Frustrated, he let go of her, pushed away carefully, extricating himself from any and all contact with her body. “What do you want from me? An explanation? A promise to stay with S8 forever?”
“Sure, that’s a start.” He noted that her hands shook, despite how confident she sounded. He hated himself for being the one to do that to her.
Gunner didn’t know what to do at all. Maybe if he was honest with her, really, truly honest, she’d forget him. Let him go. Realize that he was never right for S8, or for her, anyway.
He sat in the chair he’d been tied to. Avery watched him warily, hoisted herself up on the table so she faced him.
“Everything in that folder? It’s true. And there are maybe a hundred more jobs out there that I’ve done too. I did them for the man I was given to by Powell. It was a way to get the guy you know as DL—Drew Landon—off his back, because he’d screwed the man in a business dealing. Giving him me seemed the best way to appease him.”
“Your father . . . traded you? That’s sick.”
He shrugged. “In those circles, shit like that’s more common than you think. Everyone just wants to stay alive, stay in the game. Most don’t care what that takes.”
“Powell thought you were dead. So did Landon, until . . .”
“Until cameras caught me on Powell’s island,” he explained. “Powell and Landon never really believed I was dead. For added security, they had their tapes sent to each other if the facial-recognition software alerted them to my presence. No amount of hair dye’s going to avoid that kind of detection.”
“You knew going back to that island would trigger this.” She hopped off the table and moved closer. Knelt, her hands on his knees.
“I didn’t have a choice. Not after what Grace had gone through. I couldn’t let her lose Dare. I know what that’s like.”
He trailed off, and Avery was up, in his lap. Straddling him. Kissing him. This time, it was the best kind of torture and he knew he was true and well done for.
“I know you’re trying to scare me away. It’s not going to work. It’s never going to work,” she told him in between kisses.
He tried to hold out, to not touch her. To push her away. But in the end, he did none of those things.
He wrapped his arms around her and held her close.
Jem cleared his throat from the doorway and pointed at the two-way glass. “Dude, there’s no way for me not to see what’s about to happen.”
“You could close your eyes,” Gunner growled over her shoulder. Avery laughed softly, pulled back a little.
Gunner stared between Avery and Jem and wondered what the hell he’d done. He had to tell them the truth. Keep them safe.
“Damn you both—I was taking care of shit.”
“Yeah, that was going really well,” Jem told him. “We don’t need you babysitting us.”
“There are women involved,” Gunner told him.
“I can certainly take care of myself,” Avery echoed, then softened. “I appreciate the sentiment, Gunner, but Landon didn’t keep his promise to you. Not this time, and not with Josie.”
Instead of answering, Gunner got up and threw the chair across the room. It slammed into the wall and Jem said, “Dude, this place is rented. I want my security deposit back.”
“Rented? From what—Interrogations R Us?” Gunner asked.
“Something like that. You know, that’s not a bad side business.” Jem rubbed his chin and Avery shook her head.
“We’ll get right on that, Jem.”
“Sarcasm. There’s a new one,” Jem muttered. “We don’t have to pay for another full day if we vacate in the next couple of hours. Think you can pull it together before that, Gunner?”
“I’m still going to kill you.”
“You had your chance. Do you know I broke you in less than two days? Christ, I would’ve lasted weeks,” Jem said.
“Because your pain sensors are all fucked up,” Gunner pointed out.
“Just jealous. But I do I have a question, G,” Jem said.
“You did not just call me G.”
“Did. Anyway . . .” Jem leaned forward on his elbows on the table. “Why not just kill the motherfucker and be done with it?”
“Landon’s got a lot of enemies, but a hell of a lot more associates who make a hell of a lot of money with him. Taking him down would put an entirely new bounty on my head.”
“How about giving him over to the CIA?”
“Guy’s bulletproof. Other people, like me, do the dirty work. If I kill him, I might as well kill myself.”
Avery grabbed his shoulder. “Bullshit. Don’t say that.”
“He’s going to start looking for me. I have to keep working for him.”
“Until we find a way to kill you,” Jem finished.
“That won’t work a second time.”
“It has to. So either you die or Landon does. Personally, I’d take Landon out, but hey, what do I know?”
Gunner fisted his hands on the table. “He’ll turn me in to the CIA if I try anything. He’s got more on me than anything you’ve got in that folder.”
Jem stood. “We’ve got shit to figure out.”
Gunner nodded. “Let me make contact with Landon first.”
Jem pulled Gunner’s phone from his pocket. “You already have. I bought you a week and then he expects you in Bali.”
“I’ve got a place,” Gunner told them. “Can’t risk flying, though, unless you’ve got a private plane I don’t know about.”
“I’ve still got several favors to call in, but I’d rather use them when we’re closer to desperate,” Jem said. “You two drive. I’ll fly. Let me see if anyone’s got my trail.”
“I don’t want you going alone.”
“With my luck, I won’t be.”
Chapter Twelve
Avery held him the entire way up the narrow stairs to the small apartment above the interrogation room like she was afraid he would disappear.
He wanted to tell her that she’d brought this shit and everything that came along with it on herself, lock, stock and barrel, and they would need all the luck they could get. Instead, he let her help him, because he was beyond thinking. He needed to clean up and get her out of here.
He pushed into the shower she ran for him, let the hot water soak his sore muscles while she packed her things and brought him clothes. His clothes, from his house, he noted, then turned his face back under the spray for a while. Washed James away, as if it could be that easy to wash so much bad down the drain.
Avery was watching him and he was grateful she didn’t join him. Not yet. It was too soon, everything too raw. When he finally emerged from the shower, he dried himself briskly and dressed. Ate some takeout she’d brought in for him too. Let her dress his split lip and a cut across his eyebrow. She dealt with the cuts around his wrists and ankles too, cleaning and dressing them gently like she was trying to make up for hurting him.
He didn’t bother to tell her he’d deserved every second of it, and she didn’t even know the worst of it.
“You still want me? On your team, in your life, after how many times I’ve fucked up?”
“Yes.”
She brushed some hair out of his eyes. “You have to stop punishing yourself. You’ve made up for what
