Chapter 41
Chapter Forty-One
LUKA
I carry her to my spa bathroom, set her down in a chair, and start a bath. She tells me not to fuss over her, but that’s not an option.
I had every wrist-healing device and hot-cold wrap known to humankind sent over. Every salve and balm—even the hippie shit. I set them out methodically, arranging everything with military precision.
The pressure she’s been under blows my mind—it really does. But she’s made of tough stuff. This is a woman who’s used to fighting for things others take for granted, and she’s been carrying this huge burden alone.
She gazes up at me. Relief has softened her face.
I was an asshole, but she sees now that I have her back.
It hits me suddenly how much deeper I’ve gotten with her than I’ve ever gotten with anybody in my life.
Sara and I were kids—sneaking around, defying authority—but Edie?
I know her heart. Her sense of humor. I know the contours of her desire like I know the warmth of a fire on a cold night.
I know she loves pastels and is a hat person.
Thanks to that visit to her dorm, I know she plays the harmonica, of all things.
And she’s an organizational wiz with several planners and an elaborate color-coding system .
“Tell me about your sister,” I command gently.
She smiles up at me. “Mary is the bravest person you could ever meet. A total free spirit who loves music, especially all that nineties stuff, and an amazing artist. She used to draw tiny animals on everything—little mice and rabbits and possums. Unicorns if I begged her. And she’s so resourceful.
We had a hard time growing up, but she was there for me when Mom was checked out, which was kind of always toward the end. ”
She describes little games Mary would invent, candies and sparkly jewelry she would procure, and the dinners she’d make out of three sad ingredients.
“She ended up being my mother and making our life livable. She sacrificed her childhood for me, and I didn’t even realize it. I should’ve paid attention.”
“You can’t take that kind of thing on yourself,” I say firmly, leaving no room for argument. “You were doing the best you could.”
She makes a little sound. She’s not so sure. Or maybe she doesn’t trust me now. I wouldn’t blame her.
I test the water with my hand, gauging it with expert precision. “Too hot?”
She swishes her hand around in it. “It seems good.”
“Come on, then,” I say softly but decisively. I slide my suit coat over her arms, my fingers deft and sure.
“Are you coming in with me?”
“This is just for you.” I help her with the rest of her clothes, taking care to avoid touching her arm but watching her with protective eyes all the while.
“It’s not like it’s broken,” she says at one point. “It’s really fine.”
I fix her with a look that silences further protest.
I kiss her shoulder. Her skin is soft, and of course, I would love nothing more than to consume her on every level. But I stay with the caring shit, outrageous as it is coming from a man like me .
The lion caring for the mouse, which, again, would never happen in nature, but it’s happening now because we’re different. We’re more than that. It’s wrong, but there it is.
The lion can’t get enough of the mouse, though she’s hardly a mouse.
She sinks more deeply into the water, surrendering to my care, looking more relaxed than I’ve seen her look... possibly ever.
“I have this dream for me and Mary. Or I shouldn’t call it a dream.
It’s more like a plan where I find her and pull her out of whatever hell she’s got herself into.
I get her into rehab, and once I have my teaching license, we live in a little seaside house and help each other.
And we’ll grow flowers in the window boxes and things like that. ”
Rescuing her sister. I’d expect nothing less of her.
She’s calm enough now to give me some halfway-decent details. “So what does this guy look like?”
She regards me warily.
“Don’t worry,” I promise. “I’ll get your sister home first. Then I’ll deal with him.”
She seems to relax at this. “He has short, dark wavy hair. He’s about your height but wide. His shoulders are really wide, and his eyes are dark brown and also really wide. His neck and arms are super thick. Like he might be a wrestler or something.”
“That’s good.” I test the water again, my movements controlled and deliberate. “Distinguishing marks?”
“Umm... he has a small white scar on his chin.” She narrows her eyes. “He’s a bad shaver; seems like he always has a shaving nick. That’s not a very good description.”
“Anything else stand out? Birthmark? Tattoo? Limp?” I press, mentally cataloging each detail like the predator I am.
There’s not much to go on with this guy, but she tries her best.
“What sorts of things did he want to know about me?” I ask, my jaw tightening.
“At first he just wanted me to report anything I heard—names, dates. He’s desperate to know where you’ve been all this time, like all the years after you disappeared.”
“You didn’t tell him... any of it?”
“No way. That’s your story,” she says. “And when I told him that you didn’t want to see me anymore, he was pretty upset.
He wanted me to do one last thing where I show up at your restaurant and start quizzing you on what languages you speak and why you came back.
He really wants to know why you killed your brother the way you did.
Oh, and I’m supposed to get a strand of your hair—complete with the root. ”
I straighten. “Hair?”
She shrugs. “I doubt he wants to clone you.”
“That’s not what he wants,” I say darkly.
“The hair and more details on where you’ve been—those were supposed to be my final assignments.
He said he’s watching your restaurant, or at least he has somebody watching it.
He plans to text me the next time you’re there, and I’m supposed to show up like I need to see you again.
Did you know people were watching your restaurant? ”
“I’ve always assumed.”
She swishes her hand through the water. I’m glad to see her using her injured arm—it’ll heal up fine. But it should never have happened.
“Okay, so don’t laugh, but I have a plan.”
