Wind Therapy - A.J. Downey Page 0,52

turned in my direction.

I hugged myself, feeling like my guts were spilling out for all of them to see, to mock, to pity, to do with as they pleased.

The guys straightened, took a helpless step, stood from where they were sitting, but no one moved toward me.

Maverick looked back over his shoulder and stood off the edge of the central stone firepit built in the middle of the little building.

“Babe, how long you been standing there?”

“Long enough,” I said dispassionately, and I couldn’t help myself. I lit off in a string of the most colorful curses I’d ever heard in Spanish.

A few of the guys looked surprised, Tic-Tac looked amused, confirming my suspicions that he somehow knew a little of my first language and I suddenly hated them all; hated them all with a deep and fiery loathing that was only outmatched by the loathing for myself.

“Give us a minute, huh, guys?”

“Keep your eye on the prize, P. We leave today or what?” Tic-Tac demanded.

“In favor?” Glass Jaw asked and raised a hand. Hands shot up like mushrooms after a rain but Maverick never took his eyes off me.

“That does it,” Fenris said. “Let’s all go pack our shit.” He lumbered in my direction and I stood my ground, refusing to quail as the men took the only way out of there that was available, passing me by as if they were water in a stream and I were a stone.

Their booted tread against the built-up berm of earth leading out to the structure were muted, but their footfalls heavier than mine.

I was suddenly torn between wanting them to leave and wishing they would stay so I wouldn’t have to be alone with Maverick… the traitor.

We stood, the silence sweeping in, filling the space between us in the wake of the rest of the guys’ exit.

“Why?” I demanded, voice hollow.

“Why did I tell them?” he asked.

“Why did you betray me?” I demanded. “I told you that in confidence and you just couldn’t wait, could you?”

“No, Marisol, it’s not like that –” He took a step forward and I took one back and he froze. “Baby, don’t,” he said, and his voice was sharp.

“Why, then?” I demanded again. “What is it like, Maverick? Make me understand because from where I’m standing you look like a real maldito bastardo!”

“I get that,” he readily confessed, hands out in front of him, his dark hair flopping over his forehead in that way that I’d always found incredibly disarming and sexy, but his mouth was set in a grim line rather than that charming rakish grin that always disarmed me to the max and his indigo eyes glittered with some overwhelming yet undefinable emotion and I don’t know why… but that look in his eyes, it both comforted me and scared me at the same time.

It was a look of a man who was still here. Who wasn’t about to give up on me despite knowing my secret? The look wasn’t what I was used to. It wasn’t exploitative, it wasn’t calculating… he radiated genuine concern and that honestly freaked me the hell out.

I hugged myself tighter, my nails digging into my own arms, palms sweating against my skin despite the still-cool temperatures that had yet to grow uncomfortable.

“I want to help you, but you have to understand how this works,” he said softly and took a cautious step forward.

I didn’t move and he didn’t press.

“Talk,” I barked, willing to hear him out – at least for now.

“Nothing goes down without my say-so,” he said. “But by the same token, if I want to stay in charge, I can’t just go off on a lark and do whatever I want, especially when what I want to do could negatively affect every man whose put any faith in me and my ability to lead. All we’ve got is trust and I can’t go and break it. I can’t go off and do what needs doing on my own here. I mean, I can, but I can’t have my cake and eat it, too. The kind of thing I’m talking about, it doesn’t get done without a conversation.”

“What are you talking about?” I asked, and the danger in his eyes told me all I needed to know.

Still, he voiced it anyway for my benefit.

“Retribution.”

“What if I don’t want it?” I asked.

He shook his head slowly, his expression pitying and more than a little sad.

“It’s out of your hands, my little zaychik.”

“Why?” I demanded, straightening my back, squaring