9. Khadri “Moros” Weston

9

KHADRI "MOROS" WESTON

It was a few days later when the pain came back. Ryanne had been job hunting and when she escaped the house for interviews, I had Boss send someone to make sure she was safe.

Of course, I didn't tell her that.

We were still working to trace Sloan and any of his men we could locate, but the regular channels were failing us.

A part of me wished Hulk or Cider had survived the crash—and my plan wasn't for them to die. But they weren't wearing their seatbelts.

I wanted to punch something—hard.

Following the money didn't work—Sloan dealt in cash and what he didn't want to pay for, he stole. So, that wouldn't work on him or the people he worked for.

They tend not to make mistakes—or the usual mistakes.

With Sloan his only warning is a bullet between the eyes.

Money made people agree to strange things—most not knowing accepting a job with Sloan was a death sentence they willingly walked into.

But I knew, even if they were warned, their answer was always the same.

I needed the money.

In the middle of the night, I woke to a migraine.

I wasn't sure where it came from—I hadn't been hurting when I crawled into bed. Irritated, I rose, changed into swim trunks and escaped the house to the pool in the backyard. After grabbing a towel, I set it on the edge of the pool and slipped into the deep end, praying the cold water would do something to help.

I couldn't take a pill—waking up to Ryanne screaming bloody murder to me sleepwalking wouldn't be the best way to wake up—I sighed.

The cold water was magic on my skin.

I moaned as I sank down low enough to wet my entire body, then surfaced.

Running laps, I tried not focusing on anything—not the fear in Ryanne's eyes as I laid on top of her, not the sadness when I released her, not the confusion when I tried walking away.

She was turned on—I could smell her.

Though I was tempted to pull her clothes off to see how far, how deeply, she'd allow me to stick my tongue, I knew she'd regret it later.

She was the type—the type to enjoy herself then saw a million reasons why she shouldn't have afterward. I couldn't see that look in her eyes directed at me.

It would take me down—take me out.

And those nipples—they were tight, pressing through the material of her shirt and mine?—

Sighing, I flipped in the deep end, pushed off the wall and glide until I was forced to surface again. I'd lost count of how many laps I'd done—but now with the migraine just a headache now, the coolness of the water had become an addiction and I continued moving until my lungs threatened to give out.

I wanted to stay in longer, but the wound on my shoulder wasn't completely healed. While it scabbed over, it was beginning to feel a little tender.

I climbed from the water and picked up my towel as I heard I sound behind me. Shifting with the towel at my side, I realized it was Ryanne, watching me from the doorway.

"You're supposed to be sleeping," I said, drying my face then dragging the towel over my head. "Why are you out of bed?"

"Couldn't sleep." She told me. "And Um?—"

She pointed up.

"The pool is under my window." She continued. "I could hear the water."

"Sorry."

She shook her head and held up a hand.

"It's fine—you don't look so good." She approached me.

She reached for me, but I jerked away.

"Sorry." Ryanne seemed to pull into herself.

Offering her a sad smile, I dried my legs and entered the house.

Ryanne followed me and I remained silent as I poured myself some water and faced her.

"I have a raging migraine." I explained. "What's your excuse."

"I have a mercenary trying to kill me." Ryanne smiled. "Boss told me about the migraines. He didn't tell me where they came from. He said it wasn't his story to tell."

I tilted my head as I filled the cup with water again. This time, I spread the towel on the stool and motioned for her to sit.

"TBI." I explained. "Traumatic Brain Injury. Apparently, I'm a walking miracle."

"Really?"

"I wasn't supposed to come back from it." I told her. "Most people who suffer from it wind up with issues their entire lives— some gets locked into themselves. When I emerged with just the headache—like I said. It was a miracle."

"How did you get hurt?"

"What I say to you?—"

"In the vault."

I smiled and nodded.

"My team and I were on a mission in a conflict zone." I explained, trying to be as vague as I could. "Things went sideways. Boss was hurt—I couldn't leave him."

"You went back?—"

Shaking my head, I finished my water.

"It wasn't a big deal." I shrugged. "Anyways, there was a second wave to the attack. While my team was reeling from the first. We piled into the one vehicle that was running and tried getting out of there. But we were bottled in. They took us out with a ground-to-ground missile."

"No…"

"I lost two members of my team—almost lost Boss and well—" I tapped the side of my head. "I won't ever be quite right again."

"And the—the scar?"

"This?" I pointed to my eye. "A gift from a war before the explosion. People throw the phrase battle-scared around all the time. And usually, when I hear them say that I smile because they have no idea what it truly means."

"I'm sorry."

I stared at her for a moment, her eyes brown and deep. They were filled with concern and sorrow. It made no sense—the bad things happened to me. That was one of the reasons I became a soldier. I did it so that good men and women didn't have to.

‘I knew what I was walking into."

"Doesn't make it any easier." She exhaled, loudly.

"I've accepted my life and the way it's going a long time ago." I explained. "I knew from a very early age that even with the financial stability my parents raised me with, that life wasn't going to be easy. Anyway, maybe you should try sleeping again."

"I won't get any rest. I know my body."

Unable to stop myself, I allowed my eyes to roam her frame then scoffed softly and shook my head.

What was the matter with me?

Picking up the cup, I figured it was time to change out of my wet trunks. It was also a reason for me to leave her in the space without her seeing how hard I was fighting with my body to not grow hard with just the sight of her.

