Page 7 of Brutal
Not because she’s wrong.
Because she isn’t.
“You say that like you disapprove.”
“I say it like I noticed.” She meets my gaze, a look of defiance in her own.
It’s unusual. Most people pretend not to see what I am.
This woman doesn’t.
She looks at me as if she understands exactly what kind of man she’s talking to, and she’s decided not to run anyway.
“You’re not in business with Preston Darnell,” I say.
“Is that a question?”
“It’s an observation.”
She rotates the stem of her glass between her fingers. “Then here’s one in return.”
I wait.
“You never raised your voice,” she says. “You didn’t threaten him either.”
“Didn’t I?”
“No.” She lifts her glass again. “You simply explained what had already happened to him.” She pauses a moment. Then, “Men like you don’t make mistakes when they destroy someone.”
Her words should shock me, but they don’t. I know who and what I am, and I make no apologies for it.
“I’ll take that as a compliment,” I say.
“It wasn’t.”
I can’t help a slow smile as I glance at the pendant resting against her collarbone.
“You wear justice around your neck,” I say. “Why?”
She slides her fingers over the small pendant. “Maybe it’s a reminder.”
“Of what?”
“That justice sometimes comes at a price—a price that’s worth paying.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Interesting.”
“Why?”
“Are you looking for justice for someone?”
“I’m always interested in justice,” she says. “But I can tell you’re not.”
She’s not wrong. “What makes you say that?”
“You’re a powerful man,” she replies. “And men with power always choose that power over everything, including justice. And that leads to corruption.”
I hold her gaze. “You think?”
