Page 52 of The Vigilante's Lover

I pick up the wine. Liquid courage. I get that now. It’s heavy and strong flavored. Jax probably doesn’t even know I’m only twenty and don’t drink. It doesn’t matter here.

“Sure,” I say. “I was eight. I can remember them.”

“Did they ever leave you alone with a babysitter or family friend?” he asks.

I don’t know where he’s going with this. “Sure, to go out sometimes. I had a girl named Lori who would watch me.”

“Just for evenings? Or longer?” He leans forward and sets down his glass, fully attentive.

“Just a few hours. Never overnight.” I pick up my fork then set it down again. My appetite is gone. This feels like an interrogation now.

“Did one of them go away for long periods?” he continues.

I try to think, my face hot. Suddenly I get a terrible, awful feeling that everything that has happened between us was to get this information from me — even last night. What do I know about Jax? Other than he is wanted by a lot of people?

My courage flees completely, and I can’t eat another bite.

“Did they?” he asks again.

“I don’t remember!” I say. “Why are you asking this?”

He seems to realize he’s being too harsh and sits back again. “It doesn’t matter. Not now. Eat, Mia. It’s good.”

I can’t possibly do it. My stomach is in knots. “Why do you want to know about them?”

His gaze shifts to his wine glass. He swirls the liquid easily. “I just want to know everything about you.”

I don’t buy it. I try to let go of my tension, but it doesn’t quite ease. I make a great show of cutting off another piece of meat and sticking it in my mouth.

He reaches across the table, his fingers lightly grazing the back of my hand where I’m holding the stem of the glass. “This is our down time,” he says quietly. “I won’t ruin it.”

My belly unfurls a little. I swallow. “What about your parents?” I ask. “Did they leave you sometimes?”

He tilts his head, as if trying to decide how to answer, then says, “Of course they did. They were Vigilantes. They had missions.”

I choke and snatch up my glass, breaking his touch. Does he think my parents were Vigilantes? I gulp champagne, realize the bubbles are making me cough more, and switch to wine.

“Easy, Mia,” he says.

“Is that what you think?” I sputter. “That my parents were like you?” I shake my head. “No way. They were normal, ordinary parents. My dad worked at a bank. My mom had a part-time job as a florist.”

His eyes don’t let go of my gaze. I’m not sure he believes me, or if he thinks I’m deluded. But he lets it go. “And what did your aunt do?” he asks.

I frown. So we’re back to that sore subject. “I don’t remember her doing anything. She was always just there.”

“Was she independently wealthy? Have you uncovered accounts since she died?”

My voice is small and timid. “No.”

“And you never wondered how she kept up that house or paid her bills?”

“She got money for the hay,” I tell him. “The neighbors used her land and gave her a cut.”

“Was that enough?” Jax won’t let up.

My anger starts to rise up. “She didn’t need much. She didn’t have a mortgage to pay. Just electric and gas and a few little things here and there.”

Jax slices at his steak with more power than necessary. Somehow this makes me think of him killing someone. He said he had done that.

My anxiety peaks. I have to know who this man is.

“How did you kill him?” I blurt.

He stops, fork halfway to his mouth. “Kill who?”

“The guy. The one that got you put in jail.”

He sets the fork back down. “Strangulation.”

“With your bare hands?”

“With my bare hands.”

I stare at those hands of his. Beautiful. Strong. I can still see them on my body, his dark fingers against my skin.

And they had killed someone.

“Why?” I ask.

He picks up his wine and takes a sip before answering, looking over the rim at me.

“Because I was under the impression at the time that he was trafficking young girls in the sex trade.”

My jaw falls open. Hell, I would have killed him too.

“But you were wrong?” I ask.

“No, he was in the business. But I had no idea he was a Vigilante.”

“But killing him was good, right?”

He holds his glass with both hands. “I don’t take killing someone lightly.”

“How do you know who to kill and who not to kill?”

He twirls the glass, looking intently at the swirling wine. “Generally, if they are shooting at you, it’s okay to kill them.”

“But this guy. He wasn’t shooting at you?”

“Doesn’t matter. He was a Vigilante. You don’t murder one of your own.” Now his eyes meet mine again.

I have to clear my throat before I can squeak out, “But you’re a Vigilante and they’re trying to kill you now.”

“That’s different. I’m under a kill order.” He sets down the glass without taking a sip and picks up his fork. “They’re following orders.”

“Does a kill order ever get canceled?” I ask, my heart hammering.

“I don’t know,” he says, twisting the fork in his pasta. “There’s never been one for a Vigilante before.”

My back is ramrod straight. My hands are in tight fists. I don’t see any way for us to get out of this. How long can we go before they catch up to him?

My face burns hot. I pick up my fork, trying to quell my nerves. This is what I wanted, right? To have Jax to myself. To go with him no matter the consequences. But now my only home is in pieces. Everything I own is lost.

Suddenly I remember the stash under the pantry floor.

“Won’t the fire department find all the Vigilante things?” I ask. “Won’t they know something was up?”

Jax shakes his head. “It will be handled.”

“Really? You guys control the fire department?”

Jax runs a finger along the top edge of his wine glass, a slow sensuous gesture. I shiver.

“Control is too strong a word, but we have a hand in most everything that matters.”

“I don’t see how the Vigilantes can be such a big secret,” I say. I set my fork down. There’s no point in trying to eat. “People have to know.”

He leans forward, his blue-gray eyes intent on me. “How many unsolved mysteries are there in the world? Cold cases? How many UFO sightings? How many news articles that don’t seem to quite add up?”

“L-lots,” I stammer. “But usually that’s because nobody has all the facts.”

He leans back and sips his wine. “Exactly. Because the Vigilantes don’t allow them to have all the facts. We mete out justice in our own way. People believe in karma, that bad people will have bad things happen. The Vigilantes are those bad things. We are karma.”

I clasp my hands in my lap. Jax seems so intense, so intimidating when he talks like this.

“Are you ever wrong?” I ask.

He shrugs. “Possibly. But we have the biggest information network in the world.”

“And all these Vigilantes live double lives? Nobody knows what they really do?”

“Not all of them. Some choose to stay underground completely. Most silo employees are permanent residents.”

I pick up the champagne glass idly, then drain it. The bubbly liquid slides down my throat, chilling my belly. I take in a deep breath, looking around at the room, the beautiful decor, the impeccable table, and this man.

I try to imagine living like this all the time. Anything you want, yours. Everyone around you, ready to serve. Information on anybody, puzzles to solve, crimes to figure out.

People to either rescue or punish. No checks and balances. No judges or juries.

Danger. No room for mistakes.

Still, I want it. I can’t be intimidated or afraid to reach for it.

I wasn’t born to this world, but it feels right for me.

I have to keep Jax close. I have to prove myself.

I think of my mother in that picture, a photo that is probably lost to me now, blown to bits.

But I keep it in my heart, her hair blowing, a reckless look in her eye. I remember, when I was small, her picking me up and telling me never to let anyone make me feel afraid. “Just because someone tries to hand you fear, doesn’t mean you have to take it,” she said.

I won’t be afraid. And I will figure out what to do to stay with Jax, to be worthy of the work that he does. I just don’t know where to start.

But then it doesn’t matter, because Jax is up and coming toward me, a dark look in his eyes.