45. Samson
SAMSON
I don’t move. I don’t speak. I barely breathe.
He was my father.
She said it. Now everything lines up.
I step back.
Not from her.
From it.
From the weight of what just shifted into place.
I killed him.
I killed him.
I killed the man who fathered this woman. This remarkable, amazing woman.
I close my eyes for a second.
That’s all it takes.
Her under me. Her breath breaking. Her body—
Jesus.
I turn away.
I killed her father. I slept with her. I didn’t know.
But she knew. She kept it at bay, but she knew. She knew he was her father, and she knew—or suspected—that I killed him.
A hollow laugh almost comes up. I crush it before it does. Because this isn’t funny.
This is the part where the bricks come down. Not around me but on me.
I open my eyes and look back at her.
She’s standing exactly where she was.
Not shaking.
Not crying.
Not falling apart.
That’s worse.
Because she already did that somewhere else.
Before this.
Before me.
And she still came here. Still stood in front of me.
Still—
“You came to me,” I say, more to myself than to her. “You came to me looking for the truth. And I gave you something else.”
The words are flat and accurate. Brutal in a way that doesn’t need emphasis.
I drag a hand down my face.
There’s no wiping this off.
“I didn’t know,” I say.
It sounds weak. It is weak. Because it doesn’t change anything. I have no defense.
I drop my gaze to my hands. The ones that hit him, killed him.
The ones that touched her, held her.
I flex my fingers once.
Blind strength.
That’s what my father used to call it.
Power without pause. Action without question.
I didn’t hesitate.
I never hesitate.
That’s what killed him.
The memory hits.
The dock.
The angle.
The impact.
No hesitation.
No doubt.
Just force.
The house isn’t falling. Not physically. But I feel it anyway. Everything I built. Everything I stand on.
This changes it all.
I look at her again because I can’t not. She’s still watching me.
Still standing there.
Where else would she go?
She finally opens the car door and slides into the passenger seat, fastening her seatbelt.
“Who was he?” I ask.
But I already know. I knew before we got here. I always know.
His name is Bill Reilly. He was Halstead’s business partner decades ago.
She doesn’t answer me anyway. Silence the whole way back to the castle. I park, and she lets herself out before I have a chance to open the door for her.
Then—
Movement at the front of the building, only yards away from where we are.
She gasps when she sees them.
I get out of the car and race to her side, stepping in front of her. “Stay behind me.”
My gun is in the glove compartment. I can’t get to it without leaving Delaney unguarded.
Three men stand near the door, only yards away from us. One has a gun pointed at us.
I don’t move. Not yet. I’m already calculating distance. Angles.
But there’s something else now.
Something that wasn’t there before.
Delaney.
Behind me.
She’s not a simple variable. Not just something to protect.
Something I already—
No.
Not that.
Not now.
“Samson,” she says quietly.
I don’t look at her behind me. I can’t.
“Don’t,” she says.
“Get back in the car, Delaney,” I say between clenched teeth. “Now.”
“Sam—”
“Now.”
The one with the gun moves.
That’s all I need.
I ram into him before he gets a second step. Fast. Hard. Drive him into the stone wall and twist his arm until he drops the gun. I grab it and shove it into my waistband.
The second man swings. I duck and counter with an uppercut to his chin and then I slam him into the wall as well, where the first fucker is still dazed.
The third one lunges at me and I grab him by the collar. “Who the fuck sent you?”
He kicks my shin and attempts a punch to my gut, but I’m holding him too close for him to get much power behind either.
“Answer me,” I grit out. “Who the fuck—”
He drops to the ground.
Behind him, Delaney stands with a jagged rock from the edge of the driveway. Blood spurts from his scalp.
I widen my eyes. “I told you to stay in the car.”
“And I’ve told you I’m not good with orders.”
I want to grab her, shake her, tell her if she ever puts herself in danger again I’ll—
Shit. The first one is back on his feet. He comes at me again.
And this time I don’t hold back.
Not because of him.
Because of everything else.
Everything raging under my flesh with nowhere to go.
I slam him down.
Hard.
Again.
Again.
“Samson!” Delaney’s voice.
Again.
Again.
Again.
“Samson!”
This time I stop. My breathing is heavy. My knuckles are bloodied. But I look a lot better than the other guy.
I straighten slowly. My hands aren’t steady. That’s new.
I look at her.
She saw it.
She saw what I am. What I’ve been trained to be. The beast.
I just took out three big men, one of whom was armed.
And I’d do it again in a fucking heartbeat.
I take a step back.
Just one.
Because I don’t know what else to do.
Because I don’t know what comes next.
Because whatever this was—whatever we are—just collapsed under something neither of us can walk away from.
And the worst part, the part I don’t let form all the way, is that even now…
Even standing in the middle of this, knowing she’s in danger…
I still don’t want her to go.
That’s the sin.
Not what I did on that dock.
Not what I did last night.
Not what I just did to these three men.
This.
Wanting her anyway.