Page 37 of Ruthless (The Ferrymen #1)

"Have you completely cracked under the pressure?" Lo demanded. "Or is this just the brain-melting aftereffects of finally getting laid properly? I swear to god, orgasms have actually reduced your IQ."

I rolled my eyes, ignoring the knowing look Lo shot my way. His comment hit too close to the tension simmering between Vincent and me since morning.

"Think about it," I continued, focusing on strategy. "Prometheus expects us to either skip the funeral entirely or try to sneak in covertly. He's prepared for both scenarios. What he doesn't expect is for us to walk in the front gate, fully aware and ready."

"That's a huge risk," Vincent said quietly, studying our faces. "I appreciate that you're both willing to do this for me, but I don't want anyone dying on my behalf."

His sincerity tugged at something deep in my chest. Even now, with his own life in danger, Vincent worried about others. About me. The urge to cross the kitchen and pull him against me grew almost overwhelming, my body aching to reconnect despite my mind's defenses.

"We only die if we go in unprepared," I countered, shoving down the impulse. "Lo, how many ferrymen would actually violate the cemetery taboo?"

Lo tapped his fingers against his thigh. "Not many. The ones with principles won't touch it. The ones who enjoy the respect of their peers won't risk it. That leaves the desperate, the soulless, and the ones too new to know better."

"Exactly," I said. "Prometheus will have a harder time recruiting quality talent for this. He'll have the true believers and the amateurs, which gives us an edge."

"An edge against how many?" Vincent asked .

"Maybe a dozen? Quality over quantity in our business." Lo's expression suddenly turned serious. "There's something else you should know. Something I confirmed this morning."

I tensed. Lo's serious face was always bad news. "What?"

"Prometheus will be there personally."

The air left my lungs in a rush. "You're sure?"

"My source is reliable." Lo's eyes darted to Vincent, then back to me. "Prometheus is overseeing security himself."

"Well, fuck me sideways with a chainsaw," I muttered, dragging a hand through my hair. "That's either the best news or the worst news possible."

"Why would he risk exposure like that?" Vincent asked, clearly grasping the significance.

"Because this isn't just about eliminating a target anymore," I said slowly. "It's personal now. I embarrassed him. Defied him. Killed his right hand."

"And took his favorite toy," Lo added. "Don't forget that part."

"How could I?" I replied darkly. "He literally made me. Rebuilt me from the ground up like a particularly murderous IKEA project, except with more blood and fewer Allen wrenches."

The implications settled in my stomach, heavy and cold. Prometheus, in person. The man who'd created me, groomed me, molded me into his perfect weapon, would be within striking distance tomorrow.

"There's more," Lo continued, voice dropping lower. "Frankie's missing."

My head snapped up. "What do you mean, missing?"

"Gone. Vanished. No one's seen him since your meeting at Avgospito. "

Cold dread washed through me. Frankie had been my handler for a decade. He'd covered for me, warned me, tried to protect me in his own way. Now he was missing—likely dead—because he'd helped me.

"Another body to add to Prometheus's tab," I said, voice hard.

Lo reached into one of his bags and pulled out a small wooden box. "These are from Jasper," he said, opening the lid to reveal three small, circular devices with adhesive backing. "Trackers. If we can get one on Prometheus or his vehicle at the funeral, we can end this."

I lifted one of the trackers, rolling it between my fingers. It was smaller than a dime, sleek matte black with a nearly invisible seam. Military grade, not commercial. "These are untraceable?"

"Completely. Operating on a frequency only Jasper can monitor," Lo confirmed. "If we can plant one on Prometheus, we'll know his movements, his vulnerabilities..."

"We can take the fight to him," I finished, something like hope stirring for the first time.

Vincent moved closer, examining the trackers. "So this is the real mission tomorrow? Not just attending the funeral, but planting these?"

"If we get the chance," I said. "Getting close enough to Prometheus without being spotted is the challenge."

"We'll figure it out," Lo said confidently. "Maybe I'll create a diversion. Flash a little skin, start a fire, the usual."

I tucked the trackers into my pocket. "We'll need to be prepared for anything tomorrow."

"Which brings me to the next item on our agenda," Lo announced, pulling a sleek black case from one of his shopping bags. He placed it on the table and flipped it open, revealing a collection of handguns nestled in foam .

