That’s one way of putting it.
My next hit is harder. It drives Gian back a step, and his boots scrape against the floor as he absorbs the blow.
“A little better,” he mutters, like he can feel the shift in my mood.
I don’t stop.
I close the distance, grab his shirt, and slam him back into the wall. The impact shudders through the room, dust shaking loose from somewhere above us.
My fist connects again and again, each strike precise but heavier now, fueled by something that has nothing to do with him. He gets his hands up, blocking what he can and taking what he can’t, and his breath comes out rough.
“You gonna tell me what this is about?” he manages, in a voice edged with strain.
“No.”
I release him, stepping back just enough to give him space. He straightens slowly, rolling his shoulders, testing the damage. Blood marks his lip now, a dark line that he wipes away with the back of his hand. Good. He’s still game.
He comes at me harder this time. His fist catches me across the cheek, a solid, clean hit that snaps my head to the side. For a second, everything goes quiet, moving in slow motion.
And then I hear it.
The gunshot.
It’s in my head—it’s not real. Not anymore. But it was, once.
My knees crack on the floor beside her, my hands pressing down, trying to stop the outpouring of blood through that one precise invasion.
There’s blood everywhere. It slicks my fingers and soaks into my clothes.
What I didn’t know then was that her blood would stain the rest of my life.
“I’ve got you,” I hear myself say. “It’s going to be okay.”
It was the last lie I would ever tell myself.
Back in the room, Gian hits me again, dragging me out of the memory. The present slams back into place. There’s concrete under my feet, sweat on my skin and a metallic tang of blood on my lip.
When he takes a fresh swing, I step aside, catching his wrist and twisting it just enough to break his momentum. My elbow drives into his shoulder, forcing him down, and I take him with me, dropping us both to the floor.
The impact rattles through both of us. I pin him there, my forearm pressed across his throat—not enough to cut off his air, but close.
“Is this enough?” he rasps, his breath turning shallow under the pressure.
I look down at him. His jaw is fixed but his eyes are not. He’d keep going if I told him to. But an image of Erin lying beneath me sharing secrets that curl my fists passes across my lids, and the fight in me fades a little.
Slowly, I ease off Gian, shifting my weight back and letting him breathe properly again. We lie there for a second, side by side on the cold concrete, both of us catching our breath as the adrenaline starts to ebb.
“Who is she?” Gian asks after a moment.
I grunt. “No one.”
He makes a low, humourless sound. “Must be a pretty significant no one to bring me all the way out here.”
I close my eyes briefly, and there she is again.Erin. Asleep in our room, none the wiser that I’ve left to beat the shit out of one of my men, purely because I’m struggling to stay within touching distance of her and not fucking touch.
“Yeah,” I admit. “She is.”
I stare up at the ceiling, at the bare bulb swinging faintly from the force of what we just did. I shouldn’t be in here, in a deserted outhouse, taking all my frustration out on one of my guys. I should be laying low on the property where I’m supposed to be negotiating a massive arms deal with a bunch of Russian crooks.
