Page 4 of Be My Vengeance

He knew I was right, but his anger had a hold of him. “Yes.”

“Then trust him, like he asked you to.”

“He won’t tell me anything. I’ve been asking.”

I lifted a brow. “Do you think it has anything to do with the fact that whenever he gets a whisper of anything and you find out, you rush in and kill everyone, making it impossible to obtain any information?”

His lip curled, and there was no hiding that he was struggling. “Yes,” he growled.

“Alex. We will find him, and you will kill him.”

Like a switch had been flipped, his eyes shuttered and his face relaxed. It was eerie. “Fine.” He spun on his heels and walked away toward the kitchen, where Rita was arguing with someone, spoon raised and everything.

I leaned against the wall and watched him. The fake smile, the nodding, the drinking whatever Dean handed him. He was acting as if he were holding it together, but I knew better. I’d been watching that man for years. I understood his quirks, dislikes, hobbies, everything. Because while he’d been falling in love with Mila, I’d already been in love with him.

The day he’d told me he was getting married, I’d been both happy and heartbroken. Loving Alex Walker meant watching him build a life with someone else because he wasn’t gay or bi, at least not from what I’d seen. I’d both adored Mila and been insanely jealous of her.

She’d gotten to touch him, kiss him, and love him openly. I was a pathetic man pining for someone who’d never love me back.

When she’d died, I’d been angry with myself for ever being jealous of her. I’d also been upset she wasn’t here to make Alex laugh like no one ever had. Every day I saw his pain, felt his loss, and wished I could hold him and tell it was going to be okay. But that was not my role in our story. And I’d come to terms with that a long time ago. That didn’t mean I’d ever stop loving him, and that meant making sure he didn’t get killed by his worst enemy…himself.

CHAPTER TWO

Alex

“Dean, if you taste that sauce again, I’ll take this spoon and shove it so far up your ass!” Rita whacked Dean’s hand with the spoon she’d been using to stir her sauce.

Dean smiled and licked his hand. “Yum.”

“Out!” she shouted, but the smirk on her face belied her anger.

Dean left, laughing, and my rage spiked. Everyone was fine, happy, celebrating. It felt like they’d all forgotten about Mila, my wife. My beautiful, smart, funny wife who was six feet in the ground.

“Here.” I looked up, and Rita was handing me some apple cider beer. “Drink.”

I knew not to argue with her, so I drank. It tasted the same as everything did these days, like ash. Everything was muted in this world without Mila. The sun was duller; food tasted like shit; nothing smelled right.

“Alex, I’ve known you for a long time.”

“Mmm.”

She tapped the pot with her spoon and placed it on a small plate. She turned and narrowed her eyes at me. “You think everybody here has forgotten. That they’re all going on with their lives.”

“Aren’t they?”

“No, mijo, they aren’t. They’re taking a breath. One short and simple breath.”

I gritted my teeth. “I wish Mila could take a breath but she can’t, and until the pakhan is dead, nothing else matters.”

She shook her head. “It all matters, and you’ll see it again someday. I know it.”

I didn’t want to be rude and tell Rita she didn’t know what she was talking about, which would inevitably turn into me snapping at her, and then it would get ugly. So, I tipped my beer at her, walked out of the kitchen, and sat in an empty seat near the fireplace.

I stared at the flames, every flicker pulling me into my memories—which I both loved and hated.

“Christmas is the best holiday.” Mila giggled as I wrapped my arms around her, waiting for the town to light the tree.

“Why is it the best?”