Wind Therapy - A.J. Downey Page 0,86

it?” I asked when Dahlia’s eyes had gone distant and she looked like she’d gotten a little lost in whatever had happened last night.

“No,” she said, sucking in a deep breath. She again put on a smile, more genuine than the last in its tiredness. The regret it displayed was probably only the second fully genuine emotion I’d ever read on her face, aside from the pure anger she’d displayed when she’d crashed the party for two Mav and I were having in his office a couple of weeks back.

“You’re sure?” I asked, giving her one last opportunity to get it off her chest.

“Ah, I think we’re of two different schools of thought, you and I,” she declared, wrapping her hands around her steaming mug and bringing it to her lips.

“Yeah? How’s that?” I asked without looking, finally able to pour myself a cup.

“I’m not one of those new age, talk about your feelings types,” she said, waving me off.

“I’m not either,” I said frowning.

“You sure about that?” Tic-Tac asked, snorting a laugh into his coffee.

“Why, because I can talk to Mav?” I asked, stirring sugar into my drink.

“They’re just being assholes, Zaychik,” Maverick declared from the kitchen entryway.

I dropped what I was doing to pour him a cup of coffee and to fix it to his liking. He slid up onto the stool beside Dahlia’s while Tic-Tac just sort of stood around behind them both.

“We’re not being assholes,” Dahlia said, waving him off with a gesture of her hand and a roll of her eyes.

“Bullshit,” Mav said and his tone brooked no argument. “You’re trying to imply she’s soft and she’s not,” he said and I rolled my own eyes, setting his coffee down in front of him.

“She’s also standing right fucking here and is getting sick of people talking like she isn’t,” I said with a fake plastic smile to rival one of Dahlia’s.

“Point well made, baby. I apologize,” Maverick said, blowing on his coffee.

Dahlia and Tic-Tac traded a look and I kept my smile hidden by the rim of my own mug.

“Anybody want some actual breakfast?” I asked after taking a swallow of my coffee.

“I’m good with just this,” Tic-Tac said, his own tone a mix of subdued and mildly interested, certainly not about breakfast though. I think Maverick had somehow just drawn a line in the sand with them both where I was concerned, because Dahlia was openly staring at him and I couldn’t even begin to describe the look on her face. I would be lying if I said it didn’t bring a little savage glee to my heart to see it, though.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Maverick…

The message came in on a night where the rain was coming down and I’d forgone the club to spend some time, just me and my girl, at home.

We were lying on the couch, Marisol leaning back against me, a blanket thrown over us as we watched some movie or show on television. It had her laughing, but I wasn’t entirely paying attention. I was expecting this message and the subsequent FaceTime that was about to go down.

It was a necessary evil in order for myself and my woman to move on.

Those three little words on the screen seemed innocuous, but I knew they meant a world of hurt – whose pain, precisely, remained yet to be seen.

We got him.

“Baby, pause that for a minute for me, k?”

“What? Oh, sure.” She paused the television and rolled her head back on her elegant neck, moving those honey-kissed eyes up to mine.

“Everything okay?” she asked.

“Depends,” I said and sighed. “Just a sec.”

I put the video call through and Fenris picked up, his rugged mug filling the screen.

“Talk to me,” I said and held the phone out far enough so Marisol could see too.

“Hey, baby doll,” Fen said and Marisol shifted in my lap.

“Hey, what’s going on?” she asked.

“Need you to make a decision for me,” he said and she looked up to me. I shook my head.

“This is all you, Zaychik.”

“Ooookaaay.” She drew the word out long. “What’s going on?” She turned back to Fen who sighed heavily and shifted the phone.

They were in a garage somewhere, an industrial sort, and a man hung from chains from the vehicle lift. Marisol sucked in a sharp breath as she recognized him, and I felt bile rise in the back of my throat.

The dude was Mexican, a laborer by the looks of it, his face cragged partially from being older and partially from too much time