Page 80 of Dirty Game
She nods, stands, and clears the table. The whole thing feels staged, like we’re actors in a play neither of us wanted to audition for.
She lingers by the sink, running water over her hands long after the dishes are clean.
When she finally leaves for the bedroom, I stay in the kitchen.
Pour a drink. Two, then three. The burn doesn’t register.
I watch her silhouette move through the hallway—pause at my door, then continue to the guest room.
I wait until the booze has numbed my mind. Then I walk the perimeter of the safehouse, checking locks, setting alarms, making sure every line of defense is armed and ready.
She’s asleep when I check on her. Curled into a coma, clutching the pillow like it might save her life.
I watch for a minute, long enough to see her breathing steady, her hands unclench.
I could stand here all night, memorizing the way she fits into my world. But there are too many threats now. Too many ways this can end.
I leave her door cracked, just enough to hear if she screams.
Back in my own room, I stare at the ceiling. I picture Sienna—alive, defiant, plotting her next move.
I picture the boy, mine. I picture Kazimir, and all the ways I’m going to take him apart.
But most of all, I picture Rosalynn, asleep and unguarded, trusting me not to ruin her.
In the dark, I make a promise I know I can’t keep.
It’s all going to burn.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Rosalynn
Four days.
It’s been four days since we returned from the safe house.
Two days since Korrin—Varrick's brother, I learned—dealt with the Corsini problem in a way that left Luigi with a permanent limp and Paulie missing three fingers.
The message was clear: touch what belongs to Varrick Bane, and you'll be lucky if you only lose digits.
The story Jensen told me was brutal, vulgar, and downright insane.
Korrin had walked into the Corsini compound alone, dressed in an expensive suit like he was attending a business meeting.
Twenty minutes later, he walked out with blood on his cuffs and their submission secured.
Luigi would need a cane for the rest of his life, while Paulie would never properly hold a gun ever again.
And now everyone in Vancouver knew that the Bane brothers protected their own.
Still, since all of this has happened, Varrick’s barely looked at me.
He brings me coffee in the morning—two sugars, no cream, just how I like it.
He ensures I eat, watching until I've had at least half of whatever Maria prepares.
He checks my work on the financial reports, leaning over my shoulder close enough that I can smell his cologne, but never actually touches me.
