Mine To Protect (Mine #6)(22)

He was so confusing. “You want me to feel safe?” Zoe asked him. “Then distract me. Tell me something. Tell me about you.” Because she’d been the one doing all the talking. All the sharing.

“Fine. You ask me anything—anything at all—and I’ll answer you honestly.”

Okay. “Why did you join the FBI?”

Silence.

“Victor…”

“Because I would have made too good of a criminal.”

What?

The plane bounced, she squeezed his hand harder, and her attention stayed on him.

“I grew up hard,” Victor told her. His eyes seemed to turn darker with whatever memories he experienced. “I was on the street most days, and I spent plenty of nights literally fighting to survive.”

At those words, her gaze dipped to their joined hands. She looked at his knuckles—really looked at them—and saw the faint scars that lined his hands.

“The fights weren’t exactly sanctioned. You stayed in the ring until your opponent couldn’t move or until you were the one who got dragged out.”

That couldn’t be Victor’s life. He was…

That isn’t him.

“I was barely skirting the law most days. Going down a path I shouldn’t take. A path that was too easy, but I f*cking didn’t want to end up a criminal. I had a choice. I figured, maybe if I was so good at the criminal life…if I could think like them…maybe I could stop some of them.”

Her breath left her in a quick rush. “So you risk your life every day—”

“Because I’ve seen firsthand just how many lives are destroyed by monsters. By men like…”

But he stopped.

She didn’t. “Men like my father.”

His head inclined toward her.

“Thank you for telling me,” she whispered.

Once more, he raised their joined hands to his mouth and pressed a quick kiss to her knuckles.

It took her a few moments to realize… “No more turbulence.”

“No. It’s stopped.”

But he didn’t let her hand go.

And she didn’t mind.

***

When the plane touched down in Vegas, Victor escorted Zoe out of the airport, and he found a sleek limo waiting for them.

His brows rose at the sight. Drake Archer was leaning against the back of that limo, dressed in a high-priced suit and wearing dark glasses. His blond hair was tousled, and a smirk rested on his face.

Drake smirked well.

He was a tough sonofabitch. Smart. Dangerous. Victor hadn’t much cared for him when they first met, mostly because Drake had been too interested in—

One of the limo’s back doors opened. “You think you can come to Vegas, use my husband’s jet and not call me?” Jasmine Archer demanded, her red hair shone under the airport lights.

Jasmine. Jazz. The closest thing to a sister he’d ever had.

Beside Victor, Zoe had stiffened. She probably wondered what in the hell was happening. He should explain things to her. Only—

Jasmine rushed forward and gave him a hug. “Seriously, I should kick your ass,” she muttered. “Coming to our town and not calling me. Trying to leave me out of the fun.”

“It’s not about fun.” Dammit. She wasn’t working with the FBI any longer. He was trying to keep her safe. “I’m working a case.”

Jasmine eased back. She glanced from him to Zoe, then back to him. Speculation glinted in her eyes. Then she smiled at Zoe, flashing the dimples that always made her look deceptively innocent, and offered her hand. “Hello, there. I’m Jasmine, Drake’s wife.”

Shock flashed across Zoe’s face. “I’m Zoe. Zoe—”

“She’s just Zoe,” Victor interrupted, knowing that he sounded too gruff, but he’d busted ass to give Jasmine a safe life. The last thing he wanted was for her to get too involved in the mess that was his case with Luther Bates. He tossed a glare at Drake. “I asked for the plane. The plane and a low profile.”

Drake shrugged.

Zoe was still shaking Jasmine’s hand.

Victor tugged her free of the other woman and pretty much pushed them all into the limo. Just standing around outside wasn’t the safest plan ever. When the door shut behind them and the driver started the car a few moments later, Victor tossed a hard glare at Drake. “Is it so much to ask that you keep Jasmine safe?”

Drake’s eyes turned to slits. “You know I’d give my life to protect her.”

Actually, yeah, the guy almost had done that very thing.

Jasmine cleared her throat. “We don’t have secrets, Vic.” Her fingers twined with Drake’s. “It’s kind of our thing.”

He could feel his cheeks flushing. Only Jasmine could do that to him. He’d met her so many years ago. When he’d been a different person. When she had been.

He, Jasmine, and their third damn Musketeer, Saxon Black. They should never have formed that weird ass family unit. They should have hated each other. Or at least, he and Saxon should have.

He and Saxon had been fighters, in a match that had been far from legal. They’d been kids, too big and too strong. Rough teens. Their job had been to pound each other until only one guy was left standing. Too bad he and Saxon had both been very good at giving punches—and taking them.