Page 39 of Hemlock

I spin to face Jericho as he enters the kitchen, annoyed that I didn't sense him approaching until he spoke to me.

I shake my hands out at my sides before grabbing my bottle of water from the counter just to have something to do with my hands.

He stands on the far side of the room, his eyes assessing me. When he moves to walk toward the sink, I think I'm in the clear, but leave it to the man who hardly ever wants to speak to choose today as the day he feels the need for a chat.

"I got tangled up in some shit a few years back," he says as he squirts dishwashing liquid in his hand before turning on the faucet. "The cartel leader was testing me. He wanted to know if I was willing to do anything he demanded of me. If I think about it hard enough, I can still feel a hint of the euphoria I felt with that first line of coke."

Wordlessly, I stare at his back, but he doesn't speak again until he grabs a few paper towels and turns to face me as he dries his hands.

"I was at the height of addiction when Ace pulled me."

I glare at him, jaw clenched, but he doesn't speak again.

"Cool story, bro," I mutter, planning to turn and leave, but he continues.

"My point is that if you're in the shit too deep, it's better to let him know now, rather than risk your spot on the team."

"I'm not an addict," I snap, but there's a part of those words that feels like a complete lie.

"He won't fire you. He'll send you to treatment, make sure you're okay before going back out in the field."

"I'm not—"

"There's no shame," he continues, ignoring my response. "They ask a lot of us, and they know we're put in some pretty fucked-up situations at times. They know there will be times when we have to break the law to stay alive. We aren't exactly dealing with good people, man."

I fight the urge to wrap my fist around his throat at the implication that there's anything wrong with Zara, but I maintain enough control to understand he isn't purposely trying to insult her.

"I appreciate your concern," I manage in an even tone. "But I'm not addicted to drugs."

He tilts his head to the side, the scar on his face running straight up and down as he stares at me. "That's too bad."

I scoff, a humorless sound that seems to echo around the kitchen. "That's bad?"

He nods. "Because it means the alternative is true. You fell for your mark, and that shit will get you kicked off the team."

His words hit me like a ton of bricks, and I find it more than a little difficult to pull in a full breath.

"I'm not in love with her," I argue, and for the most part, I believe that to be true.

I think I'm a little obsessed with the way she makes me feel, how her proximity calms the poison running through my head long enough that I'm granted a few moments of peace, but love?

Not a fucking chance.

Men like me aren't capable of love, and if we were, we'd easily destroy it because it makes us weak.

"Besides," I barter. "She isn't a part of whatever might be going on with Wilkinson."

"No?" He shakes his head, looking at me like he has a right to be disappointed in me. "Because you believe every word that has come out of her mouth?"

"She has no reason to lie to me."

I still never got to the bottom of why she was sobbing in my arms last night. There's definitely something going on with her, and I pray it isn't fucking guilt because she is somehow involved with criminal activities.

I still can't get the gun out of my head, and now I regret leaving it where I left it in her bedside table. I figured she might honestly need it for protection, but what if that's not the only reason she has it?

"No lies between you? She thinks your name is Owen Clark, remember? What you think you might have with her isn't real. You need to remember that, Hemlock. The entire thing is one big fucking lie."

He walks away before I can argue further. As the front door slams behind him, I realize, I don't have a leg to stand on. He told nothing but facts. I can't argue that she has no reason to lie when that's all I've been doing to her.

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