“And for you? What’s this war going to distract you from, Rebel?” she looks dubious.
I smirk, thinking about shrugging my shoulders but then dismissing the idea as entirely not worth the accompanying pain. “The Widow Makers run guns. As an illegal trade, that’s how all the syndicates think we make our money. It’s how the ATF think but can’t prove we make our money. In reality, the Widowers trade in information more than anything else. Information is far more valuable than gold or silver, drugs or guns. It can build or collapse an empire overnight. The only thing more reliable for bringing a dangerous man to his knees is *. And, as you’re already aware, we don’t sell that.”
“No,” she says, giving me a wry glance. “You only buy it.”
“If I don’t, someone else will. Difference being is that I find secure, honest, healthy work for the women we pay for. They leave this compound untouched. If Julio had bought you for himself, guaranteed you’d have already been accosted more times than you could count, and by more men than you could count, too. Would you have preferred that?”
Sophia remains silent. She glares at me like she hates me, but maybe, just maybe, like she’s also considering that I may have done her a favor. Doesn’t look like she’ll be admitting that any time soon, though. I pull in a deep breath, testing out how deeply I can fill my lungs without experiencing any sharp, crippling pain.
“Ramirez is here because he’s making his first move. He’s being reckless. Perhaps I need to be, too.”
“I think it’s a little late for that, right?” Soph eyes my blood-covered torso with what looks like regret. “I’m really sorry. I had no idea you were hurt. You know that, right? I would never have—”
“Stop. I deserved it. We’re all good.”
“Still. Launching myself at you like that—
“Is part of the reason why I like you, Sophia. That fiery temper of yours is insanely hot. You looked like some wild Amazon, ready to skin me alive. I was halfway to a boner before you nearly killed me.”
Sophia ducks her head, eyes skating over the floorboards, not looking at me. If I didn’t know better, I’d say she was embarrassed. “Maybe you should use me as bait,” she says abruptly. “At least that way, if my presence is somehow a catalyst for drawing Ramirez and Raphael out, then this can all be over. We could all go back to living our lives.”
Laughter itches at the back of my throat. Scathing, ironic laughter. I swallow it back down. See, the thing Sophia doesn’t quite realize yet is that this is my life. When this is all over, if I’m not dead, there will always be someone else to contend with someone else to put down. Someone else who will want to take what is ours.
I can’t tell her that, though. She’ll run for the hills, and despite my previous pathetic attempt at doing the right thing, I know now that it’s just not possible. I have plans for the girl sitting crossed legged on the floor by my bed. Big, awesome, scary plans. I’m going to keep my mouth shut about those, too, though. Right now, there’s only one thing I need to tell her.
“I’m not endangering you with those men again, Sophia. No way. Not happening. There are a lot of things I’ll risk to end this. I’ll risk my own life, and the lives of my club members, if they’re stupid enough to volunteer them. I’ll risk my freedom and every last cent I own. I’ll risk the sun and the moon, and the wind on my face. But not you, Soph. I’ll never risk you.”
FOUR
SOPHIA
I don't know what to make of this crazy, infuriating, ridiculously hot man. He drives me absolutely insane. One minute he's inside me in a corridor at his father's house, the next I'm being shoved back into his cabin and I'm shut away for 10 days. The man doesn't even speak to me. I don't see his face. I receive no word from him whatsoever. And now, it seems as though he's back in my life again, albeit bloody, bleeding and broken, and I don't know what to make of it.
The sun is pouring through the cabin windows, casting long shadows across the room, highlighting the dust motes swirling through the air overhead as I sleep on the bed beside Rebel. I didn't want to climb into bed with him, but the only other option was the couch and I've been uncomfortable and miserable for long enough now. Why the hell should I have to crash out on the couch? Besides, he's hardly in a position to do anything untoward at this point. The guy was practically dead last night.