At the sink, I was washing the cup when she cleared her throat from behind me.

I closed my eyes, knowing something was coming.

"Um—Khadri?"

"Why is it you never call me Moros?"

"Moros is the Greek God if impending doom." Her voice was soft. "I don't see you like that."

"You don't?" I shifted to glance at her quickly over a shoulder then return my attention to rinsing the soap from the cup and turning off the water. "Give it time."

She sighed loudly.

"Remember when we kissed before?"

"How could I forget?" I set the cup in the drainer but looked out the window rather than face her. "I was there."

"Some guys wouldn't want to remember—I mean, it wasn't like—shit?—"

"What are you trying to say, Shorty?"

"I'm trying to say—shit, could you look at me?" Her frustration was palpable. "It's weird having this conversation with your back."

I didn't move.

"Please?"

Hanging my head, I slowly turned on my heels, leaned my back against the sink then lifted my chin so my eyes were on her.

She swallowed a couple of times, dragged her palms along her thighs then lifted her elbows to the island. Even though she was looking at me, I could see she was fighting to keep her eyes up—a few times she faltered, and her chin dipped a bit.

But it took only a second before she was straightening her spine again.

"Speak, Shorty." My voice trembled.

"It's not the easiest—when you kissed me earlier, is that something you'd ever do again?"

"Kiss you, you mean?"

She nodded.

"No."

"Oh."

She lost the battle and her chin dipped.

Ryanne picked at the corners of her fingers then began biting the nail of her left index finger.

"Okay." Ryanne nodded. "Cool."

Pressing her palm to the counter, she nodded as if confirming something to herself then slowly eased off the edge of the stool like a child whose legs were too short to reach the floor in one go.

"Good talk." Ryanne cleared her throat.

Without another word, Ryanne left the room, and I was standing there, staring after her wondering why she hadn't asked the follow up questions I thought she would.

My answer would have been, no, because you still think I' m with Pasha.

Exhaling, I followed her, traversing the same route she took to the only place she ran to when she was mad at the world—at me and Pasha.

I climbed the stairs and paused long enough to change then knocked on her door.

"It's your house." She called.

When I opened the door and entered, she was sitting on the windowsill, her legs drawn up to her chest as she used her knees as a holder for a book.

"That's it?" I asked.

She didn't look away from the book. "That's what?"

"You're just going to walk away?" I closed the door and stood behind it.

"What else did you want me to do?" She closed the book and looked up at me. "No means no—and I've accepted that."

"Then you didn't want me to kiss you bad enough."

"How is this my fault?"

"That's not what I'm trying to say!" I tossed my hands up. "I thought you would have at least asked why that was the answer I gave you."

"No is a full sentence, Khadri."

Frowning, I walked over to her and gripped her knees. Lifting, I turned her, so her legs were hanging off the edge before easing her backward until she was leaning against the window.

I spread her thighs, slowly then looked up into her face.

"Let's try this again." I told her,

"I said no because you still think I'm with Pasha." I informed her.

"Are you?"

"Am I what?" I asked.

"With Pasha!"

"Are we really going to do this again?" I demanded, softly.

When she didn't answer, I shook my head and stood.

"I'm not going to keep doing this with you. You're making me dizzy."

I stopped my retreat and faced her.

"We'll figure this out and you can go home." I reminded her. "Don't worry."

"I see what it does, you know?" Ryanne called after me. "When a man can't be loyal to one woman. And I know you say the two of you aren't together and she says the same thing—I guess I just can't understand why you aren't so it's hard for me to believe."

Frowning, I faced her.

"She's perfect." Ryanne looked away to box a tear from her cheek. "And I'm not. I mean if I looked that hot in a pair of leggings?—"

The sound of an engine filled the front yard, and I rushed over to look into the front yard.

"Boss?"

Rushing from the room, I scrambled down the stairs to meet Boss just as he came through the door.

"What's going on?" I asked, staring into his disheveled face.

"Musk." He panted. "It's on fire."

"What?" Ryanne hollered from the top of the stairs.

"Why didn't you call?" I as already darting back up the stairs to grab my bag.

"I tried calling." Boswell said. "But you didn't pick up."

Ryanne climbed into the truck beside me and with Boss siren on, we sped to where my bar was now smouldering.

"You Khadri Weston?" The fire chief asked.

"Yeah." I answered around the tightness in my chest. "Arson. Old fashion but it works—they tossed a Molotov cocktail through that window over there. My guys are still going through what's left, to see if anyone is inside."

"No one's inside." I whispered. "We were closed today."

"Do you think—hey! Where are you going?" Boswell shouted.

Strange—I didn't even realize I'd moved. My legs were moving, anger was pulsing through me like a sound wave and all I could manage was to walk faster as Boswell tried to stop me.

My head was throbbing now, the warning of an impending migraine and I knew I had to calk down. But I couldn't seem to control any of it.

"Hey!" Boswell stepped in front of me and braced a palm to my chest. "Calm down. You can't go off half-cocked right now."

"He set my place on fire, Boss!"

"And we'll get him." Boss dipped his chin to stare into my eyes. "And his little dog too. But right now, you're too angry to think straight."

"Boss—"

"I know?—"

"Boss."

"I know." He pulled me into his chest. "We'll get him."