Page 73 of Scarred Savages
“She’s good with people,” I agree.
“She’s good with our people,” Damien corrects. His expression hardens. “People who trust you. People who believe you have their best interests at heart.”
I lean back in my chair, meeting his stare. “I do.”
“Do you?” He tilts his head. “Because from where I’m sitting, it looks like you’ve dropped a live grenade into our home and are hoping the blast radius is controllable.”
“That’s a colorful metaphor.”
“You brought her here knowing what would happen. Knowing who would come for her.”
I don’t deny it. There’s no point.
“This plan…” He shakes his head. “This one’s going to cost us.”
“Some prices are necessary.”
“Easy for you to say when others are paying for it.” His eyes, like his brother’s but colder, harder, bore into mine. “You know I won’t protect you when this all goes to shit, right?”
“I never expected you to.”
Damien and I have known each other since we were kids. He’s seen me make hard decisions before, and he’s followed direct orders he has disagreed with. But this is different.
This involves his brother… and it involves her.
He was against this plan from the very beginning. He’s the only one who knows about it, for now.
“He’s coming,” I say finally. “Whether or not we brought her here. At least this way, we choose the battlefield.”
“And the casualties?” Damien asks, his voice dangerously soft. “Did you choose those, too? Everyone here believes this to be a sanctuary. You’re destroying everything we’ve built here.”
“I know the risks.”
“But they don’t. And she doesn’t.” He nods toward the window. “Did you tell her what she’s walking into? No, you didn’t. You just cleared her debt and let her think she was getting a fresh start by fucking our pack. That’s some fucking messed up shit.”
My silence is answer enough. Damien makes a disgusted noise in the back of his throat.
“That’s what I thought.” He moves toward the door, pausing with his hand on the knob. “When it comes down to it, you’ll have to choose. And if that choice puts Oli or her in danger—.” He doesn’t finish the threat. He doesn’t need to.
“I understand,” I say, and I do. If our positions were reversed, I’d make the same threat.
“Good.” He opens the door and then looks back at me one last time. “She also made cookies with Mrs. Hendricks today. Chocolate chip. The old woman was smiling—actually smiling—for the first time since her grandson died.” His expression is unreadable. “Just so you know what you’re sacrificing.”
The door closes behind him with a soft click that sounds louder than if he’d slammed it.
I move back to my desk but don’t sit. My eyes fall on the photo I keep facedown in the corner: the six of us from when we were kids, when Emely was still alive.
Before she was violently killed.
Damien’s right. Luna has no idea what she’s walking into. None of them do, not really.
Either way, the choice has been made.
The plan is already in motion.
* * *
The door slams open so hard I’m surprised it stays on its hinges. Ethan storms in, his usual calm composure nowhere to be found. He’s got that look, the one that means someone’s about to get chewed out, and from the way he’s coming at me, it’s obvious who the target is.
