Raising his voice to be heard over Kevin’s continued tirade, Ryan said, “We’re done here. Now get out of my face.”
For the first time since the incident on Monday, Kevin appeared almost apologetic, but Ryan knew better. Not once during any of the conversations he’d had with Kevin had he ever said he was sorry—fault or not. And he never would. It wasn’t like Kevin to accept responsibility for his own actions.
Kevin turned toward the door, and Ryan was grateful.
Unfortunately, his hope that Kevin would walk away disappeared when, with his hand hovering over the knob, he turned back. Ryan’s stomach churned, anger and hurt merging into a potent mixture of hatred and disgust.
“I’ll give you some time to cool off. We can talk at home later. I’ll stop by.”
“Don’t bother,” Ryan answered. “I don’t have anything more to say to you.”
“RT. Come on, you can’t be ser—”
“Get outta my face.” Dropping into his chair, Ryan glared up at Kevin. “Go!”
When the door closed behind Kevin, Ryan sighed, dropping his head into his hands. How had things gone so horribly wrong?
He had to go talk to Bryce and Casper, figure out what their next steps were. As much as he wished it didn’t have to come to this, he knew that firing Kevin was the only way this could play out.
And in order to get on with his life, the final decision couldn’t come soon enough.
ZACHARIAH TAVOULARIS HAD NO IDEA why he had been called into the office on a Friday afternoon, but here he was, trying to smile as he limped through the nearly empty space toward the offices in the back. After the week he’d had, Z wanted nothing more than to put his feet up, relax, maybe have a beer or two. Specifically, he wanted to give his right foot a rest since he was pretty damn sure he’d broken his big toe in the skirmish that had ensued just four days ago.
Damn. Had it only been four days? It seemed like a hell of a lot longer than that.
After the fiasco that had nearly cost him his life, Z had been treated for the stab wound in his shoulder, but he’d kept his trap shut about his toe. No reason to get everyone more fired up than they already were when there wasn’t anything that could be done about it. When the shit hit the fan around this place, things got messy, and Z didn’t want to add to the strain he could already feel.
Rapping his knuckles on RT’s door, he waited until he was called to come inside.
“You wanted to see me?” Z asked, peeking his head in the door.
RT was sitting at his desk, his brow furrowed, his mouth a hard, thin line. He didn’t look happy at all.
“Yeah. Have a seat,” RT instructed, nodding toward the empty chair across from him.
He suddenly wished he could be anywhere but there. As it was, he’d spent the last four days thinking about the shit that had gone down and the fact that he’d been hung out to dry by one of his own. Having gone deep cover for months inside a drug cartel in order to unearth a missing wealthy businessman, Z and Trace had been lucky to escape alive. Fortunately, they had, but it damn sure hadn’t been easy. Despite being set up to take a fall, Z and Trace had still managed to extract the man they’d been hired to find from the cartel’s clutches.
Barely.
No thanks to that bastard Kevin Fischer.
Not wanting to rehash the incident, because the more he thought about it, the angrier he got, Z attempted to redirect the conversation before RT had a chance to steer it in that direction. “I already gave the details of what happened to Casper,” Z informed RT, trying not to limp too much although his toe was throbbing like a motherfucker. Probably would’ve been best not to stuff his foot into his boot, but riding his motorcycle without it hadn’t been an option.
So here he was, lowering himself into the chair in RT’s office.
“How’re you doin’?” RT asked, his eyes sliding to Z’s shoulder.
“Oh, that?” Z smiled, peering down at his shirt sleeve, which was hiding the white bandage that still covered the three-inch-deep gash in his arm. “Just a scratch.”
Z got caught up in RT’s crystal-blue gaze for a moment, unable to look away. Although his body’s untimely response wasn’t exactly appropriate considering Z worked for RT, he couldn’t help but be attracted to the man. Hell, he’d been harboring what he’d regarded as a slight crush on the guy for the better part of the last five years, maybe longer. Not that it mattered, because once RT had started dating Kevin, Z had done everything in his power not to think about him.
Most of the time it had worked.
Okay, some of the time.
“Are you really okay?” This time RT’s question sounded less business-like and more…personal.
What Z wouldn’t give for RT to care about him. Well, on a level other than employer to employee, that was. There was no doubt that RT cared about all of the enforcers who worked for Sniper 1 Security. He made that abundantly clear.
“I’m great,” Z lied. “Just chillin’, waitin’ for my next assignment.”
“I think you should take a coupla weeks off,” RT said, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms over his thick chest, his biceps bulging from the movement. “Recuperate. Acclimate to the real world once again.”
Z locked his eyes on RT’s face once more. “Nope. Not necessary.” The last thing Z wanted was downtime. He needed something to keep him busy, and his job provided the perfect excuse not to sit around and dwell on all that had happened over the past year. Things were just beginning to stabilize—as best they could, anyhow—and he had no intention of upsetting that precarious balance that had become his life.
“You sure?” RT inquired.
Without hesitating, Z answered with, “Positive. Why? Is that why I’m here?” Z glanced around mainly because looking at RT was making his body hum to life in a way that was definitely inappropriate but couldn’t be helped. “’Cause you coulda done this over the phone, ya know?”
RT shook his head. “I called you in because I wanted to talk about Kevin. I met with him a couple of hours ago.”
Oh, shit. The absolute last person Z wanted to chat with RT about was Kevin. Hell, he’d prefer to talk politics or religion—both subjects he generally considered completely off limits—rather than discuss the fucking douche that RT had hooked up with.
Z had never disliked anyone as much as he disliked Kevin. The guy was a first-rate dickhead who considered himself high and mighty because of the fact he was sleeping with RT. A point Kevin always made sure to relay.
There were a few comments Kevin had made over the years that Z was sure he’d never forget.
Don’t forget who you’re talkin’ to. Remember whose bed I keep warm at night. That makes me practically in charge.
I don’t want to have to tell you that I can call the shots, but I will. If I see you lookin’ at RT like that again, I’ll make sure he cans your ass. After all, I do pull most of the strings with him.
I’m the one he eats his meals with, the one he’s fucking every night. You’d be wise to remember that.
Yep, first-rate prick.
Rather than share his feelings on the subject, Z steeled his expression, waiting to see what RT had to say.
“We have no choice but to terminate his employment,” RT explained. “I spoke at length with Casper and Bryce a little while ago, and they agree. What Kevin did…?” RT shook his head in disbelief. “It’s unforgivable. We’re just damn lucky no one died.”