“A plan, huh?”
She tells me this plan she’s concocted where she goes to the restaurant, I invite her to sit with me, and we pretend to dine together.
Then I pretend to get mad at her, and I make Orton throw her out with a warning to never come back again.
Then she feeds Bender a fake story involving a military school in Montenegro to explain where I’ve been all these years.
“Montenegro? Why Montenegro?”
She shrugs. “It seemed believable? ”
“Standard-issue criminal place to send a kid to military school?”
She splashes me. “Do you want to hear the rest of my plan or not?”
“Go on.”
“I don’t think he ever really expected me to ask about your brother, so we’re clear on that. And I’ll bring a hair, but not yours. We find a different one with the same hair color. What do you think?”
“Bad plan.”
“What? I think it’s great. He won’t know if the hair is yours. He won’t know if the story is real. He has no way to verify any of it.”
“And then what incentive does he have to help you reunite with your sister? Once you’ve given him everything he supposedly wants? Assuming he doesn’t see through it.”
“I would’ve fulfilled my end of the bargain and...” She trails off here as she realizes the man has zero reason to help her. “Oh.”
“We don’t know if he has her. We don’t know if he knows where she is or even if she’s alive. That’s job number one.”
“But he had a recent picture of her!”
“I could show you a recent picture of Scarlett Johansson. It doesn’t mean I have her stashed away somewhere or that I could get to her.
A recent picture doesn’t even prove she’s alive.
And how do you know how recent the picture actually is?
Even if he really did have her or has some control over her, what use is she? ”
“Y-you think he’s probably killed her by now?” The horror in her eyes is a blade in my gut.
“No, I don’t specifically think anything,” I say, but the damage is done.
“She could be dead either way, that’s what you think!”
“No, princess,” I grate out, regret surging through my veins.
“Don’t pretend you didn’t say it. You think it could be true.” She lies there in the tub, blinking back the tears .
“I’ll do everything I can to find her.” This is all I have for her. I wish I had more, but I won’t lie.
She gazes miserably at the skylight. “You think she’s probably dead.”
“Neither of us knows. You don’t know anything, and I don’t know anything.” All this, I say with too much vitriol.
She’s full-on crying now.
It kills me.
Kills me.
I reach down and hoist her clear up from the tub, holding her tight to my chest, dripping wet, but I don’t care.
I just hold her, my throat tight with emotions I’ve never allowed myself to feel.
“I got you, princess,” I finally manage, voice rough. “You’re not alone. We’re in it together.”
She loops her arms around my neck, forehead pressed to my shoulder, but I can feel the stiffness in her body.
“If she is out there, I will find her,” I promise. “If somebody hurt her, I will kill them. If somebody’s holding her, I will hunt them down.”
She wriggles out of my arms and grabs a towel, wrapping it around herself. The distance between us suddenly feels like a chasm.
“What’s wrong?”
“I appreciate your help with my sister. So much...”
I can hear the ‘but’ loud and clear. I force myself to say it. “But...”
“You couldn’t trust me just a little bit? Hear me out? You had to jump to the worst possible conclusion?”
I run a hand over my face, struggling with unfamiliar vulnerability. “I know.”
“Do you? I thought you knew me at least a little bit.”
“I do know you.”
“You thought I betrayed you, and you wouldn’ t hear different. And you fucking kidnapped me and made me think you were gonna kill me!”
“I fucked up, Edie. Not just a little. Kidnapping you, scaring you, refusing to let you explain—it wasn’t just wrong. It was unforgivable.”
“Then why did you do it?”
I suck in a breath, unaccustomed to having to explain myself. “Because I’ve spent my entire life knowing only one way to handle betrayal. Because it was easier to treat you like an enemy than admit... how much power you have over me.”
“I never betrayed you,” she says, her voice cracking. “I was trying to protect my sister while still protecting you.”
“I know that now.”
Her eyes meet mine, guarded but listening.
“In my world, explanations and intentions don’t mean shit.
It’s survival—black and white. But with you.
..” I struggle to find the words. “Nothing’s simple.
Things are messy and complicated and sometimes saying stupid things like ‘I’m sorry’ feels harder than robbing Fort Knox.
And I am sorry. And I love this thing we have.
I want this thing. I want it. I want you. ”
She studies my face. “Is this going to happen every time? Because I can’t live waiting for the next time you decide I’ve crossed some line without letting me explain. I can’t live by your mafia rules.”
“You shouldn’t have to.”
She blinks. “So... that’s that?”
It’s not enough, I can see that. “The rules I’ve lived by, the ones that kept me alive—they don’t apply to you. Not anymore. I’ve never apologized to anyone in my life, Edie. I’ve never needed to. But I’m asking for your forgiveness now. Not because I deserve it, but because I can’t lose you.”
“Pretty words,” she challenges, though her eyes soften.
“I mean every one of them. I need you to know you’ll be heard. Always.” I press my lips to her hand. “I can’t promise I’ll never make mistakes. But I can promise to remember this moment,” I say, my voice rough with emotion. “Almost losing you because I couldn’t see past my own code killed me.”
Tears glisten in her eyes. “I appreciate that.”
“I don’t deserve you,” I admit.
She places her palm against my chest, over my heart. “You don’t get to decide that.”