28. Colin
Colin
Itake a few steps back, taking her in as she turns to me.
Her hair is messy, the skin of her chest red and splotchy.
But her eyes are glittering as she stares over at me.
Her red lips are parted and her tongue traces a slow line across her bottom lip.
Her hands are trembling, and I’m so fucking thankful for some hint that she’s actually human.
That she feels something. I can’t tell if she’s nervous or terrified, but the confirmation that she’s not a robot who’s constantly faking every emotion pangs at something in my chest. Something I’m afraid to inspect too closely.
She eyes the silver cuff on her wrist, and then me.
“What did you think was going to happen?” My words are so bland, so absent of emotion, that they surprise even me. I lean my body back against the fridge, suddenly afraid I won’t be able to continue holding myself upright.
“You’re not perfect,” she says quietly, holding my stare with such ferocity it almost scares me.
“I don’t murder people!” The words assault my throat on their way out like they’re punishing me for punishing her.
My hands ball into painfully tight fists at my side.
I want to turn around and grip the handle of this refrigerator and rip it from its cubby in the wall.
The storm of anger in my chest threatens to explode out of me and paint itself all over the walls.
I can feel the furious tapping of my pulse against the skin of my neck.
“No. Just stalk.” Her voice is light, taunting, and she nods toward the garage.
My gaze follows the movement until it clicks what she’s talking about.
The GPS trackers. I force myself to swallow, and she doesn’t continue until I face her again.
“Spy.” A nod toward the camera in the leaves at the top of the cupboards. “Assault.”
“I never assaulted you, Chloe.” The laugh that sounds from her mouth is toxic. Too tight.
“I guess it depends on who you ask. Me?” The cuffs jingle when she attempts to use her chained hand to point at herself. “I wouldn’t say so. But your captain? He might.”
I narrow my eyes at her. “Are you threatening me?”
“No!” The drawer snaps open when her wrist tugs at the handle. She closes her eyes, sucks a slow, deep breath through her nostrils, and then pushes it out her lips and finds my stare again. “I’m trying to get you to understand that…we’re the same.”
“The same?” I close the distance between us, forcing her body against the hard edge of the counter and meet her glare with mine. I can’t resist gripping her jaw in my hand again, tipping her head back and bringing her lips closer to mine.
It’s habit. To need to touch her. To crave the buzz of energy constantly flitting across her skin. To feel it penetrate mine and make me come alive.
“You don’t scare me,” she breathes, her gaze pinging to my lips. And fuck, I should not want to kiss her right now.
“Nothing scares you,” I whisper, leaning forward to rub my nose against hers. “Because you’re a monster,” I growl. Her eyes flash with hurt, and I regret it the moment I see that pain in her golden irises. But I shouldn’t regret it. It’s true. Isn’t it?
“You want to know who the monsters are, detective?” The title rolls off her tongue wrapped so heavily in disgust, it’s offensive. Her eyes don’t stray from mine for even a second. Her hands aren’t shaking anymore, but her voice is trembling when she says, “You want to know what they did to me?”
I should take my hand off her, but I only get as far as letting it fall to the warm skin of her chest. I should take a step back, turn away, go to my captain.
But I can’t fucking bring myself to do it.
Part of me is desperate to hear what she has to say.
That those men deserved it. That she did what she had to do.
That they had it coming, even though those types of thoughts are so far from thoughts I should be having.
They are so far from the beliefs that should align with my morals and duties as an officer of the law.
And yet…everything I thought I stood for is crumbling beneath my unsteady stance, threatening to give away and let me fall.
I can almost feel the hitch in the pit of my stomach, the bile it’s forcing toward my throat.
It's similar to what falling for Chloe has felt like, but scarier. More uncertain. Confusing.
Casting her gaze toward the floor, she takes a moment to find the words.
And then, “They did whatever they damn well wanted.” Her voice cracks, and if there’d been even the slightest hum of an appliance in the room with us, I’d have missed her statement entirely, it was so quiet.
“Every night,” she continues. Her eyes fill with tears threatening to fall from her lash line, and I can’t help but reach up and rub my thumb across the tiny hairs.
