Page 15 of Ready or Not

He’s holding himself up on one palm, watching her face. “Yeah, I figured that was coming. I’ll stay with her, but don’t kill him. If it has to be done, let someone else handle it. You don’t want that hanging over your head when you’re raising the guy’s baby for the rest of your life.”

I sigh.

Garza is a friend.

Or he used to be.

I don’t love the idea of killing him. At least, not now that rage is no longer smothering common sense.

And yet, he left her all alone.

Dipped out in the middle of the night and left her with a fucking baby to figure out how to take care of, all on her own.

I get that people have one-night stands all the time and unexpected shit happens, but it was shady as fuck for him not to at least leave her some way to get in touch with him.

At bare motherfucking minimum, he could have popped into her job over the last eight months to check on her.

I’m biased because I listened to how sad she sounded.

She apologized twice for having to tell me she was pregnant.

And he got away without any of the turmoil she’s had to suffer…

No, that doesn’t sit right with me.

Not one fucking bit.

Wasn’t bonding supposed to make me feel slightly less feral?

I guess I’ll always be a little unhinged when it comes to protecting Vale.

I wait until she’s sleeping deeply before carefully extracting myself from underneath her.

Holt nods as I climb out of the nest.

How about that?

He’s been half in and half out, but he seems just as committed as Mercy and me at this point.

We just needed a common enemy.

It’s too bad that enemy had to be one of our oldest friends, but I’m getting some answers one way or another.

I quietly leave the nest, make my way out of the primary suite, head down the hallway, and take the stairs. Once I’m in the weird room where the stairs meet the edge of the living room, I take a few deep breaths to center myself. At least, I try.

My muscles are coiled tight with tension.

I’m a little concerned that, if he says the wrong thing, I might snap.

I’ve killed in defense of my country.

Jobs that require ending a life aren’t a problem, because we only take contracts for men who deserve to meet their maker. As such, I wouldn’t consider myself a murderer.

At least, not the cold-blooded kind.

And yet, I truly am worried what might happen when I walk into that room.

I can see Mercy from here. He’s sitting on the couch with his back facing me.