Amber walks back into my granddaddies shack. I push to my feet, ready to go after her and demand that she explains the guilt that I just saw in her eyes, except I’m interrupted by my phone when it rings in my pocket.

A quick glance at the screen tells me that it’s game on.

“What can I do for you?” I don’t bother with a greeting.

“I’m going to find you and then I’m going to kill you,” B screams down the phone. I hold it away from my ear and let her get her frustration at being outplayed off her chest. “No, I’m going to string those brats up in front of you both, so you can watch her while I flay them alive, and then I’m going to kill her and your parents and your nephew and everyone else you’ve ever thought fondly of in your entire life. If you hurt one hair on his head, so help me God, I’m gonna... I’m gonna...”

Once she’s run out of steam, I take control of the conversation. “You’re gonna what? You’re going to be silent like a good girl and listen. That’s what you’re going to do because you know that there’s no way for you to hurt me with me repaying the favour a thousand-fold. I have your precious doctor. I hold all the cards.”

“You’ve left your flank exposed,” she protests. “I can get to your parents and nephew quicker than you can blink. I hold the cards.”

“I have two words for you.” The poet in me pauses for dramatic effect. “Harry. Marshall.”

“He’s on my side. He’ll kill you.”

Even though she can’t see me, I shake my head. There’s a giant shit-eating grin on my face and a spring in my step as I head for the water’s edge to play my final hand. “I don’t think so. You see, I don’t care what he’s told you, but he’s not in this to help take out the obstacles in the way of you rekindling your relationship with Jax. His father died from the side effects of Centrifuge. Do you think he’s going to give a shit if I kill the man who created it?”

“I—I. No... but, you can’t. God.” B’s protests are strangled by tears. She weeps into the phone, a pitiful sound that would stoke my guilt if it was anyone but her. “How did you know?”

Bending over, I pick up a handful of rocks and skim them one at a time along the lake’s placid surface. B’s frustration at my lack of response grows, until she’s not crying anymore. Instead she snarls at me with enough venom in her voice to take down an elephant.

“I said, how did you know?”

“Have a re-read of your methods of persuasion,” I chuckle as I give her the answer she seeks—kinda. “Now, if anyone left their flank open, it was you.”

“You’re a real bastard.”

“Thank you for noticing,” I quip. “It’s one of my many charms.”

“So, what do you want?”

I pause as if I’m thinking about it.

“From you, Belinda, I want nothing.” I don’t know if it’s that the use of her full name proves the jog is really up or my easy dismissal of her as an opponent that makes her gasp. Either way it’s music to my ears. “Have Harry Marshall give me a call.”

A shiver of satisfaction runs the length of my spine when I press end call. It’s doubtful that I’ll ever get more joy from hanging up on someone, even if I live to be one-hundred and fifty.

For the moment, we are safe. The folk who live around the lake are doomsday preppers that my granddaddy befriended more than twenty years ago, and they’ve promised me that they’ll use any means possible to discourage any interlopers from finding the shack. Belinda won’t take a shot at my family if it means losing her beloved Jax. And, Mr. Harry Marshall is about to become my new best friend once I work out the full reason why he’s teamed up with our resident She-Devil to take down Centrifuge.

I’m that happy, I could dance—and I don’t dance. Ever.

The celebrations will need to be postponed until later, though. Amber’s eldest son is awake and he’s doing his best impression of a hurricane, little legs and arms flying as he windmills his way down to me. I catch him before he belly-flops into the water and hoist him onto my shoulders. He squeals then giggles, and clutches at what hair I do have left on my head.

“I’d forgotten how lovely it is out here.” Amber declares as she approaches me slowly. She’s alone so I surmise that the baby must be sleeping. Now that her arms are free, I want to take her in mine and show her how much I’ve missed her. Unfortunately, there’s a thick blanket of unwelcome flowing from her which stops me in my tracks.

For some reason, she seems wary of me—almost like she’s afraid that I’m going to find out something. I didn’t expect things to go back to how they used to be, there’s too much water under the bridge for that, however I had envisioned a little more enthusiasm at seeing me after all this time. A decade is a long time to spend as a couple, and it’s not like we broke up acrimoniously. We were torn apart—by the hairbrained scheme to stop Centrifuge that threw her back into the midst of a family she hated. 

But, maybe I’m missing something.

Does Centrifuge have lingering after effects? She certainly didn’t look like she was under the influence of anything other than good, old fashioned fear last night. Could it be delayed withdrawal?

Maybe she’s holding a grudge because I told her to fuck off the last time I saw her? I mean, I was under some serious stress and I didn’t truly mean it. Wrongful incarceration and the sight of your fiancée putting her hands on her brother-in-law has a rather angering effect on a man.

Or, maybe she just straight up misses Seb and doesn’t appreciate that I’ve uprooted her life?

The insidious voice in my head, the one that liked to remind me regularly that she has always been too good for me, seizes the opportunity to spread its poison. It seeps into every neuron and synapse it can, coating it with a venomous certainty that that is what’s wrong with Amber.

She misses Seb.

My whole body starts to shake. I grasp her son with as much tenderness as I can muster and pull him from my shoulders. Thrusting him toward Amber, who clutches him to her with fierceness, I almost give into my burning need to lash out at her. The sole reason I don’t is the look of dismay that she shoots my way when I open my mouth. It forces me to admit that now is not the time nor the place.

I may be on my way to becoming an immoral monster, but I’m not going to argue with her in front of a two-year-old.