Chapter 19
T he door slams against the wall with a violence that echoes through Liam’s apartment. Fury, a living entity, consumes me as I storm in, my breaths coming out in ragged, seething bursts. I can feel the pulse pounding at my temples, a rhythm of betrayal that pushes me forward.
Liam's silhouette is half-shrouded in dim light filtering through the windows. He's a specter, a ghost of the man I thought I knew, his true identity now laid bare as an FBI informant.
"Tell me," I demand, each word laced with venom and disbelief, "how does it feel to betray everyone who trusted you?"
My heartbeat is a drumline of anger, reverberating through my body, urging me to lash out. But I stand rooted, my gaze locked onto his, searching for that flicker of deceit, that shadow of treachery I missed before .
"Was it all a setup? Was I just another pawn in your twisted game?" I watch him for any sign of remorse, any inkling that the man I gave my heart to has a shred of the soul I once adored.
"Speak, damn you," I snarl, my fury boiling over. "Or are you as silent as the grave you've dug for us?"
Liam's face pales, the color draining as if I've struck him with an invisible fist. His mouth opens, then closes, a fish gaping for air on dry land. He steps back, his hand reaching behind him to grip the edge of a rickety table laden with papers and empty coffee cups—the remnants of late nights spent betraying me.
"Sl-Sloane," he stammers, his voice a whisper of the man who used to speak my name like it was a sacred utterance. The shock in his eyes flickers to guilt, and his jaw tightens, a telltale sign of his inner turmoil.
"Explain it to me, Liam!" My demand slices through the tension-charged air, my voice trembling—not with fear, but with a toxic cocktail of fury and heartbreak. "Why would you betray me? Why?" Each word is a hammer blow, chipping away at the fa?ade of the man I thought I knew.
He doesn't move closer, respecting the line of wrath I've drawn between us. His hands, once instruments of tender exploration on my skin, now hang limp by his sides, the fingers twitching with a nervous energy that seems foreign on him.
"Please, Sloane... let me—" His voice breaks, a testament to the gravity of our fractured bond. But I can't afford to soften; not yet, not when the wound is fresh and bleeding.
"Let you what?" I snarl, stepping forward, my own hands clenched into fists. "Lie some more? Manipulate me further?" I'm inches from him now, close enough to feel the heat radiating from his body. "I trusted you, Liam. With my life, with my family's lives. How could you do this to me?"
The tears threatening to fall are of rage, not sorrow. They scald the back of my eyes, but I refuse to let them spill. I won't give him the satisfaction of seeing me break. Not now, not ever.
Liam's eyes, once a haven of warmth and security, now mirror the tumult of a raging sea as he struggles to anchor himself amidst the tempest I've unleashed. "Sloane," he begins, his voice quivering with a raw desperation that tugs at the frayed edges of my resolve. "There's so much you don't understand. I did this for us—for you."
I flinch, each word slicing through the remnants of trust like a blade. My breath catches in my throat, heavy with the scent of old books and moss that clings to this clandestine chamber—a stark reminder of the countless secrets it cradles.
"Us?" The word tastes bitter on my tongue, poisoned by the sting of betrayal. Yet, beneath the venom and vitriol, something within me quivers, yearning for the comfort of his lies. "You shattered everything, Liam. How can there be an 'us' after this?"
He steps forward, the distance closing with a torturous hesitance. "Because I love you," he insists, each syllable laced with an intensity that threatens to breach the walls I've erected around my heart. "Being an informant—it wasn't to hurt you or your family. It was to protect you from the fallout, to keep you safe."
The room sways as the confession washes over me, a deluge of doubt and desire mingling with the acrid taste of fear. Can I believe him? Should I? The man before me is both the architect of my pain and the craftsman of my pleasure, his touch once a balm to my soul, now the source of an insidious ache.
My body trembles, caught in the crossfire of love and loathing. Memories flicker like candlelight against the dark canvas of my thoughts—his laughter filling my ears, his kisses igniting my skin, his promises weaving dreams I'd dared to believe. How can one who has ignited such passion within me also be the harbinger of my ruin?
"Liam," I whisper, the name a caress and a curse. "How do I reconcile the man I love with the traitor before me?"
He reaches out, and instinctively, I recoil. But his hand hovers in the air, a silent plea for understanding. "I never wanted to hurt you," he says, and the tremor in his voice resonates with a truth that fractures my indignation. "I was trapped, Sloane. They had evidence against your brother—evidence that could destroy him. I had to step in, had to play their game to keep you all out of harm's way."
Anguish and ardor battle within me, a war waged with every racing heartbeat. To yield to his words would be to surrender to vulnerability, to risk being shattered anew. Yet, to reject them outright would be to forsake the connection that, despite the lies, still binds us with an unyielding grip.
"Protecting me?" I murmur, my defenses waning as the embers of our bond flicker stubbornly against the encroaching darkness. "Or protecting yourself?"
"Protecting us," he repeats, steadfast, his gaze imploring me to see the sincerity etched into the lines of his face.
The floor beneath me feels like the edge of a cliff as I pace, back and forth, in the dimly lit room that reeks of betrayal. With each step, my boots echo like gunshots, mirroring the chaos in my head. The air is thick with tension, and I can taste the bitterness of deceit on my tongue. My face is set, carved from stone, as I try to make sense of this labyrinth of lies and love.
"Please," Liam's voice cracks through the stillness, so raw and ragged it almost stops me in my tracks. He stands there, a shadow of the man I thought I knew, his eyes holding oceans of regret.
"Forgive me, Sloane." His plea is a whisper, a prayer to a goddess who has been scorned one too many times. He takes a tentative step closer, the distance between us charged with an electric current of emotions unspoken.
I whip my head towards his. “Forgive you?” I scoff, before growling and whipping my gun out, pressing the cold steel against Liam's temple. My hand trembles—not from fear, but from the volcanic rage coursing through my veins. His pleading eyes search mine; a silent beggar to my merciless throne. He's an FBI informant—a traitor—and everything in me screams to pull the trigger. It’s what the code demands. It's justice.
"Please, Sloane," his voice cracks, raw with desperation.
"Shut up!" The words lash out like whips, and I can taste the bitterness they leave behind. "You betrayed me." My finger hovers over the trigger, each heartbeat a drumroll to his impending doom. But something coils tight in my chest, squeezing until I can't breathe. Love, that treacherous fiend, stays my hand.
"I should kill you," I whisper, the gun wavering.
But I can't. I won't.
"Get up," I command instead, holstering the weapon. Liam rises, a mix of relief and confusion painting his beautiful face. I push past the softness in me, the part that aches to forgive him, and grasp his arm, dragging him towards the O'Neil manor with a fury that burns hotter than the depths of hell.