Johnny runs his hands through his dark hair, exhaling. He’s exhausted. He only just got home from Chicago, had an intense conversation with me, and then the building started shaking and we got shot at. That’s enough for anyone’s nerves to be frayed down the middle. That’s enough for anyone’s nerves to be frayed down the middle.
“Is he going to talk?”
“He’s being pretty tight-lipped. I’m guessing he’s been around the block a few times.”
“He told me he wouldn’t open his mouth because he believes in his cause. He said we’d have to kill him because he’s not giving us anything.”
“It might come down to that,” Johnny says, glancing up at me through feathered lashes. His light blue eyes stand out, almost like a spotlight in the grimy room around us. This room is definitely an interrogation room. The tile, the stripped walls. Hell, there’s even a drain in the middle of the floor. The Crew isn’t playing around. The safe house is as well stocked as the tower. Maybe this is what the basement of the tower looks like.
“We got a crew checking out the tower right now. Whoever this guy belongs to, they set off explosives, but it was a piss-poor job. The bark was bigger than its bite. We’ll call in the builders to check the foundation, but it’s probably still livable. The team is also bringing the device here, so I can take a look at it. I might be able to find some clues as to who placed it.”
I tell him my thoughts on the attack being deliberate based on him coming home and his nickname. A small smile crosses his face. “I thought of that too, babe. It wouldn’t surprise me.”
The sound of clothing ripping splits the air. Johnny turns, and we both find Magnum in front of the asshole, ripping the shirt from his body. He’s inspecting a tattoo on his right side.
He rears back, punching him in the face and then turns to stalk toward us. The other guards, once again, close ranks to shield us from the captive’s eyes.
Mag drags his fingers over his scruff. A honey brown permeates his irises with a sour look of concentration. When he joins our small circle, he says, “He’s got a dragon tattoo.”
He’s talking to Johnny, but he’s looking at me. My stomach twists. That’s the second guy today who had a dragon tattoo. I wonder if Mag thinks this guy is in the same gang his cousin is, and if so, why his cousin would try to “help” us. Or even fake it, when hours later, someone else is trying to take us out.
“Can we be sure?” Johnny asks, not needing Mag to confirm his suspicions. “Dragon tattoos are popular.”
“I think we need to have a talk,” Mag says, lowering his voice. “The others can handle this guy overnight. He’s not budging, but give him a couple of days down here, and we’ll see if he changes his tune. There’s no point in killing him right away.”
Johnny’s gaze darkens as he looks back at the guy who tried to hurt me. For a moment, I wonder if he’s going to be as reckless as his father and just whip his gun out and shoot the guy. He doesn’t. He turns on his heel, grabs my hand, and leads me up the stairs with Magnum following close behind.
My bare feet scruff against the cement in the upstairs barn area. Right as I step outside, I barely get two paces before Magnum scoops me up in his arms and walks me over the gravel driveway.
My face flushes a terrible crimson that I hope doesn’t ruin everything. I meet Johnny’s gaze as he looks at us, but the expression on his face is indecipherable.
As soon as we get to the porch, Magnum lowers me to the well-kept floor, and Johnny once again puts his hand in mine without a word.
It might be me, but I think we’re making progress. Johnny is either lessening his natural caveman tendencies, or he just really likes Magnum. Both work for me.
The clock in the open plan living room reads four in the morning. Soon, the horizon will light up over the trees of this canopied forest. It’s been a long night, but I’m with Magnum. This needs to be said. How can Johnny make decisions if he doesn’t have all the information?
Johnny sits on the couch. I go to sit next to him, but he