Chapter 43
Daniel
I was sure she could feel my heart pounding with her chest so close to mine. She was hugging me. I saw how she reacted when people hugged her. Even when Becca was a mess at the hotel—she let the hug happen, but she never reciprocated. Her arms were always down, and her body was stiff.
I didn’t want to think about Kernel or the investigation.
I couldn’t, even if I wanted to, not now that I knew what happened to her.
What kind of life did she have? She killed someone when she was nine years old.
She was tortured and abandoned. Or maybe she escaped.
What she did for Becca… she was always that person.
Even as a kid, she protected someone else when she was bleeding and injured.
My mind was overrun with thoughts, and my heart ached for her while a simmering rage pounded through my head with the urge to find every single person who hurt her and put Cole’s appetites to shame.
She leaned back and looked at me. I moved her hair away from her face. Her eyes were red and shining, which only made the gray irises stand out even more. What did Kernel call her?
Angel of death.
I could see it—small, frail, and somehow still deadly.
“Come on, you need to eat.”
I stood up with her still in my arms. Her legs went around my waist while she held on to my neck, still leaning back slightly to keep her eyes on mine. I put her on the kitchen island. “Pasta ok? I can make pasta.”
She smiled. “Thank you.”
I kissed her forehead before forcing myself to step back and make us dinner.
I could hear her move down the island to one of the stools to watch me while I lightly fried strips of zucchini, cherry tomatoes, and basil leaves.
I tried to focus on making pretty much the only dish I knew how to make.
I added seasoning and plated the pasta with the fried concoction, and added grated grana cheese on top.
It was a very quick and tasty meal that Ruth taught me to make when I was a kid.
We ate quietly, sitting side by side. I had so many questions to ask her—I wanted to know everything.
I wanted to be gentle and caring, to show her that she could trust me, and that meant pushing down the rage that was bubbling to the surface.
I still wanted—needed—to kill Kernel, along with every person that ever hurt her.
She pushed the nearly-empty plate back and sighed. “I didn’t know I killed him.”
Her brows were scrunched up in the middle. She looked down at her hands on her lap, confused.
“Who?”
“Kernel’s dad. I didn’t even remember him.”
Would she believe me if I told her that it was ok? Or maybe it didn’t matter that the guy deserved it—she killed him when she was only nine years old.
“He was going to kill his own kid.”
“I know. It’s just… I—”
She hesitated and looked up at me, searching my face for something that would help her decide her next words.
“Tell me.”
“It’s too much, Daniel.” She shook her head.