Page 68 of Wolf.e
“Everyone has faith in something.” She says nothing else as I watch a rosy glow creep over her cheeks.
“Enough liquor, you’ll be sick,” I tell her. “It’s old, it’ll hit you all at once.”
Miraculously, she listens and hands me back the now half empty bottle.
“You were saying you have no faith…” She smirks.
“So many died. So many fought. Gave this government their all. Only to come home to nothing. No help, permanently damaged—either mentally or physically, most of the time, both. Their government was nowhere to be found. They turned to drugs.” I hesitate then add, “It’s why we do what we do.”
“Which is?” she asks and for some reason I’ll never understand, I tell her.
“We help the addicts. The forgotten people. People don’t realize the government helps cartels bring the drugs into this country, they create the addicts. They don’t make it easy for people to get sober. They actually provide help for them to stayaddicts. We fund clinics, and we help bring in the medications they need to help people get clean. Cheaper drugs for them means they can help more people get clean.”
“Black market drugs?” Brinley asks. Smart girl. I remind myself, as crazy as it seems, I’ve only known this woman a week and a half. I look at her, still hesitant.
“I watched you murder a man,” she scoffs. “I know where he’s buried. I’m dead either way if I say anything, so what difference does it make if you tell me?” she asks with a cocky little tipsy grin.
I take my final swig. I lift her warm body off me and set her in the other chair then re-cork the bottle before I place it back in the cabinet and lock it.
“Yes, black market drugs. Methadone mostly, we supply it at a heavily discount price, it makes it more affordable for the clinics. The more they can get, the more people they can help. We also help bring in more addiction services counselors. We’ve helped fund and open four clinics in Atlanta this year alone, in the hardest hit neighborhoods. DOS doesn’t like our business. Less addicts on the street, more watchful eyes on their corners equals less profits for them.” I look out the window at the nothingness of her yard.
“There are a lot of soldiers turned addicts, chasing away the demons they adopted through the shit they were forced to endure.” I shrug. “It’s the only way I feel like I can help.”
“I’ve never thought about doing something illegal for the greater good. Growing up, things were always black and white. Wrong was wrong and right was right.” Brinley watches me, tucking her hair behind her ear.
“And now, how do you feel?” I ask, genuinely interested in her vision of me.
She rises and comes toward me, wrapping her arms around my waist, she reaches up on her tip toes and kisses the scruff of my jaw.
“Humbled. Mistaken.” she answers honestly, and a weird twisting feeling settles in my chest.
“Then you understand why I do what I do?” I ask, wondering why the fuck I care what she thinks.
Brinley nods. “I think so. You’re kind of like a scarier version of Robin Hood?” she asks with a little smirk.
I detach her arms from my waist and head to her bedroom. She follows silently on bare feet behind me.
“I have very selfish interests in this business. It pays really fuckin’ well, but if I can help people that need it, I will,” I say simply as I push her door open and turn on the lamp beside her bed.
“Does it ever bother you? Doing what you do illegally?” she asks.
“No. There’s no better way.” I grin. “And I may care about my country, but I fucking hate the government. I sleep just fine at night, little hummingbird, if that’s what you’re asking.”
Brinley yawns and crawls up into her bed. I stare down, watching her tuck herself in as she pulls off my shirt and looks at me, assuming I’ll follow her almost naked body into bed. The weight of both her beauty and her expectation of whatever this is, hits me and I’m not prepared for it. It settles like a rock in my chest.
I freeze at the side of her bed as the vision of the last woman I thought I could protect floods my mind. The way she looked while the life drained from her eyes.
I sober right the fuck up. Idon’tcare about people for a reason. My world isn’t the type that supports whatever ishappening between us. I don’t know what it is, but I know I’m not Ax, I’m not some lovesick fucking goon, and I’ve just told a woman I don’t really know way too much about my business. Just like I warn my men, I’m letting pussy cloud my judgement.
I pick my shirt up off her bed and toss it on over my head and see the look in her eye, the one that questions if I’m just going to leave her here. If I was a good man I wouldn’t, but I’m not.
“Remember to be smart, little bird. Remember whether I’m with you every second or not, I still own you,” is the only warning I offer her before turning to head down the stairs.
I pull the front door shut and step out into the night. I press the lock button on the keypad and don’t look back.
Right now, I need the clarity that only an intense session with my heavy bag and some target practice can offer me.
Chapter 33
