And I Love You the Most (This Love Hurts 3)

“There are loose ends that need to be tied off. Let’s focus on that.” My tone isn’t cold but regardless, Riggins’s expression is less than pleasant. It appears he’s reluctant to nod in agreement but he does.

Not wasting any time, I focus on the bastards who dared get between myself and Delilah and tell him, “All of Herman’s team needs to be executed.”

For the second time in the past few days, my ever-faithful companion objects. “Sir, if he’s gone, then the connection to Talvery—”

“Do it.” I leave no room for negotiation and reaffirm my position of superiority. “Someone else will fill the void and we’ll nurture that connection. The next meet for Talvery’s gun pickup is next week, isn’t it?”

Although I already know the answer, Riggins confirms it and judging by his tone, he can guess what I have planned. “Send Herman’s crew to the same location. Let them clash over it.”

Ripping the two halves of the ripe peach apart, I take my time slicing the delicate flesh, remembering how it all piled together. Every failure, every error I made that caused harm to bystanders like Riggins. I was able to help Charlie and bring him in close, but others felt the collateral damage of plays like the one I’m about to make. Mass murders of rivals meeting on trading grounds. There’s a reason I have a reputation, and it’s because I determine who lives and dies. There are so many bystanders, though: loved ones of those who will be taken from them forever and, like in this case, the unknowing individuals who do my bidding. The ones who were in the wrong place at the wrong time.

These are sacrifices that must be made, though. One beast will kill the other and if it’s Herman’s crew who survives, I’ll find another way to end them. Either way, their days are numbered simply because they worked for the men who hurt Delilah. They’ll all be buried ten feet deep before the winter is done with us.

“I am begging you to reconsider. They have ties that—”

“Every last one of them will die. Either by the supplier’s crew or Talvery will end them when he discovers the mix-up.”

“This doesn’t solve the problem with the cops and—” Riggins’s concern and hurried pleas are exasperating.

“I’ll take care of pinning all that on someone who the cops already suspect. It will clean up this mess.”

“Someone they already suspect?” he questions.

“You don’t need to concern yourself with it. I’ll send it all over by the end of the day.” I’m deliberately short with him, but before he ends the call, I add, “Thank you.”

It’s easy to see the small bit of gratitude in the slight lift of his smirk. “Any time, sir. Is there anything else?”

“You’re certain it was only Brass and Herman who took her. No one else helped?” I ask again. It must be the third time I’ve asked in the past twenty-four hours. I’ll question it a million times looking for someone to punish whenever I’m reminded of what happened to Delilah.

“It’s confirmed. Yes. Only those who are dead, and those we’re going to send to their execution.”

“Very well,” I comment and then end the call.

I finish preparing Delilah’s breakfast and when I bring it to her, she’s quiet but receptive. Silence is draped between us. After setting the plate down next to her, I sit on the other end of the bed, taking small pieces of the cut peach from her plate and watching her.

The questions are simple, both of our tones feigning a casualness that I sure as fuck don’t feel: How do you feel? Did you sleep all right?

My skin blazes with both embarrassment from my confession last night and the vulnerability in this moment. I don’t miss that when I look up at her, she steers her gaze another direction and that I’m doing the same.

She doesn’t dare bring up what happened, but she certainly looks at me differently. It brings her touch back to me, though, the longing in her eyes and the absence of every defense she threw at me yesterday.

It’s difficult to forgive an all-powerful god—or a devil, for that matter. It’s far easier to have compassion for a mere mortal. For a damaged fuck like me.

Our fingers brush against one another when we both reach for a slice of fruit. Her simper is rewarded with a pleasant rumble I can’t control. It comes from deep in my chest where it’s still warm and safe for her. The insecurity of where we are now is irrelevant. It’s like a dark room meant for safekeeping. A hiding place, perhaps.

I wonder if she has a place like that, somewhere inside of her, where she could store all of my secrets, all the hideousness and memories I wish I could walk away from and the stories I’d rather rewrite altogether. But in that same place, a little fire sparks when her hand brushes mine and she sees me smile. I wonder if that place exists for everyone, or if it’s just something I have for her.