can’t get inside the house? Suffering through Grant’s bullshit for a few hours is worth what I get out of it.”
Another laugh as he scrubs a hand down his face. “Why not just kill him and get it over with?”
Grabbing my keys and phone from the side table, I stalk past him, the sides of my jacket flying out with the motion. Lincoln stays right on my feet as we step into the elevator, and I smash my finger against the button for the underground garage.
“I’ve killed enough people in Adeline’s life.”
“Four, if I’m right about the body count.”
Shooting him a look, I don’t answer. I’ve never admitted to any of the bodies I’ve racked up over the years because of her, but Lincoln isn’t a stupid man. When problems suddenly vanish around me, there’s a reason.
The elevator drops at a speed that catapults a person’s stomach into their throat, the silence in the car awkward because I know Lincoln is judging me. Not that I give a fuck about his opinion, but still, he’s thinking everything I should be thinking about myself.
Annoyed, I turn to him. “Just come out and say it.”
Brown eyes assessing, he doesn’t react to the aggravated snap in my voice.
“What do you plan to do with her? Break up her marriage? Then what? It’s not like you can give her a normal life. You kill for a living. How will you explain where you are for days at a time when you’re on a job? What happens to her if you fuck up one day and get caught?”
“I don’t fuck up.”
“There’s always a risk. You know it and I know it. What happens to Adeline if you misstep?”
“I won’t.”
We reach the garage, and the elevator doors part with a ding. I move to walk out, but Lincoln steps in my path, his wide shoulders filling the doorway.
“You have no conscience, Ari. You can’t have one and do the job you do. But, when it comes to this girl, for some fucking reason you do, and you feel responsible.”
He’s riding my last nerve, and my finger twitches in search of a trigger. Not that I would shoot to kill Lincoln. Maybe just put a bullet in his foot to distract him enough so I can shove past him through the door.
“Your point?”
“Will your conscience allow you to hide the fact that you were the person who killed her dad? How will you live in happy bliss with that hanging over you for the rest of your life? Every time she cries about him, when she grieves on his birthday, on Father’s Day, on the anniversary of his death, how the fuck will you sit there and hold her knowing you caused that? And we both know she’ll grieve. We’ve watched her for seven years.”
I thought it wise not to mention that I’d just taken advantage of her grief to approach her at the cemetery. I also thought it best to leave out that I lied and said I had a friend who offed himself like her dad.
Do I have a conscience when it comes to Adeline? I like to think I do. I care what happens to her. I’m just not willing to spend too much time thinking about whether stealing her from Grant would be because it’s what’s best for her, or because it’s what I want for myself.
I’m also not willing to consider if the lies I’m telling are beyond the pale. A man with a conscience wouldn’t do what I’m doing to her. Wouldn’t use her pain to get what he wants.
But she’s miserable, and Grant treats her like a dog. Regardless of where she ends up, it’s better he isn’t in the picture.
The questionable morality of what I do to accomplish that can’t be a factor.
I purse my lips, meeting his stare. “Are you done with your lecture or do I need to physically move you away from the door?”
“Please,” he scoffs, “as if you could.”
Lincoln moves anyway and tails me to the car, his quiet presence not helping matters.
“Think about it, Ari,” he says as I hit the key fob and open the door to my car. “Try to imagine what her reaction will be when she first steps foot into your penthouse and sees it’s covered with the proof you’ve been watching her for years. How the hell will you explain that?”
All valid points, but ones I’m not willing to waste too much time on in the present moment. “Are