Terra cuts in before I can answer. "Em, honey, maybe we don't insult the very hot, very scary man who just incapacitated six armed men in under thirty seconds, without killing them?"
Emily blanches. "Oh. Um. Sorry? No offense meant, Mr. Saxon."
I allow a slight smirk. "None taken."
"Okay, but seriously. What has to happen in your life for a vow like that to be necessary?"
"Em!" Terra shouts.
I plant my feet on top of one of the more incapacitated men's feet for counterbalance, lean down and put my shoulder in his gut, stand up, toss him over one shoulder, and then reach down and grab another's wrist. I haul them toward the side door, answering as I go.
"I was an assassin."
She gulps audibly. "Assassin?"
I sigh, unable to contain the annoyance at the obvious misconceptions she has surrounding the word. "Hold on."
There are, fortunately for me, several of the large rolling linen carts lining the hallway. I toss the bleeding man on my shoulder into one, heft the one I'm dragging in on top of him, and then go back and make short work of the rest. On the way, one of them decides he wants to get spicy with me, so I place the barrel of my pistol against his knee and shoot a hole in it with an admonishment to shut the fuck up and stay the fuck down.
My suit jacket is covered in blood, so I toss it into the linen basket and then return to the erstwhile wedding.
"Listen," I say, shifting my gaze between Emily and Terra. "Assassins don't run around gunning down random people for a few grand. There are people who do that, but they're not assassins, they're two-bit thugs, and they always get caught. A real assassin, like me, is a different animal entirely. I only eliminated specific targets chosen by my superiors—threats to their livelihood and reputation. Meaning, someone snitched or stole from the company, or someone from a rival group represented a great enough threat that it's worth the possible war that would ensue from their death." I check the load on the pistol—it's down to less than half, so I swap mags, tap the new one home, and tuck the half-depleted one into my waistband.
"Also, for the record, I have never once climbed to the top of a high-rise with a fancy suitcase containing a disassembled rifle, popped off a single well-placed shot, and vanished into the night. That's not how I work. I know guys who’ve done it that way, but that's honestly a lazy way to do it and a good way to get caught. Ballistics will always tell where the round came from, and there are always cameras these days."
She just stares at me. "Have you ever killed an innocent person?"
I hold her gaze. "No. Never. I wouldn't, and that's why I've got a five-million-dollar price on my head. Don't mean I'm a fuckin' Boy Scout, ‘cause I'm not. I'm a goddamn monster. I've got more skeletons in my closet than a motherfuckin' cemetery. I just won't hurt you.”
Terra nods, pinching her chin between thumb and forefinger as if considering her response. "It's the tits, isn't it? ‘There's a shortage of perfect breasts in this world, and it would be a pity to damage yours,’ and all that?"
I tip my head to one side and lift my shoulder. "Yours are pretty damned fantastic, yes, but I've always been more of an ass man."
For once, I seem to have gotten the verbal upper hand, since she just stares at me, mouth flapping open and then closed as her usual supply of witty retorts goes dry—momentarily, at least.
"As much as I've learned from this truly mind-blowing conversation, I'm still not FUCKING MARRIED!" Emily screeches the last two words.
Terra moves behind me and shoves me, hard, toward Emily, Tom, and the priest. And, I gotta say, for a chick who doesn't clear five-five, she's strong. Really strong—for anyone, but especially a girl her height. It shocks me, how much force she packs into that shove, and I let it carry me into a trot back to my place opposite her.
The priest clears his throat. "Now. Where were we?" He glances down at his book thing as if it has the answer, and then at me as if I do. "Ah yes. Do you, Emily Eileen Cummings, take this man, Thomas Richard Flaherty, to be your lawfully wedded husband…"
I tune out the rest, staring unabashedly at Terra. She holds my gaze, unwavering and bold. I've known hard men, stone-cold killers, who couldn't hold my stare, and here's this chick, staring me down without so much as a blink.
I don't want to be impressed by her. I'm already fighting the physical attraction, I sure as fuck don't need to actually respect her, to boot. Next thing I know, I'll be hauling her to Vegas with me after I've handled this little SNAFU with The Cabal.
And to that I say no. Nope. No way. Love and all that sappy shit is all good and well for Rev, Kane, and Chance. But me and my brothers? We ain't falling.
I won't put any woman through the hell my old man put my mom through. God fucking knows I'm not him, but I’m not taking any chances that shit is genetic.
I hear Tom say "I do," and then the priest is pronouncing them married and they're sucking face like a pair of desperate virgins.
I turn to Terra. "Well, it's been weird. My advice to you is to get out of Boston. Stay out for a couple of weeks, at least. I don't know how long it'll take me to sort out my shit with The Cabal, but I promise I'll do my best to make sure they know you're not with me."
"You're leaving?" She sounds…almost disappointed if I didn't know any better.
"Best for everyone if I do."
"Emily and Tom are picking up the tab at O'Rourke's, down in the lobby. We're getting shitfaced. Come with us." She steps across the space between us and gazes up at me. Her eyes are turquoise, and almighty fucking piercing. I see…something in them. Not sure what, but it makes me goddamn uncomfortable. "When was the last time you had fun?"
