“Where do you fancy going?”
I snorted out a laugh because there was literally only one place to go unless we fancied clubbing, and it was a little early on a random Wednesday for that.
I pointed to the door. “Come on. First round’s on you.”
We made small talk as we walked through the empty high street. It was chilly, and there was snow forecast, so it looked like most people decided to hunker down at home, but I wasn’t mad about that. I still struggled to be around people—my life had been built in solitude, and I’d got very used to my own company.
Jarrid pulled open the door of the bar and stepped inside. I followed, the heat of the place like a slap to my frozen cheeks.
He went to the bar, and I chose a table near the window, watching as the first flutters of snow danced in the darkness.
“Here you go.” Jarrid put a bottle of lager down on the table and then sat across from me, taking a long swig of his own drink before absent-mindedly picking at the label.
I took stock of the man across from me. He was usually full of energy; larger than life, but right now, he looked almost defeated.
“You wanna talk about it?” I asked, taking a sip of my own drink, the cool liquid making me let out a satisfied hum of approval.
He shrugged, his eyes dipping to the table. “I’m just thinking,” he replied in a flat, monotone voice.
“Does it hurt?” He didn’t show any sign that he appreciated my attempts at humour, so I decided to rein it in. “Seriously, you look like a wounded puppy. Spill.”
He tutted. “Says the man who’s been walking around like a bear with a sore head for the last few days. You want to explain that to me?”
I didn’t reply, instead bringing the bottle to my lips as an excuse not to give him a response.
“Didn’t think so.”
We sat in silence for a while, cheesy pop music playing in the background. I watched the man behind the bar cleaning the already clean counter, and the few customers in here chatted easily. I’d drained the beer from my bottle in no time, and Jarrid didn’t look far behind me, so I pushed myself up to stand. “I’m going to get going.”
His brows pinched as he pushed his fingers through the strands of his long hair that had fallen from his manbun he always sported. “Shit. Sorry. Don’t go. Let me get us another drink. I invited you out, and now I’m just sitting here in silence.” He dragged his hand over his mouth. “I’m not good at this… having friends.”
I sat, and he gave me a grateful half-smile.
“I get that,” I told him honestly.
“It’s Amber.”
From the little I knew of their relationship, this was a surprise.
He let out a massive sigh after he’d said her name, his leg bouncing under the table. “God, I really like her. We’ve spentpractically every day I’ve been in town together since we met. I think I’m falling for her, Roman. Fuck, who am I kidding? I’ve fallen. Hard. I can’t get enough of her. She’s stunning, funny, she listens, like really listens, and she’s, well, the sex is off the scale.” A small smile spread across his face as if he were imagining his life with her, but then his shoulders dropped.
“But?” I asked.
He glanced to the door as if he was checking she wasn’t close by before he continued. “But she’s got a huge heart. Hates violence of any kind. She even went as far as to say she hates hitmen the other day.”
I knew about Jarrid’s past. I was familiar with everyone who worked for Thomas. He’d given me access to their files, so I knew their strengths and could work out what tech would work best for which of his operatives. Jarrid was an ex-sniper. A good one. World-class, just like Sean. Thomas was ex-SAS. These men were deadly. And Jarrid had the highest kill rate of them all, despite his much younger age.
I leaned forwards, keeping my voice low. “You’re not a hitman,” I reminded him.
“Semantics,” he whispered back. “I kill people. I’ve killed a lot of people. She would never understand that.”
“What does she think you do?”
“Security.” I chuckled, and he added, “Yeah, you laugh, Mr IT man.”
He’d got me there.
“And what does she think you used to do?”
