Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
“ S o, what exactly did she say?” Trigger folds his arms and leans against the doorway to my study. He stares at me like I’ve just told him unicorns are real and living in Central Park.
I sink lower in my chair, scrubbing a hand over my face. The weight of my own stupidity presses down on me like concrete, dragging me beneath a tide of regret I can't shake. “She didn’t really get the chance to say much,” I mutter.
He arches a brow. “Meaning?”
“I didn’t let her explain,” I admit, my voice low with regret.
The words taste like rust. “She said it wasn’t what it looked like, and I just—” I shrug, helpless.
Like a goddamn teenager instead of a grown man who’s seen and done more than most people could stomach.
And yet somehow, this —this woman, this moment—has me completely unraveled.
Trigger pushes off the doorframe and steps into the room like it’s an interrogation. He drops into the armchair across from my desk, arms still crossed like he’s trying real hard not to laugh in my face. “And you don’t believe her?”
“I don’t know what to believe,” I admit, quieter this time. “Seeing Daniels in her office… that smug bastard pr actically dripping sleaze… and then the money in her hand. It felt like betrayal. Like she’d just slapped me across the face.”
The irony isn’t lost on me. I still remember the ghost of her palm on my cheek from last night—hot and sharp, fueled by fury, and something deeper. Raw, righteous anger.
I deserved it.
She struck me, and I let her. There was no point in blocking it or retaliating. I stood there like a goddamn statue while her fingers left a mark hotter than any bullet ever has. Because it wasn’t about pain—it was about what it meant. That I’d pushed too far.
And maybe that’s why seeing Daniels in her office today bothered me so much. It wasn’t just the implication that she was working with him—it was the idea that maybe she’d walked away from me .
I reach for my jaw, but the burn I feel isn’t physical anymore. It’s deeper. In the marrow. In the part of me I never thought existed.
“I don’t even know what the hell I was doing walking in there like that,” I mutter, more to myself than to Trigger. “I just saw red. Thought she’d betrayed me before I even gave her the chance to explain.”
Trigger doesn’t say anything right away, and I’m grateful. Because for a second, I need the silence to get my shit together. I’ve handled killers, torturers, men who flay their victims for fun—and none of them ever got to me like this woman can with a look, a word, a slap.
And the worst part?
It’s not because I’m angry.
It’s because I care.
Trigger’s quiet for a beat. Then he asks the question I know he’s been dying to ask. “Did she take it?”
“I don’t think so,” I say, shaking my head. “I didn’t stick around long enough to find out. I was too pissed. Too—” Hurt , I almost say, but I swallow it back .
“Neither do I,” Trigger says casually, like it’s not even a question in his mind. “Truthfully, I don’t think she’s the kind of person to be bought. Especially not by that prick.”
I lean back and stare at the ceiling. The fluorescent lights hum overhead—same as the ones in that damn elevator earlier this morning, when I cornered her like an animal and lashed out like a kid throwing a tantrum. Again .
“Yeah,” I mutter. “Now that you say it, she looked angry. And that was before I barged in.”
“Maybe she was pissed because Daniels was trying to bribe her, not because you caught her.”
I close my eyes and exhale hard through my nose.
The guilt twists deeper now, not like a knife—like a screw.
Every inch I turn it makes it worse. I can feel her face in my memory—those sharp eyes, her jaw tight, her voice clipped when she told me to leave .
I didn’t just misread the room. I blew it the fuck up.
I can feel Trigger’s stare on me. “Maybe you should apologize?”
I glance up to find him grinning.
“Don’t.”
“What?” he deadpans, throwing up his hands in mock innocence. “I’m just saying, Ax. You’ve got it bad. Like real bad. You barged into her office like a pissed-off bastard who found another man’s cologne on his girl.”
I narrow my eyes. “I’m not under her thumb.”
“Oh, buddy. You are , and it’s kinda adorable.” He grins wide. “You’re like a wolf pup trying to growl.”
“Say that again and I’ll knock your teeth in.”
He laughs harder, totally unfazed. Because he knows me, and he knows when I’m full of shit.
The truth is, Cassie has gotten under my skin.
Not like an itch. Like a splinter; something deep and impossible to ignore.
She calls me out, stands toe-to-toe with me, and doesn’t flinch when I show my worst sides.
Most people either fear me or try to use me.
But her? She doesn’t do either. She sees me—all of me—and still treats me like I’m human .
And I repaid that by treating her like a suspect. Like a traitor. I didn’t even give her the benefit of the doubt.
“Fine,” I mutter, standing up and brushing my palms over my jeans. “I’ll go see her.”
Trigger whistles low, pushing to his feet like he’s just witnessed something monumental. “Look at you. Growth.”
“Shut the fuck up.”
But even as I bark at him, my stomach turns. Because this isn’t just about guilt. It’s not even just about Cassie.
It’s about the fact that for the first time in a long damn while, I care what someone else thinks of me. Not just anyone… her. I care if she looks at me like I’m scum. I care if she slams the door in my face and doesn’t look back.
And it’s killing me.