Page 40 of The Witness

“I tried to tell the girl, warn her. She was too high to listen. But Payton came unhinged at my disrespect. Later I’d find out he was high too. He attacked me with a knife. I couldn’t have planned it better. He lunged. One of The Rogues pulled out his phone to record what was happening. Watching me kick some guy’s ass was entertainment for the club guys. And they liked to record the fights. Payton was different. I fought him off, but he kept coming. It was inhuman.”

“The drugs,” she murmured.

I nodded.

I replayed the fight in my mind’s eye like a movie montage. The memory of the white-hot pain as Payton slashed open my side. The satisfying crunch of his nose when my punch connected. Payton lurching to his feet, blood pouring down his face. Coming at me like a rabid dog. The bloody knife still in his hand glinted in the light of a neon sign.

“In the end, I put a broken beer bottle through his jugular.”

Sabrina sucked a shocked breath in through her teeth. I jerked my hand free from hers.

I closed my eyes, not wanting to see her disappointment. My fist clenched around an imaginary beer bottle. The remembered sensation of hot blood spraying over my hand, my wrist, my whole arm. It had been years, but it might have been yesterday.

I’d never looked at a Bud longneck the same way after that day. The brown bottles were a ubiquitous reminder of everything I wanted to forget.

I was a killer, no way around it.

“And Smith?” she asked.

My eyes shot open. I’d gotten lost in the past and had almost forgotten the point of this shitty trip down memory lane. I stood and started moving our dinner dishes from the table back to the tray sitting on the desk. Cleaning up gave me a reason to move and stop wallowing in history.

“Come to find out an undercover cop had been in the bar watching The Rogues. I was arrested for first degree murder that night. The police tried to get me to trade information on the club for a lesser charge. Smith was in the squad room when I explained to the officers that I wouldn’t be taking any deal. It was self-defense. My loyalty and how calm I stayed while rationally explaining my position time and time again impressed him.” I remembered him lingering nearby as a detective asked me the same question over and over. At the time, I’d figured him for a lawyer with time to kill. How wrong I’d been.

“What did he do?” She turned in her chair to face me as I loaded the room service tray. Her fingers traced the tattoo on her wrist, an unconscious gesture as she considered me and my story.

“The next day, Smith had the video of the fight released to a local news station. My image was cleaned up in an artful PR campaign about a bouncer fighting off a drug-crazed criminal. He turned me into a local hero for a millisecond, getting me set free. No charges. Then he offered me a job. He’d investigated my situation and decided I was a good person to cultivate.”

“Cultivate? Like you’re a plant.” She refilled our glasses with the last of the wine and handed me the bottle to add to the tray.

“Yes. He sees most relationships as transactional. He does something for you and then you owe him. You’ll see.” I stacked the last plate from the table on the room service tray and covered it with a silver lid. Neither of us had eaten much.

“Great, something else to look forward to.” She sighed and ran her hand through her newly short, newly bleached blonde hair. I’d done the same less than an hour ago, but somehow our passionate encounter felt more distant than the bar fight. It unsettled me how much I longed to rekindle our desire and leave the past where it belonged… in the past.

“He never asks for more than you can give.” Unlike others’ relationships with Smith, Sabrina was prepaying her debt. A situation that put her in a far better place than most with dealing with the mercenary ex-spy. My situation with Smith had grown over the years into a twisted web of feelings that would take a machete to untangle. He was my boss, but so much more.

“I’ll save him a table at the opening party for Viande.” She shrugged, a sassy smile playing over her lips that lightened the oppressive mood instantly. I quashed the urge to swoop down and brush a kiss over her mouth, not sure if she would welcome it.

“I’m sure Kira will love that.” We shared a smile, and I started to reach for the overloaded tray to carry it into the hall when the phone on the desk rang.

“Hello,” I answered.

“You on board?” Gunter asked without preamble.

The thoughts of my past and Smith’s role in changing my life evaporated in an instant at Gunter’s question. Worry for Sabrina surged back to the forefront of my thoughts. I looked at her; she cocked her head, questioning who I was on the phone with.

I put a hand over the receiver. “It’s Gunter.”

She concentrated on me, leaning forward like she was straining to hear both sides of the phone call.

Time slowed down. My pause to consider Gunter’s question seemed to last for a week. I had misgivings about the plan. They coalesced into a hard lump in my chest. My answer to Gunter would commit me to a course of action that might cost Sabrina everything, including her life. If only I could scoop her up, take her to bed, and live out my every fantasy instead of risking her safety. That would be incredible, but life wasn’t about wishes; it was all cold harsh reality.

I tamped down my lust-filled thoughts and my concerns for her. The only logical course was to do what had served me best in the last decade, believe in John Smith. Hopefully, in ten more years, I would be able to live with this decision.

“I’m in,” I said.

The lump of worry hardened into a weighty responsibility that wouldn’t lighten until we were back in Miami and Sabrina was safe from Sandoval. I rubbed the knot in my trap muscle again; it had grown to twice the size since I answered the phone. Fuck me.

“Good. I knew she’d convince you. I’ll be in your room in five. We need to talk strategy.” Gunter hung up.