A Worthy Opponent (Wicked Villains 3)

Still, he hesitates.

So I go in for the kill. “Did you mean it when you said you wanted a partner in full?”

Hook tenses, already knowing where I’m going with this. “Don’t start that shit.”

I steamroll right over him. “Either I’m your partner, or I’m not. Either you want a true future with us, or you still see me as some damsel to be saved and locked up for my own good. There’s no gray area here. It’s one or the other.”

“You can’t just logic your way out of this, Tink.”

“Watch me.” I drop my hands, but he laces his fingers through mine, maintaining contact. “Answer the question.”

He curses long and hard, and I stand still, waiting him out. It’s not fun to be painted into a corner, and he’s entitled to feeling pissed. There was a time in my life when this wave of anger would make me flinch, would send me back several steps to ensure I’m out of reach. Maybe it still would with a different person, but though Hook may be loud as hell with every single one of his emotions, he’d cut off his hands before he touched me in anger.

I didn’t flinch when we fought in the kitchen, either.

Acknowledging that feels like sliding home the final piece of a puzzle I didn’t realize I was building.

Finally his shoulders drop the barest amount. “I’m not letting you out of my sight.”

“Okay.”

“There will be three teams on your location, all from different directions.”

“Sure.”

“The second we have him off the streets, I move in and handle it. You don’t play the hero, and you stay the hell out of my way and as far from him as you can manage.”

I squeeze his hands and give him a confident smile that I don’t feel. “I promise.”

Another of those world-weary sighs. “Then let’s get this shit rolling and over with. The sooner, the better.”

I only hope this won’t end up being the worst mistake of my life.

Chapter 26

Hook

I never should have agreed to this. Watching Tink walk away from me, her ponytail swinging in the bleak morning light, I can’t shake the feeling that I’m never going to see her again. That we flew too close to the sun when we dared strive for happiness.

“She’ll be fine.”

I don’t look at my cousin. Nigel has been saying some variation of the same thing since I begrudgingly agreed to this shitty plan. The fact that it was my plan originally makes no difference. It’s shitty. End of story.

Tink turns the corner and moves out of sight. “Let’s go.”

“Not yet.” He steps half in front of me, forcing me to a stop. “We have three teams on her. She’s won’t be out of sight at any point during this. But you need to be out of sight. Peter won’t strike if he thinks you’ll be there to counter.”

He’s right. I hate that he’s right.

I force several deep breaths into my lungs. It does nothing to dispel the feeling of impending doom. “We’ll take a parallel route.”

Nigel hesitates, but he must realize that this is the only option that will keep my head on straight. “Let’s go.”

Tink’s route isn’t exactly random. She’s heading to a little fabric boutique that’s been owned by the same family since before either of us were born. They paid their dues to stay out of Peter’s mess, and they’ve done the same with me, though I lowered the rates. My goal isn’t to drive my people’s businesses into the ground. It never was.

We move at a decent pace, and Nigel keeps his phone in his hand as a stream of texted updates come in. Nothing yet. No sign of Peter.

The farther we get from my core territory, the worse the feeling of something about to go terribly wrong. We’re well outside the main patrols I have scheduled, though my men do regular checks through the entire territory. Not regular enough to keep Peter out, though, which is why we’re in this mess to begin with.

We keep walking, and half my attention is on Nigel. Every half block or so, he shakes his head. No Peter.

Where the hell is the bastard?

We turn a corner, mirroring Tink’s path. The buildings this far out haven’t gotten the face-lifts of the ones closer to the center of the territory. It’s a never-ending project, trying to keep everyone above water, and the money flows in fits and starts. In another five years, there won’t be buildings falling down, and the only shady shit happening in alleys will be sanctioned by me. We’re not there yet, and this street only drives that fact home. Bars on windows. Everything feeling a little grungy, as if covered in a layer of dirt.

We’re close to where the line between my influence and Peter’s is blurred. My steps slow without my intending them to. “Nigel.”