Page 28 of Blade

"And then what?" she asked, following him into the living room.

"And then we deal with the traitor," Blade said, his voice cold in a way she hadn't heard before. It sent a shiver down her spine, a reminder that beneath his protective demeanor lay a trained killer.

"How?" she pressed.

He glanced at her, as if debating how much to say. "Club justice," he said finally. "It won't be pretty."

She swallowed hard. "Will you... are you going to..."

"Execute him?" Blade supplied bluntly. "If it comes to that, yes. It really depends on him and how he responds when confronted. We always hope it doesn’t come to violence."

She should have been horrified. Should have been appalled at how casually he discussed taking a life. But all she felt was a grim sort of acceptance. This was the world she'd entered, a world of harsh justice and brutal consequences.

"You're not shocked," Blade observed, studying her reaction.

"Should I be?" she countered. "He betrayed your brotherhood. Put lives at risk. Put me at risk. Where I come from, there are consequences for that kind of betrayal."

Something flickered in his eyes—surprise, maybe, or respect. "Where you come from," he repeated. "You mean the military family?"

She hesitated, then nodded. "My dad was... strict about loyalty."

"Your dad," Blade echoed. "The one who killed a man to protect your mother. The Marine who taught you to field strip a weapon before you could drive." He studied her. "There's more to that story than you've told me."

It wasn't a question, but she answered anyway. "Yes."

"Rule three," he reminded her. "Honesty."

She sighed, knowing he was right. If they were going to trust each other, if he was going to put his life on the line for her then he deserved the full truth.

"My dad wasn't just a Marine," she admitted. "He was Force Recon. Special operations."

Blade's eyebrows rose slightly. "Go on."

"After he left the Corps, he... consulted. Private security, mostly. But sometimes other things. Things he didn't talk about, but that kept him away for weeks or months at a time."

"Contractor," Blade surmised. "Black ops."

She nodded. "I think so. He never said, but... there were signs. The training he gave me, and my mom was intense. Survival skills, weapons handling, threat assessment. He was preparing us for something."

"For the day someone might come after you to get to him," Blade guessed.

"Exactly," she confirmed. "And then one day, someone did."

"The man he killed," Blade said.

"Yes," she whispered. "I was sixteen. Home alone with mom when they broke in. Three men, armed. Professional. They... they hurt her. Were going to hurt me too. Dad came home in the middle of it."

Blade's expression hardened. "What happened?"

"What you'd expect," she said simply. "He killed them. All three. One of them was important. The son of some bigwig. That’s how Zeb was able to blackmail me. If it comes out it would cost my father everything. His reputation, his name, his life."

"I'm sorry," Blade said, his voice gentle.

She shrugged, trying to appear less affected than she was. "It was a long time ago."

"Not that long," he observed. "And trauma doesn't fade just because time passes."

"No," she agreed. "It doesn't."

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