Page 35 of Bear Strength

“I…” I start, but it’s difficult to continue.

“Danica…” he leans over the table, his hands pressed against mine. “What are you afraid of?”

The shadow of my past hangs over us, and it hangs low. So low I can almost touch it. It can almost taint the life I’ve started to build for myself and my son here. I can’t let that happen. I have to make it go away, and I’m starting to realize that I can’t do it on my own.

“I’m afraid something will happen to Dominick while he’s with you,” I whisper, biting my lower lip.

Saying it out loud makes it even more frightening, and I need to suffocate a gasp.

“Because we’re drug dealers?” he asks, softly.

His hands are still on mine. They are warm, slightly calloused. The hands of a real man. The hands he would only puton a woman in a way that would make her tremble with love and passion, not tremble with fear.

“Yes,” I whisper again.

He smiles, releasing a sigh. I don’t understand. Why is all this so amusing to him? A part of me feels a little insulted, but I don’t show it. I don’t pull my hands away from his. His touch feels too good.

“I will share a secret with you,” he tells me.

My heart starts to race, pounding loudly inside of me. Do I even want to know this secret? What will it do to me? Don’t I have enough secrets of my own? But, I say nothing. I wait, patiently, my heart drumming to the sound of his breathing.

“Your kid’s grown on me,” he says. “I think he’s grown on us all. He’s the reason I will tell you what not many people know.” He pauses, allowing me to nod. “We aren’t drug dealers. We aren’t guns dealers either.”

He says it so gravely that it’s hard to doubt anything he says. I wait a moment or two, allowing this newfound truth to sink in. Slowly, I pull my hands back. I feel like this is the worst moment to do this, but I don’t want him to think I’m falling for him. Despite the fact that I very well may be, but I still don’t want him to think that he can charm me into believing something that’s not true.

I rest my hands in my lap, not taking my eyes off of him. His square jaw seems darker now, the little hairs have grown into a bush now. His lips are still visible, now pressing tightly against each other. Is he nervous? Does he feel vulnerable opening up before me? I can’t read a single thing about him. I guess he’s had enough practice hiding his true face from the world. I wish I had, too.

“People assumed it, and we just let them believe it,” he continues. “It’s easier to control them. If you want to maintain control, just use fear. It never fails.”

I swallow heavily, feeling my throat getting parched. But, I have no desire for that coffee in front of me. I want to hear more. I need to hear more.

“What we really do is trade in ancient artefacts.”

His confession hits me like a ton of bricks. That’s the last thing I ever expected him to tell me.

“Ancient artefacts?” I repeat, trying to persuade myself that I actually did hear it right the first time.

“Yes,” he nods, leaning back in his chair. He takes a deep breath, and I see his chiseled chest rise in the tight t-shirt he’s wearing. “We get our hands on it, and we sell it on the Dark Web to the highest bidder. Now, sometimes, rarely, but still happens sometimes, we send some of these artefacts to museums and galleries across the world, free of charge and without the package being traced in any way. It soothes the conscience a little, I guess.”

He leans forward again and takes a sip of his coffee. A little bit of foam remains on the tip of his upper lip, and he licks it off a moment later.

“Now, as for how we come across it,” he says, scratching the back of his head, “it’s different. Sometimes we find it, just lying around. You know, no one is watching it, and in that case, I take it, it’s finders keepers. Sometimes, we buy it, and make a little profit in the sales. Sometimes, we steal it. But, it’s usually some millionaire asshole who won’t even notice it’s gone.”

“Robin Hood, huh?” This is the first thing that pops to mind and I can’t refrain from sharing it.

Hearing me say it, he chuckles a little.

“Something like that, yeah.”

“So, let me get this straight,” I shake my head. “You actually want people around here to think you’re drug dealers and you kill people if they even look at you the wrong way?”

“Like I said, it’s easier to keep things under control,” he nods, shrugging his shoulders.

“Then, you really didn’t kill Sam Michaels,” I say, not really sure if I’m just thinking out loud here.

“I told you.”

“But, you could be lying about all this,” I suddenly add.

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