"Have you taught him how to shoot yet?" Lo asked, nodding toward Vincent. "Pretty eyes and a great ass won't stop bullets."

Vincent stiffened. "I don't want to learn how to kill people."

I looked at him directly. "I'm not asking you to kill anyone. Think of it like having options, a last resort." I moved closer, keeping my voice steady. "I don't want you to ever have to use this skill, but I need to know you can defend yourself if I can't reach you in time."

Vincent stayed quiet for a moment, clearly conflicted. "I took an oath to heal people, not harm them. I can't just throw that aside because it's convenient."

"This isn't about convenience," I countered. "It's about survival."

"Is it?" Vincent challenged, finally meeting my eyes directly for the first time since I'd pulled away that morning. "Or is it about turning me into something I'm not? Making me more like you so you feel less alone in what you do?"

The accusation struck cleanly, precisely. Lo sucked in a breath, eyes widening at Vincent's boldness.

"That's not what this is," I said, even as something uncomfortable twisted in my gut. Was he right? Did I want him to become more like me? To join me in the darkness rather than pulling me toward the light?

Or was it simpler than that? If Vincent learned to kill, if he crossed that line, maybe he wouldn't leave once the danger passed. Maybe he'd be contaminated enough to stay with me.

The realization twisted my stomach.

"Isn't it?" Vincent pressed. "Last night... everything that happened between us... I think maybe you want me to understand your world. To be part of it. But I can't become a killer, Luka. Not even for you. "

The honesty in his voice stripped me bare. Last night's vulnerability hadn't just been mine. Vincent had his own fears. His own lines he wouldn't cross.

"I don't want you to become a killer. I just want you to stay alive." I hesitated, then forced myself to add, "And stay with me. After."

The admission hung between us, raw and exposed. Vincent's expression softened, understanding dawning in his eyes.

"You think I'll leave once this is over," he said quietly.

I couldn't answer, couldn't confirm what felt inevitable.

"You think I'll go back to my normal life and forget about you," he said. "That what I said last night was just... what? Adrenaline? Stockholm syndrome?"

Put that way, it sounded pathetic. I shrugged, aiming for nonchalance and missing by miles. "Your future patients probably wouldn't appreciate 'By the way, I'm dating a professional killer' on your website bio. Not exactly great for the whole 'safe space' vibe."

Lo cleared his throat loudly, reminding us of his presence. "As riveting as this philosophical debate and relationship drama is, we're on a ticking clock here. Prometheus, funeral, imminent death threat? Remember those? The preparations we discussed with Diego and Jasper at the airfield yesterday?"

I glared at him. "Not helping."

Vincent's jaw worked as he processed everything. "Fine. Show me the basics. But I won't promise to use a gun tomorrow."

Relief washed over me. It wasn't everything, but it was something. At least he'd know how to protect himself if things went sideways.

"The Acropolis shooting range should be quiet this time of morning," I said, already planning our session. "We can be there in ten minutes. "

As Lo gathered his things, Vincent moved to the window, staring at the artificial skylight in silence.

"Hey," I said softly, approaching but not touching him. "You okay?"

He turned to face me, expression troubled. "I don't know what I'm doing, Luka. I'm a therapist, not a fighter. I help people heal trauma, not create it."

"I know." I resisted the urge to pull him close. "And I'm not asking you to change that. I'm just asking you to let me teach you enough to stay alive."

"Listen to me carefully, Luka. I meant what I said last night.

All of it. And that hasn't changed this morning, or this afternoon, or tomorrow, or next month.

I'm not here because you're protecting me.

I'm here because I choose to be. Because I see you—all of you, not just the killer, not just the weapon Prometheus created. I see you ."

His words cracked something open inside me, something I'd thought permanently sealed. I reached for him, my hands settling on his hips.

"I'm not good at this," I admitted, voice rough. "Any of this. I don't know how to... to be with someone. To trust this."

"I know." Vincent's hands came up to frame my face, thumbs brushing my cheekbones. "But you have to talk to me, Luka. You can't just pull away when you get scared."

"I'll try," I promised, the words feeling foreign on my tongue. "Just... don't give up on me."

Vincent's smile was soft, genuine in a way that made my chest ache. "Not a chance." He leaned in, brushing his lips against mine in a kiss so achingly gentle it nearly broke me. "Now, let's go learn how to not die tomorrow."