Page 45 of Wild Card (The Trident Trilogy 3)

Mason, Rome, Italy 2020

As I head down to the courtyard, I can’t get the image of Millie out of my mind—lying on the couch, her teary green eyes shining up at me. All I want to do is curl up with her and protect her from reality—from everything. I almost turn around, but I promised the guys I’d have a beer with them, so I continue down the stairs.

“Where’s Mills?” Butch says as I walk outside. He and Hawk are stretched out on lounge chairs, drinking Peronis.

“She’s sprawled out just like you, but on the couch upstairs. She’s been really tired lately.”

“Well, it’s not from the amount of work we’ve done here,” Hawk says, laughing. “This has been the easiest mission of my career. I could get used to it.”

“You only have six months until you retire,” I laugh. “This is probably what the rest of your life’s going to look like anyway. Do you know what your plans are yet?”

“No idea, man.” Hawk sighs. “My daughter’s living out in Vegas now. I’ve got no reason to stay in Virginia. Who knows? Maybe I’ll join you out in California. How about you, Butch? Are you going back to Georgia?”

“Naw,” he says as he takes a long draw on this beer. “Georgia’s done for me. After what we’ve seen and done for the past couple decades, it’s hard to go home.”

“Well, you’re both welcome out in San Diego. We’ve got a nice little community going out there.”

“Maybe Millie can get us some more of these cushy assignments as freelancers,” Butch laughs. “I feel like the only thing missing is a woman feeding me grapes—”

That’s when we hear the gunshot—just one—coming from upstairs where Millie’s sleeping on the couch. Within seconds, we have our pistols drawn and are charging up the stairs. When I bust through the door, I see Millie on the floor on top of a man. She’s wrestling with him—trying to get a gun out of his hand. I don’t have a clear shot.

Millie jerks her head around when she hears us come in. Instead of rolling off him, she spreads her body fully out on top of him.

“Don’t shoot him!” she screams. “Don’t shoot him. He’s not going to hurt me.”

Butch and Hawk have already fanned out to the sides of the room. “Hawk, you got a shot?” I say as I keep my gun raised. I still don’t have a clear shot around Millie.

“Yep, just tell me when,” Hawk says.

“Amar,” Millie says quietly. “Let go of the gun. These guys will kill you. Please. Think about your kids. Think about me.”

Amar looks up at her—his eyes dazed. He takes a deep, shaky breath and slowly loosens his grip on the gun. Butch jumps toward them and snatches the gun out of Amar’s hand. I grab Millie around the waist and pull her away as Hawk lands on top of Amar.

I press Millie a little too roughly against the wall. “What the fuck were you thinking? You know we come into these rooms hot. Don’t you ever put yourself between me and an armed man again! Do you understand me? I could have shot you, Millie.”

Her eyes tear up immediately when she hears the booming, angry tone in my voice. I take a deep breath and pull her into a hug. “Mills, it’s okay. I’m sorry I yelled at you,” I say more softly. She’s crying harder now—making little sobbing noises. It’s tearing me apart. “Baby, I was just scared. I’m sorry. Okay? God, I could have shot you. Never do that again. Please. Promise me.”

She nods her head against my chest. I know I should probably make her vocalize the promise, but she’s crying so hard. The guilt’s exploding through my body. I’ve never made her cry. Not once. In fact, since I’ve known her, I’ve only seen her cry a couple of times. But since we got back from Pakistan, she tears up at everything. I thought it was because her dad was back, but I’m beginning to think there’s more to it.

“Mase, we need to call the local police,” Butch says.

“No, not yet.” Millie pulls back from me—tears still falling down her cheeks. “I need to talk to Amar—”

“Not happening,” I say as gently as I can. I block her from Amar who’s now sitting on the couch with his hands cuffed behind him. Hawk’s towering over him.

“Mase, I need to talk to him. You know why.” She’s looking up at me. Her eyes are so upset. “You can stay in the room—guns drawn, if necessary. Just give me a little space. I have to know.”

I nod. “Hawk, position yourself across the room. If he so much as looks at her wrong, take him out. Butch, find Raine. She went to the guest house when we got back.”

I escort Millie over to the couch. She sits down facing him. I sit in the chair right next to them. Millie looks up at me.

“You can have exactly five feet of space. That’s it.” I’m waiting for her to challenge me. She doesn’t.

She looks back at Amar. “Amar,” she says softly. “Why were you trying to kill yourself?”

“I deserve to die after what I did to your mom—to you.” He looks down.

“What did you do?”

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