With a clenched jaw and narrow eyes, he responded. “Five minutes.”
There wasn’t a second sniper, but he didn’t need to know it. The five-minute head start would give me peace of mind that they weren’t going to try to do anything to save their reputations or their pride.
“Tell Agrioli he’s not fucking with a bunch of amateurs. We’re trained professionals. Anyone else fucks with me—or my men—and they’ll meet the same fate as you two dumb fucks.”
I shook my head and turned away.
I had been home from the war for a little more than a year. Now, it seemed I had my own war to fight. One of a more personal nature. I walked toward Lucky’s SUV confident if anyone was born to fight, it was me.
And, after making it through the threat of Agrioli’s men trying to hijack my shipment of weapons without being harmed, seeing Terra was the only thing that came to my mind.
Chapter Eleven
Terra
I rested my elbow on the edge of the table and held my hand between us so he could observe my chopstick expertise. “No, you just let the bottom one rest on your middle finger, and use the top one like this.”
He watched intently. After studying me for a moment, he picked up his chopsticks and pressed the tips together no differently than if he’d been doing it for years. “It’s actually simple once someone shows you how,” he admitted.
“Most people don’t get the hang of it so soon.” I wasn’t frustrated, I was envious. It had taken me a good six months to figure it out, and he had it mastered in thirty seconds. It didn’t surprise me. “I can’t believe you’ve never tried.”
He stared at the tips of the sticks as they clicked together. “Never really had a chance.”
“How can you say you never have a chance to eat sushi?”
He looked right at me and spoke in a voice that was almost prideful. “When I was eighteen, I volunteered to go fight in the war. Out of the last eleven years, I spent ten of them eating meals out of a plastic bag. And, in the last year, I’ve been busy building my empire.”
Seeing him now, it was easy to forget that he was once a marine. Dodging bullets and shooting at people seemed out of place for Michael, especially considering his mode of transportation and manner of dressing. I shrugged and coughed out a laugh. “I forgot.”
He laughed. “That last part was a joke. What? No sense of humor?”
“I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking. That was inconsiderate of me.”
“No it wasn’t. My childhood’s over. I don’t need you lamenting over what happened to me. Christ, it brought me here, didn’t it?”
I admired Michael’s ability to accept the life he had been forced to live. Despite all of his hardships, he somehow found a way to overcome them and maintain an impartial outlook on life. “I think it’s great that you can look at life the way you do.”
“And, what? Not be a statistic? Not become a product of my environment? How else would I look at it? If a man is incapable of accepting his past, his future becomes a predestined failure.”
“But not everyone is able to accept their past. At least not entirely. And I mean people far more fortunate than you,” I explained.
He stopped the stick from spinning, catching it in his palm without shifting his focus away from me. “It’s about being prideful.”
“What do you mean?”
“I have no regrets in how I’ve lived my life. I have no shame. None whatsoever. Everything I’ve done, I done to the best of my ability and with the best intentions.” He shrugged. “That’s all I can do.”
“So you wouldn’t change anything in your past? I mean, if you could?”
“Not really. Like I said, it brought me here.” He waved his open hand toward me. “I’ve never been happier. I would have never guessed having a woman in my life would make things better, but to be honest, it has.”
I dismissed compliments from friends and family members as being nothing more than kind offhanded remarks. From Michael, I found them heartfelt and far more meaningful. “Thank you. That means a lot to me.”
“No need to thank me. It’s true.”
“Well, I appreciate compliments from you. So, thank you.”
“You don’t appreciate them from everyone?”
I felt like an inconsiderate bitch, but I wanted to be truthful with him. “Not always,” I admitted.
His face contorted. “Why?”
“I have a big family, and not everyone is as fortunate as my immediate family. I don’t know, it’s just...” I looked at him for reassurance, only to realize he had no idea what it felt like to have a relative look at him with disdain without so much as trying.