Page 91 of Ravaged Soul
“Protect her or protect yourself?”
“Rip…”
“She’s far from vulnerable,” Ripley points out. “If Ember knows her own mind, you damn well better respect that. She’s an adult.”
“An adult embroiled in an international criminal investigation with stakes higher than any of us signed up for!”
“Yeah, whatever. What’s really the problem?”
“We’re all falling apart, Rip,” I admit after a beat. “It’s my job to keep our team safe.”
“Safe or controlled?”
“Stop with the closed questions already. I know you learned that shit from me.”
“You always asked open-ended questions, actually.” She grins while sipping her drink.
“Bloody smartass.”
“Cut the shit. Why are you here?”
My aching fist balls, thudding on the hollow expanse of my prosthetic. “Because I just beat the shit out of the criminal my girl was tongue-fucking, and now she won’t speak to me.”
The quiet thud draws Ripley’s eyes down to the carbon fibre limb I keep covered. As shadows dance over her face, I know she’s remembering the accident that took my leg from me. She was there too. It’s one of many shitty memories we share.
“I don’t know what to do.” I sigh.
“Was it consensual?” She looks up at me. “The kiss.”
“Apparently.”
“And are you exclusive with this girl?”
Unease churns through me. “Not exactly. It’s complicated.”
“Then she’s done nothing wrong, and you need to check your jealousy before you lose her for good. Ember spent years being held against her will. She’s allowed to explore.”
“Not if it risks her safety!”
“We’re all vulnerable,” Ripley argues. “We all get hurt. Nothing you or anyone can do will ever stop that from happening.”
“So what the hell am I supposed to do?”
“Get in the boat, or let it sail away without you.”
Not fucking happening.
“And if I don’t want it to sail away?” Frustration thickens my voice.
“Then you best be good at grovelling to barter your way onboard. If one of my guys tried that shit, I’d break their fucking kneecaps for presuming to tell me what I can do with my own body.”
“Well, shit.” I slurp another mouthful of liquor. “You got all grown up and smart. When did that happen?”
“Shut up, Langley.”
“Whatever.”
With years’ worth of emotional baggage between us, she matches my smile. The shared trauma of that case bonded me to Ripley and her men for life but also earned me their friendship. I should never take it for granted.
