Page 160 of My Unhinged Alphas
She waits. I keep driving. Turn left. Brake once at a light. Watch a motorbike cut too close and let it go.
Then I say, “The Brotherhood keeps what’s useful.”
Havoc adds, “And breaks what isn’t.”
She goes quiet for a second.
Then: “And you two were useful.”
“Three,” Havoc corrects. “Do keep up.”
She ignores him. “To each other?”
I glance in the mirror. There’s something careful in her face now. Less panic than before. More thought. She’s not just trying to understand the Brotherhood. She’s trying to understand us. Which is more dangerous for all of us than she probably realizes.
I say, “In the field.”
Havoc snorts. “Romantic.”
“So Knox has military background, and Vale has…his father? How did you end up in all of this business?” she asks Havoc.
“I’m self-taught. A natural talent. Gifted, really.”
I can feel her staring at the back of his head. Then she says, “That sounds like a lie.”
He looks pleased. “Only partly.”
I don’t like how easily this is happening. I don’t like how easily Havoc is talking. He usually talks for effect, to destabilize, to entertain himself, to set other people off. But this is different. He’s not just winding her up. He’s giving her pieces. Nothing critical. Nothing operational. Still more than I would have expected.
Does that mean he actually likes her?
Of course he likes her. That much is obvious. He wanted her from the beginning. The difference is that wanting and liking are not usually the same thing with Havoc. One burns fast. The other… I don’t know if I’ve seen it enough to trust it.
That possibility bothers me more than it should. Maybe because it means I’m not the only one losing perspective.
“So you guys are basically weapons for this… cult. And you like it here?” she says.
“No one stays because they want to.”
Havoc says, “Speak for yourself.”
I look at him. “I am.”
He smiles, but there’s less humor in it now.
Lena sits back a little, processing that. Then she says, “You all talk like this is some kind of life sentence.”
“It is,” Havoc says.
I don’t correct him.
We stop at a light. Red bleeding across the dash. A couple walking past on the corner, arguing quietly over something that has nothing to do with contracts or cameras or dead men. I watch them for a second and then the light changes.
For a few minutes, nobody speaks.
Then she says, “What happens if Vale doesn’t come back soon?”
I keep my eyes on the road.
