Page 162 of Shattered Altar (Makarova Bratva Duet)

“No,” I say immediately.

“I wish I could say the same.”

“It’s my fault. I should have pulled you out sooner.”

“You tried,” she points out. “I’m the one who told you I had things under control. It was one year. Who knew it would go that far?”

“You were too good at your job.”

She takes another sip, her eyes softening with memories that I know she hasn’t shared with me. She probably never will, either.

And that’s okay. The games we play in this life are lethal. If they don’t kill us entirely, they at least kill a piece of our souls.

I’m starting to see all the pieces Jennifer has lost.

She’s not going to be able to do this for much longer. I know that now. Another few years, tops. It’ll be a knives-out fight to get her to see that reality—but then again, I’ve always loved a good fight.

“I just need a few days here,” she tells me. “Then I’ll be back in the field.”

“I know.”

“I’ll make sure to avoid her.”

I shrug. “That’s up to you.”

She fixes me with a haunted gaze. “I’ll have to explain, Aleks. If I meet her, I’ll have to explain. I’ll have to tell her what I did… to Isabella. And I can’t do that.”

“You can. You just don’t want to.”

She closes her eyes for a moment. “Who would have thought, huh? All the shit I’ve been through, and this is what fucking breaks me. I thought I was immune to emotion.”

“All of us succumb to it.”

She lifts her head and raises her eyebrows at me. “Even you?”

I scoff. “I’m the exception.”

Once again, the voice in my head tolls out ominously.

Liar.

Liar.

Liar.

Jennifer arches her brow once more, as if she can hear that damn voice ringing in my head like a bell. “Yeah, we’ll see about that.”

The silence stretches on for a few minutes. I watch her carefully. I see the way her jaw stays locked tight like a steel trap. The way her knee bounces frenetically. The way she adjusts the rings on one finger again and again and again.

She is suffering.

Maybe she doesn’t have a few years left in this world after all.

“Do you love what you do, Jennifer?” I ask suddenly. She opens her mouth to reply right away, but I hold up a finger to make her pause. “Think about it before you answer.”

Her frown deepens and she is quiet for a long moment. Then: “It… it’s all I’ve ever known.”

“We’ll find something else for you to do.”

“Like what?” she asks defensively.

“Live, Jen,” I tell her softly. “You’ll finally get to live.”

She tilts the glass to her lips, drains it once more, and then unwinds off the couch to head for the bar again.

“How about this?” she says over her shoulder. “I’ll start living my life when you do.”

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