Page 65 of Fragile Twisted Vows

“It’s not her I’m worried about, man,” he says.

“It’s them. It’s her fucking family. You almost got out of their web and now you’re falling deeper into their shit. You’re practically signing your own prison sentence, Damien,” he says, and I can’t help but sigh, because he is somewhat right.

But I have bigger things to worry about than the Fairchilds.

“They’re not my biggest problem, Adrian,” I say, hating that I feel guilty for keeping this from him. This secret I’ve had for the last twenty-three years.

I also hate that I have a fucking conscience now. And I blame it on Lucy. I blame it on her ability to crack open parts of me and rip them right out of my chest.

“What have you done?” Adrian asks in a low tone with skeptical eyes.

“My father works for the CIA,” I admit and I swear, Adrian almost throws his chair against the wall.

In fact, he does.

It slams hard against the wooden door, splintering it with a loud crash.

I don’t flinch.

“Are you fucking kidding me man?” he shouts, practically pulling his hair out of his head as he screams.

“Chill out-”

“No,” he waves a finger in my face and I think about breaking it right in half.

“Don’t you fucking tell me to do that. It’s not just your ass to worry about here, Damien. You have a team of people working for you. People with families, wives, kids. People like me, asshole.” He growls and I scoff at him.

“And you knew that you would risk your life and well as your family’s by signing on to this. I was transparent about that,” I hiss, and he rolls his eyes.

“You weren’t transparent about your father working for the fucking CIA,” he barks, and I rub my forehead once more, the headache still present.

“He’s not after me, as far as I know. I just wanted to be transparent about this too, asshole.” I groan and he sighs as he drops his head to look back at the ceiling.

“One year. That’s all I need man. One year until these contracts are up and I can sell these companies for triple the price and we can both retire before fifty,” I say, and he scoffs.

“You’ll never retire,” he says, knowing damn well, that despite all of the stress, I love the fucking thrill of this life.

And I gave both Eduardo and my mother my word.

“I’ll be in Mexico, but you’ll be free. Free of me, and free of this bullshit,” I say as I stand and sign the paperwork on the desk before walking out.

“You have my word too, asshole. As much as you stress me out, I gave you my word in Afghanistan, and you still have it here,” he says, even though he’s angry with me.

We experienced a lot in the war, but we made a pact. And we’ve both stuck to it.

“Go home to your pregnant wife, Adrian. Take a vacation,” I say as before I shut the door and head to my office on the opposite end of the building.

When I step inside, I freeze. Because the headache doesn’t fucking end. In fact, it grows even stronger.

Because Megan Fairchild is sitting on my desk with a dark red dress that resembles the devil she is.

“Who let you in?” I growl and she smiles wickedly at me.

“Aren’t you happy to see me?” she whines as she walks to me.

She places her hands on my chest and I notice that her nails are the same shade of her dress, something not like her.

She usually remains quite plain. Because her personality is anything but that.

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