“What are you doing here?”
“There’s nowhere at the house to have any solitude.”
Angel clenched his jaw, biting back the anger that flashed to the surface. Rocco wasn’t a whole man, in mind or spirit. Anger would mirror anger and serve little purpose in Angel’s mission.
“Mandy has a repeat client today. That guy without legs.”
Rocco turned halfway from the window. He sighed. “Forget it. I’ll leave.”
Angel should have let him go. Really, he should have. But the fact that Rocco was living freely, doing whatever the hell he wanted to do—everyone else be damned—stuck in Angel’s craw. He reached out and grabbed Rocco’s arm. “Not before we do a little talking.”
Rocco laughed. “If I wanted to talk, I’d have fucking come to you.”
“Yeah? Well, I came to you, so you’re gonna hear me out.”
Rocco ripped his arm free.
“You’re starting to really piss me off,” Angel said.
“Get over it.”
“I can’t. Not when I see the hell you’re putting your woman through.”
“That ain’t your business.”
“It sure as fuck is. She’s coming to me for the things you should be doing.”
A muscle bunched in Rocco’s cheeks. His eyes twitched as they narrowed. “You got a thing for her, don’t you?”
“Oh yeah.” Angel nodded. “Big time. She’s first class, all the way. And I watch you spit on her every single day.”
Rocco’s eyes narrowed. “The hell I do.”
“Every time she laughs, and you don’t notice. Every time she reaches for you, but you walk away. Every time she steps forward in her career, and you don’t see. In every little way that you can, you spit on her. You’re hurting, so you find little ways to make her hurt, too.” Angel paused and shoved a hand across his short hair. He lowered his voice, trying to calm things down a notch. “You gotta find a way to get your shit together or you’re gonna lose her.”
Rocco’s nostrils flared. “She’s having my baby.”
Angel nodded. “Yeah. But any man can raise your kid. That’s her choice.”
Rocco threw a punch that caught him off guard. Angel ground his teeth. “Wanna do that again?”
“Yeah. I do,” Rocco said. Before either of them knew it, they were sparring, moving back and forth across the creaking second floor of the barn.
Rocco realized, while his fist was lifted yet again, Angel had quit fighting a while ago. He pushed himself free and bent over. Jesus. Angel was his friend. He was hurting his friend. He was a sick motherfucker. He forced himself to breathe, though he wished he could just stop.
He felt Angel’s hand on his shoulder. “Feel better?”
He lifted his head and met Angel’s dark eyes. No. No, he did not. But at least he didn’t feel numb—he hurt like the punching bag Angel had used him for.
“Look, I’ll take your anger. I’ll take your fists and your rage,” Angel said, “but give your woman a little love. Please.”
Rocco didn’t answer. He wiped a dirty wrist across his face, watching as Angel walked away. He listened to the steps creak beneath Angel’s weight, waiting to hear his SUV fire up and drive away.
He realized this was what it felt like to live long after life had lost all meaning. It was as if a demon had stepped inside of him in the Hindu Kush and was slowly devouring his soul.
He looked over at the trunk sitting next to the chair. Dragging himself to his feet, he stumbled over to it like an addict to his drug. He turned the skeleton key and stared at the locked box inside. He took a key from his pocket and unlocked that box, too. Inside was an old six-shooter he’d bought from a dealer in Cheyenne. He didn’t want Mandy or the guys to know about it.
The relief that washed through him was heady. He lifted it out of the box, felt its weight in his hand. Opening the cylinder, he checked to be sure he hadn’t left a bullet in it. It was unloaded. He had to check, because his mind wasn’t his ally anymore. He might have brought another bullet out last time he came out. The single bullet was still standing in the box. It was all he would need, when the time came.
He spun the empty cylinder then held the gun in the palm of his hand. All he had to do was load up that bullet, pull the trigger, and kill the demon inside him. He drew a deep breath and leaned back in his chair.
It felt good to have an option. He sat there for a while, enjoying the freedom the cold steel in his hand gave him. After a while, he locked the gun up, then locked up the trunk, and headed back over to Blade’s to get back to work.
*
Wynn rubbed a towel over Zavi’s wet hair. She’d just washed him in the shower in the women’s locker room. They’d spent a fun afternoon playing in the pool. The compound here had so much for them to do, it was like living at a sleep-away camp.
She changed Zavi into fresh clothes. “Why don’t you shower too?” he asked.
She pulled her white terrycloth robe over her swimsuit. “I’m going to clean up in my room. All my things are there.”
“What kind of things?”
“My blow-dryer. My makeup.”
“I don’t like using the girls’ locker room. Why can’t I use the boys’?”
“What difference does it make? They’re exactly alike. They both have showers and towels.” She combed his black hair with her fingers. He was such a pretty little boy. “Besides, this is the one that I use, and I like having you with me.”
“How old do I have to be to use the boys’ locker room?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Seven?”
“Seven!” He fell back against the wall, deflated. “I’ll never be that old.”
Wynn laughed. “Come on. Let’s go back to the house. Kathy said she would have an afternoon snack for us. And then maybe we can go watch Mandy work with her client when he comes out.”
She was still smiling as they stepped into the hallway. The big house was a maze of halls and rooms, which she was trying diligently to commit to memory.