the emotions bubbling up to go away.

The side of my ear presses against him, and I allow myself to focus on the rhythmic thuds, alleviating my cluttered mind. No words. I close my eyelids, lost in the absence of light, of place.

Thud thud. Thud thud.

His heartbeat anchors me to this moment, to this truth I’ve been avoiding. I know exactly why I feel like shit. I know exactly what’s eating at me from the inside. I’m becoming everything I’ve always hated. And worse yet—I’m good at it.