“All right.” He turned the truck around, and headed in the opposite direction.
I leaned my head against the headrest and the window, watching the night and the few other cars on the road zipped by in a blur. My eyelids began droop, being lulled into sleep by the moving truck and the silence.
Although, I could feel Decker’s eyes on me. Maybe it was the fear of being separated from each other, after all this time—I didn’t know.
Nevertheless, I wasn’t losing Decker again.
Chapter Eight
Decker
Krew was quiet; a quick glance at him again and I was mesmerized. He was sleeping. His eyes were shut and he was breathing evenly. Even in the darkness of the cab, I could see the circles under his eyes, and the bruises on his jawline—fresh ones. Ones I hadn’t seen a few hours earlier on that street corner in Chicago. Still, he was beautiful.
Yet… those bruises.
He hadn’t fought tonight—my bullet through Kane’s forehead had seen to that. Instinctively I knew who put those bruises on Krew.
Teke. That motherfucker.
Now that I had Krew with me, I’d make sure that bastard kept his hands to himself. Or he’d see what I was capable of.
I wanted to reach out and touch Krew’s face, but I held back. I didn’t want to wake him.
Studying his profile, I recalled Krew’s questions—lots of them. However, I couldn’t conjure up a single word.
Where have I been? What have I been doing? Why didn’t I reach out to him? They were all legit questions, but I had no idea how to respond. How to give him the answers he deserved to hear—or how much of my past, which was no picnic, I should reveal.
At the next red light, I pulled out the burner phone from my pocket, brought up the message app and sent a text to my handler.
Me: Need a week off.
I didn’t get an immediate reply, yet I wasn’t concerned. Sabrina would eventually respond. And as the light turned green, she texted back.
Sabrina: Should I be worried—scratch that. Okay, bossman.
I quietly chuckled and placed the phone in one of the cup holders in the middle console and drove in silence.
I drove until I found a parking spot about half a block down from the diner. It was a precautionary tactic I’d learned from a retired hitman.
I had befriended Merrick Gentry while we served together in the military. After all the bullshit I got caught up in, I barely managed to get out with an honorable discharge. Merrick approached me soon after with a career opportunity—as a hitman. Thinking about his job proposal still made me chuckle.
Now Merrick was retired, and I haven’t looked back on my decision once.
“Wake up. We’re here,” I said softly, shaking Krew’s arm. He slowly came to, his intriguing eyes glazed with sleep but no less beautiful.
“Okay,” he said with a yawn, stretching his arms out, as he looked through the windshield.
I got out, tucked my Ruger inside a pocket of my hoodie, and walked around to the passenger door and opened it. “Why don’t you put the gun in your duffle?”
Krew’s eyebrows drew into a vee and he studied me for a long minute, then did as I suggested before he slid out and closed the door. I locked the truck and headed toward the diner. Krew fell into step beside me.
I pulled open the diner door and motioned him to walk through first. He glanced at me with a strange expression before entering the place.
Christ, I needed to stop treating him like he was mine. Krew wasn’t. Not anymore. We were here to talk, catch up, and then go our separate ways. Leave him for good.
As I crossed the threshold, I automatically scanned the interior. The diner was nearly deserted at this time of night—or morning. There was only one other patron, and he sat in the booth closest to the door.
The smell… it had hit me as I entered. Greasy fried foods, strong black coffee, and the too-sweet doughnuts and desserts—the aromas mingled and I took a good inhale. My stomach growled.
