Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 55375 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 277(@200wpm)___ 222(@250wpm)___ 185(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 55375 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 277(@200wpm)___ 222(@250wpm)___ 185(@300wpm)
“Good.” I let out a long breath. “At least your friend will be safe.”
“Friend,” he says. “See, that’s what I’m worried about—the judgment. Think about what Vanessa will say and the whole world. Do you think any less of me?”
“What?” I snap. “For this? No. Hell no. Not even a little, Mike.”
He nods. “Thank you. Do you think I should tell Emma?”
I look out the window at the afternoon sun on the snow, still smelling the gun smoke from earlier, still feeling the fierceness of what I did. Even if there’s a pit in me, a hole of darkness, I don’t regret it. He deserved it. Any man who goes down that path does. I’d do it a hundred, a thousand times more. Weirdly, I think of last night, the lack of a condom, a future child. How far would I go to defend them?
That’s nuts, thinking of kids as if I’m going to be the dad to Mike’s grandchild, and he’ll just accept that.
“No opinion?” he asks.
“It’s not my place.” I take a long sip of coffee.
“I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t want your opinion.”
“My opinion only matters when it comes to fighting these monsters,” I tell him. “My opinion is only relevant regarding keeping you and Emma safe. For everything else, it’s irrelevant.”
“You’re my friend,” Mike says firmly. “That makes you relevant to me. I don’t like keeping secrets from her, but I’m not sure she’d understand.”
“I think she might,” I reply.
“Really? What makes you say that?”
I swallow. I want to say, “Because she’s got a heart that burns with empathy. Because she’s felt my hands on her, she’d be a hypocrite if she didn’t give you her blessing.”
“She wants you to be happy. She doesn’t seem like a judgmental person to me.”
“No, she’s not,” he says with a small smile. “She’s the most accepting, most loving person I know. I don’t deserve her. She deserves the truth, but I don’t know how to tell her.”
“It’s hard sometimes,” I say gruffly. “Be honest with people, but some things are better left in the dark.”
“You really believe that… with what we do?”
He’s got me there. I say nothing, staring into space, thinking of my woman a couple of rooms away. I shouldn’t think of her as my woman. How many times am I going to say that to myself over and over and over? I shouldn’t. It’s wrong. I don’t listen. I don’t learn. I’ll never learn.
“It’s hard to talk about certain things,” I say. “You worry people will judge you and about what they will say.”
“Not people,” he snaps. “Just the ones I care about.”
That’s the same with me. I don’t give a damn what the world would think about our closeness. They could say anything they wanted. If Mike could give us his blessing… What about Vanessa? What if she stands in the way, too?
“I can’t decide for you.”
“What if you had a secret like this?” he says, staring at me like he’s forcing me to meet his gaze. “What would you do?”
Is he fucking with me? I glance at him, but he’s got that just-Mike sincerity on his face. He genuinely wants my advice. Of course, he does. Everything we’ve been through, and we’ve always remained best friends.
“I don’t—”
My cell phone rings. I take it out, relieved by the interruption, even if that makes me feel guilty as hell. It’s a number I don’t recognize. I take the cell phone to the corner and plug it into the blocky unit that will jam its signal. Putting it on loudspeaker, I wait.
“Are you there, brave Jacob?” Rafael says in Spanish. “Are you there, big man?”
I say nothing, holding my finger up to Mike.
“Who is this, hmm? The little girl? The sad old man who couldn’t stomach it in the military? Or you, Jacob? Did those fucking Americans fail me? Are you there? Speak to me.”
I quickly grab a notepad and scribble something down. Rafael is humming down the phone like a madman. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out he is on the wrong side of sanity. His very existence is a testament to that. Mike rushes over and reads the notepad.
“Hello?” he says. “Damn signal. Hello?”
In English, Rafael says, “Who is this?”
I quickly write. Mike stares at the words, keeping an admirable calm. We only ever worked together in war, not special ops. This makes me wonder. “They call me Cleaver.”
“Absolute moron,” Rafael mutters in Spanish. “How did your work go?” he goes on in English.
This is wildly, exceptionally stupid for Rafael to do. I’ve heard stories of his strange brand of sadism, his obsessive need to hurt people, to impose his messed-up will. It’s like he thinks inflicting pain is an endpoint all by itself.
“It went well. When am I seeing my friend again? You know who I’m talking about.”