A war zone of conflicting emotions that I didn’t know how to process. Because Drew was right; there was everything to talk about. Five years of blackmail. Sebastian’s attacks. The terror I’d seen in her eyes. The way I’d treated her like trash when she’d been breaking apart from the inside.
The fact that I’d accused her of cheating, of playing games, of sending her ‘boyfriend’ after me, when all along she’d been a prisoner in her own life. Terrorized by family. Blackmailed into submission. Alone in a nightmare that I’d made worse with my assumptions and accusations.
God, I wanted to hate her. Wanted to cling to the anger and betrayal I’d felt when I thought she was protecting some bastard boyfriend. When I thought she’d been playing me, using me, lying for sport.
But I couldn’t. Not anymore. Not since learning the truth.
Now all I felt was guilt for not seeing what was right in front of me. For treating her like she was the problem when she’d been the victim all along. For walking away when she’d needed someone, anyone, to stay.
For being exactly like everyone else in her life who’d failed to protect her.
The thought made me want to put my fist through something. Preferably Sebastian Davis’s face, but the table would do in a pinch.
I closed my eyes, forcing the spiraling thoughts to stop. This wasn’t helping. Wallowing in guilt and rage wasn’t going to change anything.
All it would do was make me useless. And I couldn’t afford to be useless. Not when she was still in danger. Not when Sebastian was still out there, still threatening her with whatever leverage he had over her head like a guillotine.
I needed to be better. Smarter. More controlled.
And I needed to stop feeling like a fucking teenager every time her name crossed my mind.
Decision made, I opened my eyes and reached for the vodka bottle. Poured myself another shot. Raised it toward the center of the table where everyone could see.
“To war,” I said, my voice steady despite the chaos inside.
Timur’s expression shifted, something that might’ve been approval flickering in his dark eyes. He raised his glass, nodding once. “To ending Zetas,” he added, his voice carrying the weight of a promise. A threat. A certainty.
Drew and Andrei raised their glasses. Even Damir dropped the smirk long enough to participate, his expression going serious in a way it rarely did.
“To war,” they echoed.
We drank in unison, the vodka burning a path down my throat that I barely felt. Because my mind was already elsewhere, already dividing into two separate battlefields.
The war Timur was talking about—Los Zetas and territory and violence that would paint Chicago’s streets red before it was over.
And the war inside me. The one that had been raging since the moment Barbara Davis looked at me across that club, and something fundamental shifted in my chest.
Between the man Vladimir had tried to make me and the man I’d always been underneath. The one who saw someone hurting and wanted to destroy whoever was responsible. The one who’d killed two men in a fit of rage and would probably do it again if given the right motivation.
The one who was rapidly deciding that Vladimir’s promise meant nothing compared to keeping Barbara safe.
I wasn’t sure which war was more dangerous: the external one with cartels, bullets, and body counts, or the internal onewith guilt, rage, and feelings I didn’t know how to handle. Wasn’t sure which one I was more likely to lose.
Below us, I could see Barbara at the bar, her friends clustering around her like they sensed she needed protection. Hailey said something that made Cassandra laugh, but Barbara just stared at her drink like it held answers she desperately needed.
She looked small. Fragile. Nothing like the woman who’d grabbed the back of my neck and kissed me like she was claiming territory. Nothing like the woman who’d gasped my name and fallen apart in my arms.
I was going to help her whether she wanted it or not. Whether she asked or not. Whether it destroyed me in the process or not.
Because she was worth everything.
The realization should’ve scared me. Should’ve made me pull back, reassess, think about the consequences.
Instead, it felt like relief. Like finally admitting something I’d been denying since that first dance. Since the moment those honey-brown eyes met mine and the world narrowed to just us.
“You’re doing it again,” Drew said quietly, pulling me back to the present.
“Doing what?”
