“Including your pay.”
That stopped him in his tracks. “What?”
“Your pay.” I stood up. “You’re getting a cut of all this, aren’t you?”
“Of course they’re paying me.”
“Then of course you want to stay. If we skip out now, how are you going to get your cash?”
Anger flashed across his expression. Good, I liked that anger. I wanted him to be pissed off. Anger was better than the strange, half-worry as he paced across the room. I wanted him fired up with rage, not wringing his hands and wondering how we were going to escape.
“It’s not about that and you know it.”
“No? You’re a thief, Ren. It’s what you do.”
“Careful,” he snarled
“Why the hell should I be careful? You’re working for Vincent, you said it yourself. You want your goddamn money. Why the hell would you do anything but his bidding?”
He took a couple steps toward me, and for a split second I felt afraid, like I’d made some horrible miscalculation, and he wasn’t the man I thought he was. I saw him do something drastic in that moment, in my mind, but he stood a foot away from me, body tense with anger.
“I do nobody’s goddamn bidding,” he said, voice low. “I’m here because I want to be. If I didn’t give a shit about you, and this was all about money, you really think I would’ve risked my life for you back at that house?”
I knew he had a point. I was pushing him, riling him up, because it made me feel good to see him care. And in a lot of ways, his anger mirrored my own, except when he was angry, he did something about it while I hid away and felt sorry for myself.
His anger was better than mine. I wanted him angry for both of us.
“You weren’t thinking,” I said.
“I was thinking, all right. I knew what I was doing. I still went out there and pulled that trigger.”
“Good for you. I guess you know where you next meal’s coming from.”
He stood there, unmoving, breathing hard, and I wanted him to kiss me so badly it hurt.
“All right then,” he said, voice low. “You want it to be like that? Fine, we can have it like that.” He turned away and stalked to the door.
Disappointment hit me. I pushed him too far. I wanted to tell him to stay, beg him to forgive me—but I couldn’t make the words come.
He hesitated before leaving, looking back over his shoulder. I saw hurt in his eyes.
He left, shutting the door firmly behind him, leaving me alone in the room again.
I curled up on the couch and squeezed my eyes shut, feeling like a bastard, and unable to stop myself. I was a goddamn mess and I knew it.
11
Ren
I didn’t know what the hell her problem was, but I couldn’t stay in the room with her for another second.
The idea that she’d accuse me of using her to make money was insane. They weren’t paying me nearly enough to risk my life for her—and yet she still threw that in my face like it was some kind of horrible truth. She had no goddamn idea how I felt about her, because she was too busy paying attention to her own suffering and selfishness to look outside of herself for one second.
If she did, she’d see that I wanted her beyond all reason.
Damn girl knew how to push my buttons though.
I got the sense she took some sick pleasure in doing it. I wasn’t sure why, maybe she was coming out of her shell a little bit, or maybe she wanted to try and push me away—and hell, if that was her goal, then mission accomplished. But that didn’t mean I was finished advocating for her.
I spent the day calming down. I had more work to do, but I couldn’t do it with a hot head. I had a strong feeling my theory was right about Chicago and why Amber was important to Vincent, but I had to prove it first before we could act on that information. Otherwise, I’d be making a pretty enormous assumption, and that sort of thing can end up getting both of us killed.
I found Mona curled up with a book in one of the downstairs lounges. She looked up and smiled as I approached. “There he is, bodyguard extraordinaire.” She tilted her head at my expression. “What’s the matter?”
I shrugged and sat in a low leather armchair across from her. The room was warm from a crackling fire. The carpet was plush and dark blue, and the decor was a sleek midcentury modern. The walls were lined with bookcases, and I got the sense that this was Mona’s particular spot: so many small things, like a stack of New Yorkers, and crumpled newspapers in the trash, suggested her touch in particular.