Chapter 23
Twenty-Three
Thorn
Pascal drops beside me on the couch, and if it wasn’t for the soft chime of the elevator announcing his arrival, I wouldn’t have heard him at all.
“So, you went and fucked it, huh?” he says.
I stare out the windows and don’t bother answering.
I didn’t just fuck it. I went and nuked it.
“Did any of what I said penetrate that stubborn ass brain of yours?”
It did.
Oh, it did.
And as fucked as it is, Violet getting sick made it even more clear.
I couldn’t protect a cat, couldn’t protect—
I shove the name away, brutally rein in my emotions. The bottom line is that I can’t protect River.
So I whatever we had? It needed to be done.
“She’s better off without me,” I say into the silence.
“Well, that’s for damned sure,” Pascal mutters. “But that’s hardly the point now, isn’t it?”
Aghast, I turn to stare at him, gaping at the outline of his profile as he stares out the windows. “Hardly the point?” I rasp.
He looks at me, his eyes piercing into mine.
“You’re sitting here brooding in the dark, thinking about how bad you are for her, how dangerous it could be to bring her into your life.
You’re thinking about all the shit you’ve done to survive and what Sergio and the other Lyons may do to someone you care about—”
Love, I want to say. To someone I love.
But that’s not the most important part.
“Not may,” I snap. “Will. They’ll hurt her. You know they will.”
He sighs. “You’re not wrong. Given the opportunity, they will exploit whatever means necessary to get what they want.”
Soft souls. Family connections. Love. Humanity.
Or a chef’s menu of all of the above.
“So why are we having this conversation?” I toss up my hands. “I’m not going to be a selfish asshole, and let that shit consume River’s life.”
He scoffs, shakes his head. “She’s in it already, Thorn. She’s connected to Brooks and Briar, and she’s connected to you. If you think putting some distance between you and her is going to make Sergio and the others back off then you’re sorely mistaken.”
I know.
I’ve already thought of that.
It’s why I did it today, why I know I’m an even bigger asshole than everyone already thinks I am.
Violet’s sick.
I blame River and break up with her.
I look like an asshole, but at least she’s safe.
“It’s not distance,” I say. “We’re done.”
“Done?” he asks quietly.
“Yup.”
“God, you’re even buying your own bullshit, aren’t you?”
I’m not.
But it’s still better this way.
“Did you even listen to a word of what I said last night?”
I did.
Of course, I fucking did.
So much so that I’d almost convinced myself to tell her everything.
Then reality smacked me right across the temple.
I reach into my pocket, pull out my cell, and scroll to the message chain—to the texts I received last night, the texts I got at the vet’s office, to the text I got a fucking hour ago—and toss it to him.
He’s quiet for a moment, reading. Then he sighs and tosses it back. “You believe this shit?”
“Believe that Sergio will leave her alone if I cooperate?” I snort. “Fuck no.”
But it was the universe giving me a timely reminder that I can’t have soft things, can’t have nice things, can’t have the things, the people that I love.
They’ll take it away.
“They poisoned Violet,” I say.
“Bullshit,” Pascal says.
“You know it’s true. They got in here somehow. They got her sick—”
“Again,” he says, “Bullshit.”
“You can’t be sure—”
“I am. Your apartment has been under surveillance since the moment we knew you were bringing River here. There’s no way anyone got in to hurt Violet.”
“You saw the text.”
“I saw some idiot trying to claim responsibility for something they couldn’t have done.”
“When River and I left yesterday your team followed us. There was opportunity—”
“We had eyes here too, Thorn. I knew the women were coming over, so I didn’t leave an opening for the Lyons. You don’t believe me? Fine. But I have the footage. You can watch it for yourself, see that Sergio’s a lying fuck.”
“It doesn’t matter if he’s lying or not.”
“No?”
“Nope.” I clench my jaw. “Because he’s right about enough of it.”
“Ah,” Pascal says, leaning back against the couch.
“Ah what?” I grit out.
“I see what this is really about now.” I scowl but don’t ask him to explain. Unfortunately, he tells me anyway. “You’re scared.”
I snort.
If he expects that to smash through my defensives, he’s got another thing coming.
“Of course I’m fucking scared!” I throw my hands up. “Hell, I’m fucking terrified that something will happen to her and it will be my fault again! She’s sweet and gentle and has been through too many nightmares already. She doesn’t need to endure another one.”
“Are you talking about River?” he asks quietly. “Or are you talking about Claudette?”
Claudette.
God, River even looks like her.
Bright blue eyes. Deep auburn hair. Freckles on her nose. Cheeks that turn pink at the slightest provocation.
But God, Claudette’s blood had been so fucking red on the concrete.
And she’d screamed so loudly.
And—
I shove up to my feet, stalk to the windows, staring out into the distance, seeing only blackness despite the lights of the city below.
“You’re still allowing the Lyons to turn you into their puppet,” Pascal says, having silently followed me over.
I whip toward him, fist lifted, preparing to smash it into his face—
He catches it and I stand there, trembling with rage.
With the agony of the past lashing through me.
“I am not working for the Lyons.”
“No, you’re not.” He releases me. Sighs. “But you are still letting them turn you into who they want you to be.”
And with that highly effective parting shot, he walks away.
It’s so effective that I don’t even hear the elevator chime when he leaves.
Probably because I’ve slide down the glass, barely feeling the hardwood slamming into my knees, knowing that he’s right.
And knowing there’s not a damned thing I can do about it.