“They drank themselves drunk and they beat my mother, drugged her, and had their way with me every night.” Her head falls back as she barks out an incredulous, watery laugh.
“Can you believe that? Not just one, but multiple assholes. How lucky were we?”
I press my forehead to hers, cupping her face in my hands, and then my lips to her skin.
I never knew I could feel so hollow, yet simultaneously so full to the brim of rage and bitterness that I could shatter into a million pieces.
If those men weren’t already dead, I would kill them myself.
Fuck the badge.
I would pull each individual hair from their bodies. Their nails. Their skin. Limbs. Until there was nothing left of them. I’d stick them in Chloe’s barrels in the basement and let them drain into the soil.
No one touches her. No one touches what’s mine.
Still, I try to fight this battle inside me. I pull my face back from hers, looking into her eyes.
“That’s what the police are for, Chloe. The justice system,” I argue softly, but the conviction in my voice falls flat.
“The justice system? Do you know how many times we went to the justice system for help?” My hands fall to my sides, and I finally take a single step back, regret washing through me.
Because I am the justice system, and I failed her.
“Too many fucking times,” she spits, yanking at the cuff on her wrist once more. “Take this off, Colin.”
I want to. “I can’t.”
“Colin.” She steps forward as much as her restraint will allow, taking a couple of steps and letting her hand pull behind her. She brings her other hand to the side of my face, and the gentle touch on my cheek feels like both a stab to the gut and the most comfortable landing I’ll ever find.
Who is this woman? Comforting me, after all she’s been through?
My instinct, my mind, my heart, they are all in a vicious battle between everything I thought I knew. About her. About me. About right and wrong.
But I was right about her all along. I was right to be suspicious.
To think people were in danger of her. But also…
I never feel more alive than when she’s next to me, yapping about her skulls or dragging me to her damn painting classes.
And something deep in my gut is whispering to me that she’s not as dangerous as I’ve believed.
I feel the electric life slip right through my fingers as I take a step out of her grasp and let the rage reinvigorate inside me. She stays stretched in my direction, eyes searching for something in mine. Connection, maybe, or trust. Camaraderie.
“You murdered my mother’s nurse.”
“Colin,” Chloe grits, like continuing to flesh out these details is just an annoyance for her. “She was killing your mother. Wouldn’t you have done the same?”
“I would have gone to the police!” I shout, my arms splaying out wide. But at the same time, I wonder if I would have. The relief I feel over her death, the gratitude I feel toward Chloe for stepping in to protect her when I should have been the one, it’s fighting for air.
But the heat of the anger inside me spreads across my chest, up my neck, and over my face. I can feel the pinch of frustration in each hair follicle dotting my skull that Chloe brought us to this point. That we were so close to moving forward and building something together…
She’s everything I thought she was, and I fucking hate her for it. I fucking hate what this world made her become.
“Oh my God, Colin!” She turns away and threads a hand through her hair, her fingers rigid with frustration as they grasp at her wild, blonde strands. “She killed eleven people! Your mother was going to be the twelfth! And she was going to move on to the next town without any consequences!”
“You don’t know that, Chloe,” I argue, this time with force. “We could have turned her in. She could have gone to prison for the rest of her life.”
“Or not,” she argues back. “And that is never a chance I’m willing to take.”
“Your actions caused millions of dollars in damage, Chloe. Hundreds of people traveling that highway have been impacted by what you did. Someone else could have been hurt.”
She raises her eyebrows, and I think I might see a hint of understanding flash across her features. “I can see how what I did was a tad excessive, but I assure you that no one else’s life was ever in danger besides Vera’s.”
“A tad excessive,” I repeat sarcastically. I settle my hands on my hips, turning my face toward the window at the front of the house and seeing Barry’s car roll to a slow. “And Max?” I ask, turning back to Chloe. “How’d you and your friends manage to plant his DNA?”
Eyes flaring with outrage, she takes another limited step in my direction and the cuffs jingle behind her.
“Leave my friends out of this,” she warns.
“I didn’t plant shit.” She shakes her head in annoyance, glancing away from me.
“I would have rather killed him. And you know where he’s at now, Colin?
Hmm?” She turns back to me, eyes alight with victory.