Not A Prologue
I loosen my tie. Not from the heat, even though the sweltering air has made sweat bead down my neck all night. No. I’m nervous tonight for a different reason entirely.
This idea is sheer ludicrous.
If it goes wrong, I could lose her. Not simply her, though—fucking everything. That’s what’s at stake.
Determination sends my fists into an unbearable clench. I’ll be damned if anyone thinks they can take what’s mine. I look across the table, brows lowering. “You’re sure safety is guaranteed?”
He shakes his head. “We’ll do our best, but nothing is ever certain.” He cradles his stomach with his hands. “Being who you are, I’m sure you know this. There are always risks present.”
“Fuck,” I mutter, his words wrecking my taut composure. My fingertip wrings tightly in my hair.
“Sir.” His call to attention is meek. “If I may, we have tried everything. I’ve been doing this a long time, and from what I see, this is the only way.”
He’s right.I know he is. Either we do this now, or we’re haunted for life. “All right,” I concede. “But”—I lower my frame, placing my hands on the table—“if anything happens to her, I’ll have all of your fucking heads.”
I notice the tight gulp taken as he nods. “Understood, sir.”