“COME HERE,” I ORDERED SOFTLY, resisting the urge to reach out and pull her toward me with the belt loop of her shorts. She wouldn’t want to be touched right now, and as much as I wanted the complete opposite, I could respect that.
Pride mushroomed inside my chest at the courage she refused to forfeit. It’d be so easy to bury her head in the sand, to take the money and fortune Wonderland had provided her with and go about her life. Between her one thousand a night party rate, and the generous tips she’d received from our wealthy clients, I knew Alex had to be sitting on five figures in extra cash flow at this point in the game.
But she was stubborn in her risk-taking, confident in the path life had laid out for her, and happy to live with the consequences of her own making, even if they were less desirable than those of someone else’s creation.
The ability to keep your mouth shut and your ears closed was what made a good soldier. But the endless, unbreakable curiosity and ferocity that Alex had—they were what made a good leader.
She was willing to take chances, take risks, and that said a lot about her internal strength. And when the day arrived where her subtle naïveté was replaced by wisdom and life experiences, Alex Little would light the world ablaze.
“Take a seat,” I directed. She did as asked, if cautiously, and hoisted herself up to the barstool on the other side of my kitchen island, settling her palms on the surface of the counter in front of her. White mottled the tips of her fingers as they flexed into the elaborately patterned stone.
“What happened to Vinnie Pat?” she asked directly, staring at his ugly face and the imperfect smear of ink on his cheek.
I reached out and put my fingers under the hollow of her chin, lifting it until her eyes met mine. The paradox of my already healing knuckles from teaching Moosa a hard fucking lesson and her silky, ivory skin wasn’t lost on me in that moment.
I glanced at the paper just briefly, and then back to her brilliant, turbulent eyes again. “Was he a problem?”
She furrowed her brow, a tiny wrinkle creasing the skin just above her nose. “I don’t—”
“Was he a problem?” I cut her off to reiterate, carefully emphasizing the last word with a coarseness uncharacteristic of even my often jagged voice.
She swallowed thickly and stared into the seedy eyes of a printed Vinnie Pat aimed at the ceiling of my apartment. “Yes.”
I shrugged, allowing myself a small, mischievous grin. “I fix problems.”
“You fix problems?” she asked, a hint of disbelief coloring the edges of her question a dangerous red.
God, she’s magnificent.
“Yes,” I answered simply.
“How can you be so callous about it?” she questioned with both curiosity and complaint. Both were expected, but she surprised me with the percentage of composition. There was far more inquisitiveness in her voice than derision.
“I’m not a bad man, Alex,” I explained patiently. “But sometimes, under very particular circumstances, I have to ask myself, ‘What would a bad man do?’”
“What would a bad man do?”
“Yes,” I confirmed.
“What would the bad man have done this time, Matt?” Each word flowed smoothly into the next, no hesitation, no fear, no regrets.
“Exactly what I did.” I turned the paper around and pushed it to the space right in front of her. She lifted her hands from the counter as though it might burn to the touch, her breathing circulating faster and faster with each inhale.
She scanned the lines of text for several moments before lifting her eyes to mine once more. “Won’t the drug cartel miss him?”
The corners of my mouth carried my smile all the way to my resolute gaze. “Who says he wasn’t a problem for them too?”
Wide and innocent, her eyes doubled from their normal size.
“Are you saying you know…that you…are you—”
“I’m not saying anything, Alex. And believe me, if you’re the smart girl I think you are, you won’t be saying anything either. Do you understand me?”
She nodded, but I could see her still-racing mind. She had more questions. Riveted, I watched and waited, wondering if she’d find the words to ask them.
Her mouth opened and closed, then repeated that movement three more times.
But then, that fire. I saw the exact moment it lit behind her eyes, the vivid aqua turning even brighter.
“Is Mike involved with Wonderland?”
“Yes.”
“Is he even a real landlord?”
I shook my head.
“Vinnie Pat. Mike. Being relocated to your building. It was all connected?”
“What do you think?”
She worried her teeth into her lip before shifting off her stool and stumbling a little as she took to her feet. She glanced to the door and back to me nervously. “I think I should go now.”
Shaking from the top of her blond head to her red-tipped toes, she stood there, her gaze unwaveringly locked to mine as she waited. For permission, for an ugly fate, or something else, I didn’t know.
All I knew was that she was extraordinarily brave, and I, despite all reason suggesting I should be otherwise, was wholly beguiled by her.
“Go on then, little one,” I allowed. She moved quickly to the door, her gait that of a walk but her speed somehow that of a jog. I waited for her hand to surround the cool metal of the door handle before calling her attention back. “Remember what I’ve said, yes?”
It was both a threat and an entreaty. For, as much her life undoubtedly meant to her, I was finding it was coming to mean a great deal to me as well. She wouldn’t change who I was. But the bloodstains her demise would leave on my hands would endure after a lifetime of washing. Fuck, I’d never feel clean again.
She jerked her head to a nod just once, the tendrils of her hair sweeping out in front of her, only to land peacefully on her shoulders once again. I watched the whirl of her weight as she pivoted on the ball of her foot and threw the door open to escape, waiting for the crack of the slamming door to finalize her departure. But the sound never came, Cal’s hand instead shooting out to ease the door to a stop and send it careening back the other direction so that he could step inside.
It clicked closed nearly inaudibly behind him, but though quiet, the noise transfixed me.
My chest tight with unease, a feeling I rarely allowed, I stared at the place she’d been and hoped this wasn’t the last time I got to touch her gently.
“Matt,” Cal called impatiently from the other side of the bar. The severity of his scowl suggested it wasn’t the first time he’d called my name.
“Yeah?”
“What happened?”
I shook my head, trying to think clearly enough to make smart decisions.
“Matt.”
“Have someone follow her,” I ordered.
“What?”
Instead of punishing him for questioning me, I paid attention. I could use his concern.
“No. You follow her.”
“Me?”
“Yes,” I gritted. “Now.”
“For how long?”
“I’ll fucking tell you when to stop, goddammit,” I snapped. “Follow her. Don’t let her know you are, and don’t do anything other than pay attention. Anything you’re unsure about, you call me.”
“Yes, sir,” Cal finally agreed, stalking to the door angrily.
There’s the slam I was waiting for.
Hands to the counter, I let my weight sink into them and my head fall back. After a few minutes, vivid images of Alex’s challenging light and hard-fought affection for me flashing through my mind, I suppressed any last traces of worry.
I didn’t need to.
My Alex would pass the test.