Page 239 of Fearless

“Because she destroys people. That’s what she does. And I don’t want you within fifty miles of the bitch.”

“She can’t destroy me,” she said, shaking her head. “And she can’t change the way I see you.”

He took a deep breath. “But it could make you rethink having kids. You won’t want a baby that’s related to her, not after you know…everything.”

Channeling her mother, she gathered one of his big hands up in both of hers and squeezed. “Mercy. Sweetheart. Trust me – your mother isn’t part of the equation. Let me be there for you. I think you need it.”

He glanced away, swallowing. She saw his grandfather in his profile, the handsome Frenchman who’d claimed some distant relation to a French lord. She saw his grandmother in the harsh line of his mouth. Quietly, he said, “Dee’s where the rage comes from. I get that from her.”

“And that rage has kept you alive. And protected the people you love.”

Awful attempt at a smile. “Not all of them, though, not all of them.”

He was on his feet again, going to the bed and falling back across it, staring up at the ceiling.

Ava sighed and started packing his memories away. This had been a bad idea. One she wished she could take back.

“I need to clean your shoulder,” she said, dying for a safe topic.

“It’s fine.”

“Nuh-uh. Shirt off, please.” She stood and stowed the box on top of the desk in the window, and went to the kitchen for the first aid supplies. When she went to the bed, she was thankful to see that he’d complied, sitting up, and shirtless.

She set the alcohol and bandages on the quilt and peeled back the tape on the old covering. She frowned. “This should look better than this by now.”

Its edges were red and oozy still, little broken red vessels moving out away from the wound beneath the skin. The bullet hole had a dark look to it that she didn’t like.

“It doesn’t hurt,” he said.

“Liar.” His skin twitched as she ran her finger around the outside of the wound. “It hurts like a bitch.” On impulse, she pressed her hand to his forehead. “You don’t have a fever, do you?”

He looked insulted. “Yeah, but it’s not up there.” He plucked her hand up and moved it, pressing it over the fly of his jeans. “That’s the only place that’s overheated, baby.”

She wasn’t in the mood for cheap come-ons. She pulled her hand away, and picked up the alcohol. “Nice try. I’m still worried about this. It just looks…raggedy.”

“How scientific, Dr. Lécuyer. Prescribe me something.”

“Smartass.” But she was smiling. “At least let me clean it out.”

“Do I get a treat if I do?”

“Yes.”

“That bastard.” Ghost flicked his cigarette away across the dark yard. As dry as the grass was, it’d probably smoke a little hole in the turf, and Maggie would chew him out.

“He swore,” Aidan said, rolling his eyes, “that he was nearby, and responded to the 9-1-1 call. Knows nothing about Jace or that girl or Andre, he swears.” He snorted. “You shoulda seen the sweat pouring down his face.”

“Like he’s not pulling Jace’s strings,” Collier said with disgust. “I kept Andre’s phone. He got a text, someone asking about ‘the other one.’ Now we know it’s Jace.”

Ghost couldn’t remember ever having a headache this bad. It was like screws in his temples, an awful pressure that compressed his skull. There wasn’t enough whiskey in the world to dull it. “So.” He lit another smoke to have something to do with his hands. “Fielding knows we know. He’ll take Jace into custody to keep him safe. What about the girl?” He shot a glance to his son.

Aidan shook his head. “I was gonna have to break in to get to her.”

“So?”

“So?” He bowed up his back, a little daring show of rebellion. “What was I supposed to do? Kill her? Jace is our rat. She’s not important.”

Ghost frowned. He didn’t like loose ends. “Where’s Greg?” They didn’t need one more liability.

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