Page 77 of Painted Scars
The sun catches her eyes when she looks up at me, luminous and blinding like her hair and eye shadow. I can’t bear to stand in the light when darkness is where I belong.
Leather creaks as I squeeze the handle harder than I mean to. I’m already keeping too much from her. Things she wouldn’t forgive if she knew. The stakeouts and surveillance. The fact that when I first laid eyes on her, it was through a scope, deciding if she was a liability or just another casualty in this war.
“I want to review his documents.” Her fingers curl tightly over her phone, but she doesn’t let dread stop her. The courage she has floors me every time.
Fuck, the weight of my guilt gets heavier by the minute. She was meant to be a lead to investigate. A plug to seal if necessary, not a weapon in this war. Not collateral damage. She’s already been through enough, and I don’t want her to become a target again. A ghost like me, her world burning to ash.
I stare at the skyline, trying to breathe past the selfish ache in my chest. The greedy, lonely, broken part of me wants her to stay. To choose the fight, the fire and danger, because it means I won’t have to let her go.
Wanting her in this war and needing her safe aren’t the same thing. She craves safety more than anything. If she’s going to keep going, I have to be damn sure she understands what that means. No illusions. No turning back. Hesitation or one wrong call can get you killed in war, and I won’t take that chance.
For now, I’ll take her somewhere I’ve never brought anyone else before. My fallback point. The place I go to think when a choice can make or break Spartacus. If she still wants in after that, then I’ll stop holding back and burn down the system that broke us.
CHAPTER 21 - KATE
Iwant to scream. Shake every boulder loose from the mountain and send them crashing down to crush the bastards poisoning this city. Revenge etched into the bedrock of Shadow Lake. For Barry. For the lives ruined. For everything Grumpy Daddy and I lost.
Grumpy Daddy, or Mace, as Barry called him, parked his brooding ass on the bike behind me, arms crossed, silent as always. A storm in the shape of a man. He drove us up here to give me time to think. Calm down. Test my resilience. Maybe to say goodbye.
I need a moment to myself and stand on the mountain’s edge.
The land below folds into ridges and valleys, green cloaked in shadow, the occasional flash of silver curling through trees. Peaceful. Free of the city’s filth and stink. I breathe in the clean air, the fresh pine, damp loam, cracked stone, and after scent of rain. Nature normally calms me, but I don’t breathe easier with the decision before me.
Barry’s brutal and unvarnished story aches in my sternum. He didn’t have a parent with connections to pull strings, eventhough I don’t carry the Huntington name or the protection of the Mercury Order. Without that, I may have ended up the same as Barry. Homeless, erased. Nothing.
My eyes sting at the scale of this. The Romans don’t just ruin lives, they bury them, and I’ll be damned if I let them keep the shovel.
The air thickens around me before I hear Grumpy Daddy move. His arms circle me, steadying me while my thoughts cascade. Warmth, strength, and determination. I lean back into him and let him hold me. Let the silence stretch. We both know how to live inside it. I rest my palm on his wrist and trace the edge of ink that snakes beneath his sleeve.
I’m tempted to reach up and tear his helmet off. Reveal the man beneath the armor. I want to memorize the lines of his face, the way his eyes may crinkle when he smiles or blaze when he’s fierce. Know him the way he knows me. Maybe if I see all of him, I won’t be so afraid to show all of me. The parts I hide behind my mask. I also want all his secrets if I’m going to sacrifice life as I know it for his cause.
I spin in his grip and stare into the dark depths of his visor, searching for the man inside. The shadow and truth of him. “You’re not some moral biker with a grudge, are you, Grumpy Daddy? Who are you behind the mask?”
Rational me and Book Girlie me both want to know why I matter to him beyond blindfolds, orgasms, and heated promises, when realistically, I’m just a pawn in his bloody game.
The hitch in his shoulders shows he weighs the truth against the damage it may cause. “You were supposed to be a threat I crossed off.” His voice is graveled with restraint. “An illegitimate daughter of a Roman.”
He explains how I landed on his radar by posting hand signals in an Instagram video.
I burst into laughter at the absurdity of it. “Girl survives one monster to get flagged as a potential loose end. You’re really nailing the Romantic Suspense vibe, Daddy. So what? Were you trying to decide whether I needed a bullet or a bedtime story?”
His gloved hand covers mine, solid and unwavering. “That’s a last resort, and only if you become a threat to us.”
“Us?” I raise a brow. “I’ve been pretty lenient on letting you keep your secrets. Now it’s time to talk,Mace.”
“Us is the team I work with.” I can tell the admission grates on him like it physically hurts. “Don’t ask me for our name. It compromises our security.”
I let Grumpy Daddy have that one secret for now. But the clock’s ticking, and I expect answers, preferably whispered in my ear. If not, I’ll come armed with a kiss and a crowbar.
“We go by the name of a weapon to conceal our identity.” He’s trusting me with a piece of himself, the first sign of vulnerability from a man locked up tighter than Fort Knox.
Damn, I want to kiss him for it. Strip him for it. Hell, both.
I remain objective for the sake of this, despite the argument my vagina makes. “And what do you all do?”
“We fight for people like Barry,” he says. “Protect them. Hide them. Stories like his deserve light when the courts and cops dismiss them.”
His arms don’t loosen, as if he’s afraid I’ll run when the threat becomes real. Too late—it already has. Blackthorn sent the nightclub guy as a warning.
