I feel a cold prickle at my nape, a sick sensation pooling in my gut. I might’ve killed him. A different version of memight’ve killed him. I might’ve left his wife a widow, his newborn child an orphan—
No.
No.
Not now.
I wrestle my conscience back into its cage.
“Yeah,” says Malick, looking uncomfortable. He runs a hand over the back of his head. “I mean, obviously, it was unexpected. A few weeks early.”
Soft murmurs from the group.
James props his gun against his shoulder, then pinches the bridge of his nose. When he lifts his head, he looks murderous. “Get the fuck out of here.”
“But—”
“Now,” he says. “Go be with your wife.”
Malick looks around uncertainly. “Look, man, no disrespect— You know we all love you, but word on the street is you don’t have the authority—”
James takes a decisive step forward and everyone surges back.
I hear my breath catch.
I’m struck anew by the sheer brawn of him, the untapped power in his body. James moves from skin to skin with disarming ease, lulling people into a false sense of complacency just long enough for them to forget to be scared. He’s terrifying when he steps fully into his strength. I can see now that it’s not an act. It’s not a premeditated strategy.
He’s heart and fury in the same body.
“Leave,” he says to Malick. “I’ll deal with Warner.” Helooks around. “Where is he, anyway?”
No one answers him.
“Where the hell is my brother?” he says again, loudly this time.
“I—I don’t know,” says Liam.
“Great,” James says, still furious. Then he calls over his shoulder, my name like an expletive: “Rosabelle.”
I nearly flinch.
“Her name is Rosabelle?” says another soldier. “Seriously?”
“Rosabelle,” James says again, his voice even. “Come here.”
I don’t move.
James sighs. He turns to look at me, narrowing his eyes as he says, “Get over here.Now.”
I realize, with rising fear, that I might not have a choice. I take quick inventory of my injuries, compiling a nonexhaustive list:
fractured ankle;
fractured ribs;
head wound;
shoulder laceration;
