Page 24 of Glamour and Grit

“Get at him?” A frown creases my face.

“What’s wrong?”

“I guess I just don’t like the idea of hurting someone to get my brother back. I mean, sure, I’m all for hurting the people who actually took him, but some random person…it just doesn’t sit right with me. Two wrongs don’t make a right.”

He stirs the food on the grill, lips pursed as he considers my words. I appreciate that he doesn’t just argue back immediately how wrong I am. He actually thinks about what I have to say.

“I get your point, but there are some nuances here you may not have considered.”

“Such as what?”

He turns those piercing emerald eyes on me and I want to give in and say he’s right. About everything, just please keep looking at me some more.

“Such as the fact that Moreno isn’t just a singular entity. It’s the entire syndicate that’s kidnapped your brother, if you want to argue semantics. Petty is part of that syndicate, as much as part of the people who kidnapped your brother as Moreno’s right hand is a part of him.”

“I don’t like semantic arguments much. They always lead to gray areas and lesser evils and all that,” I say firmly. “What else you got?”

“If we want to find your brother, we will have to enter a world where good and evil aren’t so black and white. And quite frankly this is the only lead I have on getting Justin back. The only one, at all.”

“Well, okay…” I sigh and rub my eyes. “But only if hurting the guy is used as a last resort.”

“I can’t make any promises, but I’ll do my best,” he replies. “Check the bread, it smells about done.”

Using a pair of tongs, I turn the bread over and find a golden brown, crispy edge with some sizzling valleys of molten butter. I placethe buns on the plate and sigh about the cholesterol and the carbs. But when in Rome, do as the Romans do.

“You know, the first thing I’m doing when we leave this place is take you to get a real, balanced meal,” I say.

“Are you dissing my cooking?”

“No, not at all. I eat everything you make, don’t I? It’s just missing a couple food groups. Your cooking skills are actually pretty impressive. I would have thought you were a guy who dined exclusively at places with golden arches out front.”

He heaves a long sigh.

“I do like my McNuggets.”

“Ha, I knew it. It’s all right, there’s nothing wrong with liking nuggets. Just like there’s nothing wrong with enjoying missionary, it just pays to spice things up from time to time, that’s all I’m saying.”

The narrow kitchen is hard to navigate. I lose my balance while reaching for a paper towel and nearly fall. Dane catches me before I hit the floor, holding me in a low dip.

“Thanks. I guess I should stop making funny quips and start paying more attention to what I’m doing, huh?”

“I should have cleaned the floor better, it’s probably a slick spot,” he says, his eyes burning like twin emerald suns. “Are you all right?”

“Yeah, I’m okay.”

How can I not be okay? When he caught me, I grabbed his arm on instinct. I can feel the knots of muscle playing under his warm skin. The throb of his pulse moves through my fingertips and into my body. All of the sudden, it’s hard to breathe.

His eyes close halfway, and he reaches out to brush my bangs out of my eyes. Dane licks his lips, then swallows hard before speaking.

“Selene, I…”

“What?” I ask when his voice trails off into silence.

“Nothing.”

He pulls me back up to my feet and attends the grill.

“The meat got a little crispy, but it’s good that way.”

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