Page 67 of Enemy of the Heart

The corners of my mouth lift as I drape my forearms over his shoulders and press onto my toes. Uncaring of our audience, I brush a kiss to his lips.

My shoulders sag, and I blow out a breath as I turn to face Mercer again. “I can help with reconnaissance and lend you whatever you need.”

Nodding, my brother edges closer to me. “Lou, I need you to promise that you’ll stay out of this. If something happens to me—”

“Nothing is going to happen to you.” My stomach braids itself into a cold, tight knot, and I shake my head, my shoulders set in defiance.

“If something happens to me,” he repeats, “do not seek revenge on my behalf.”

I blink at my brother and shake my head sternly. “I can’t promise that.” He’s lost the plot if he thinks I’ll agree to that.

“Yes, you can. Promise me, Lou…please.”

My brother has never begged me for anything. Ever. Not even when he asked me to go to prison for him. This means something to him. The weight of that word pierces my armor, and I fold like a house of cards.

“I promise,” I vow, even though it physically hurts to form those two words.

Next, Mercer whips his attention to Sean with a hard glint in his eye. “You, too. No vengeance on Lou’s behalf. There’s no loophole for this.”

I clench my teeth so my jaw doesn’t drop. It’s infuriating that my brother knows me so well, but not enough for me to get too miffed. Sean nods without hesitation.

“When are you going through with this, Mercer?” Jace inquires. “Because you still look like you got hit by a Humvee…no offense.” Valid point.

“Two weeks. According to his schedule over the last several months—at least before I got thrown in prison—he’s always home the first week of the month. Could I get access to your weapons?”

“Of course.” I nod. He’ll be fine. He can handle this…right? I swallow my anxiety and direct my next question to Viktor. “Are you staying?”

He glances at his watch. I don’t need to see the time to know it’s late. He scans the wall again, and if I had to guess, he’s considering the myriad of ways Mercer’s plans might implicate the Bratva.

He doesn’t comment on that. “Sure, but only tonight. Sasha will go into cardiac arrest if I’m here longer than that.”

“Since when can Sasha not handle things on his own?” I ask, leaning against a solid wall of muscle.

Viktor snorts. “Oh, the business isn’t the issue. It’s that single-parenting Kazi is a struggle for him. Things have been…difficult for Kazi. The lights are on all the time, and he’s picking at his food like a fucking bird. Sasha and I started trading off, sleeping in the chair in his bedroom, but watching him pace all night has been wearing on all of us.”

Sean stiffens as his fingers flex against my hip instinctively. I know he’s wrestling with his guilt, but we’re all carrying baggage from that island.

Vik must sense Sean’s discomfort because he states easily, “Kaz will be alright with some time.”

I smile at him gratefully.

There’s a dull ache behind my ribcage when I realize that he’s really my only friend now.

“What caliber are you thinking of using?” Honey Eyes asks my brother, and as I listen to them interact, it hits me that I suppose Viktor isn’t my only friend. The glimmer of hope is nearly enough to eclipse the concern I have for my brother.

Sean

“Sean, I’m not ready for bed yet,” Lou complains as I lead her into our bedroom, closing the door behind us with a snick.

The busted bedframe was a lost cause, and I cleaned up the pieces this afternoon. With our mattress pushed against the wall, beneath the window that’s covered in frost and snow, it leaves the rest of the bedroom clear, save for the weapons I dropped in here earlier, a lone wooden stool, toolbox, the eyebolt I screwed to the ceiling, and a small cardboard box I filled with everything I’d need. It didn’t take me nearly as long as I thought it would to get things set up.

“Good.” The squint she levels me with is filled to the brim with diagnostic curiosity, her full lips pressed together. “Undress and sit on the stool.”

She lifts a single dark eyebrow, her face brightening at the suggestion. I should probably be embarrassed by how hard I am already, and she’s only begun to strip.

Her back is to me when I grip the back of my T-shirt and yank it over my head, then reach into my pocket and pull out the olive-green mesh mask I nabbed from the dead soldier at Ex-I and yank it over my head. It smells like the detergent I washed it in, but it reminds me of the way I’d string Lou up in the playpen. I was meant to be torturing her—and I did—but she tortured me right back.

Now naked, Louhi’s perched on the three-legged stool in the middle of the space. Her eyes flare with heat, and she bites her lip as she takes me in, her gaze lingering on the mask. Then, the little fucking minx smirks at me, her feminine, toned legs swinging gently amid the rungs.