Page 75 of Lord of Ruin

I lifted my middle finger, which seemed to be one of my standard answers as of late. “Just drive.”

“You’re in a cranky mood this morning. Did your guest happen to bite off your dick instead of sucking it? Maybe she needs some additional training.” He pulled up to a traffic light, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel.

I was used to his rude level of teasing me and I’d tolerated it over the years. Family did that. Whatever came over me at that point was out of character even for me. I grabbed his wrist, almost snapping it in two.

“What the fuck?” he yelled. He was more shocked than if I’d shot him between the eyes.

“Don’t you ever disparage my woman again. Do you fucking hear me?” I ripped off my sunglasses so he could see clearly just how infuriated I was.

“Jesus, cuz. I’m…” Panting, it was obvious how much agony he was in by the instant beads of sweat. The way I’d grabbed him was a priceless and very useful tip my grandfather had taught his three grandsons, although my sisters had insisted they be taught the legacy technique as well.

There was no better way to disable an enemy, to bring them to their knees. God. What was I doing? I was going to break my own cousin’s arm?

“You’re what?”

The light turned green and within seconds, horns were blaring from vehicles behind us. They were just damn lucky I had somewhere to be, or I’d pull out my weapon and shoot the motherfuckers.

I had to ask myself why I was in such a piss poor mood.

The answer was easy. Because I didn’t like feeling out of control or as if some ass-wipe had gotten the better of me and my family. Maybe we’d fallen into a state of feeling as if our lives were golden, as if no one could touch us.

I couldn’t get a handle on whether the attacks had been because I’d killed two of Viktor’s soldiers, because I’d fallen into the same trap Whitie and Frankie had drifted into, or maybe this was all about the infamous Death Squad. Or hell, why not throw in the various cartels who’d attempted over the years to take over our ports, preventing us from providing shipments of weapons overseas. The list of enemies was getting longer.

And more dangerous.

While all of it was true, I had a feeling my level of anger this morning was because I cared for the girl. Too much. A little over three days and I had feelings for her when I’d promised myself years ago that I’d never fall into that trap again. It was blasphemous.

And the greatest weakness of all.

I was still angry about my own brother questioning whether she could be involved in steering me down a path.

Unless the jerk I’d killed had led me to that particular spot at a time already determined and my reputation of not wanting innocent people to die had become an easy part of a shit game. I was furious with myself for caring about her and had taken another hour in front of the computer this very morning, checking the same credentials I had before on her entire life. I’d written notes. I’d make contact with one of the people in another country I trusted, someone who could do a very deep dive into every aspect of her life, and those of her parents and sister.

God. What the fuck was wrong with me? No one was that good of an actress.

My mind drifted to the single time my father had been duped and it had been by a woman. He’d been a twenty-one-year-old kid still living in Greece, loving the life he’d been allowed because of our grandfather’s standings.

The girl had been the love of his life, their attraction instant. But after a whirlwind romance, he’d realized almost too late when the entire family had come close to being slaughtered that she was a femme fatale hired by the Irish mob.

I couldn’t allow that thought to leave my mind either. Madden Byrne was a descendant of the very regime that had almost crushed my family.

It was far too telling in my mind, but I still didn’t want to believe in the possibility.

I hated myself for doubting her, but it was a necessary evil of my world.

My family’s world.

Christos didn’t budge, didn’t try to remove his hand. Vehicles were whizzing by us, making certain we knew exactly how pissed off they were with our stalled position. Like I gave a fuck.

“I’m sorry… boss. Never again.”

His words were strangled, his face completely white. One false move and he’d need surgery. Only then did I snap out of my ridiculous frame of mind. My soldier wasn’t to blame. He’d been my most trusted friend, for fuck’s sake. I opened my fingers, pulling my arm away.

He issued a ragged, very deep breath before rubbing his wrist.

“I didn’t mean to disrespect you or Ms. Kilborne. It will never happen again.”

I rubbed my eyes, shaking my head several times before slapping on the dark shades. “No, Christos. It’s my fault.”