Chapter 10
TEN
brIAR
I’m barely holding it together, especially with him standing there.
My fingers fumble with the pins, tremble as I draw off the wig, shake when I take down the bun.
His inhale is sharp and it burns through me, through the shields I’m struggling to erect, to keep in place so I can get the fuck out of here.
If the criminal organization that now owns my life was speaking in my ear, they’d tell me to lean in to that sharp breath, to use my body to distract him so I can extricate myself from this scenario.
But that won’t work.
Because he sees me now.
And even though he was the one who left me, who pushed me away, who destroyed the small slice of happiness I held—
“Don’t look at me like that,” I snap.
He doesn’t move. “Like what?” he asks hoarsely.
“Like you miss me.”
“Raindrop—”
“Don’t.”
“I didn’t want to break things off,” he says. “I swear I didn’t.”
I snort, keep removing pins. “You could have fooled me,” I mutter. “What with you leaving me at the altar and all.”
“Briar.” He sighs. “I left because—”
“I don’t care anymore,” I say, even though I do care. I care too fucking much.
He’s quiet. “I had to leave.”
“Right,” I mutter then lift my chin. “I need to go.”
There’s a pause, long enough that my gaze is drawn back to his, and I see it, right there in his eyes.
He’s not going to let me leave.
Dammit.
“Why’d you do it?”
I pause, hands dropping to my sides, hair falling forward to tickle my face. “Do what?” I hedge, even though I know exactly what he’s talking about.
“Steal the flash drive.”
“I had to. Same as you”—I make finger quotes—“had to leave me at the altar on our wedding day.”
“No,” he says. “I had to leave because otherwise they would have taken you.”
I freeze, ice skittering down my spine. “What?”
“You know my father worked with people who were”—he shakes his head and that ice grows—“unsavory in their business practices. They didn’t like that I pulled out of those shared endeavors and made it very clear what would happen to you if I didn’t join forces with them again.”
“What?” I ask again.
“I tried to—” He looks away. “I tried to keep you safe—tried so fucking hard.” His voice drops to a whisper. “But, in the end, the only thing I could do was leave.”
My heart thuds hard against my ribs.
“I loved you enough to let you hate me.”
His words swirl around my head, too much, too fast, too many feelings threatening to escape.
He’s lying.
He has to be.
This is some sort of sick joke and sooner or later, he’ll get tired of fucking with me. Then he’ll call the cops and I’ll go to jail and this will all be over.
My eyes flick to the mirror and my reflection…
Fuck, I hate it so much.
The roughly cut hair, the dark circles beneath my eyes, the hollow cheeks, the scar near my right ear.
Not enough for him. Not enough for anyone.
Stop. Forcing myself to breathe slowly in and out, I shore up the ice around my heart, my thoughts, and glance at the toilet.
I’m here.
Might as well use it.
Might as well embrace the humiliation, the lack of power.
And hell, I’ll probably be in jail in a couple of hours, so I might as well go to the bathroom in semi-privacy, right?
I unbutton my slacks, push them down, allowing them to pool onto the floor.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see him jerk. “What are you doing?”
“Using the bathroom,” I mutter and turn, moving to the toilet.
He inhales again and it’s only then I realize I’ve made a critical error.
My legs are bare and the backs of them…
“What the fuck happened to you?”
His voice is close, too close and I jump.
“Don’t touch me,” I snap, darting away from him.
“Baby,” he rasps, dropping to his knees, hand lifting, fingers mere inches from my bare legs. I scooch back.
He can’t touch me.
He can’t.
“What happened?” he asks, his voice like gravel.
My gaze slips to his, and I know it’s a mistake, know I should be slamming the lid on this, should be exploiting this so I can get away.
But the horror in his brown eyes…it pins me in place.
Sends a hairline fracture through my icy cold shields.
I can’t have that.
I can’t have it.
So, I do the only thing I can.
I tell him the truth.
“You.”
I didn’t expect him to leave.
Certainly not to do it without a word.
But the moment I finished speaking, he was on his feet and leaving the room, closing the door behind him.
I lurch toward it, flicking the lock before I start searching through the drawers for a weapon, for a way out of here.
It doesn’t take long to find the can of air freshener and I set it aside before continuing my search.
Towels. Toilet paper. Soap.
No good weapons.
Search complete, I take care of business and wash my hands, pulling up my pants and retying my boots. The can fits in my pocket—barely, the bulge far too obvious, and far too challenging to pull free in a hurry. But it’s all I have.
I exhale.
Then brace, patching up those spiderweb cracks, my mind turning through the possibilities, trying to find a way out of here that doesn’t end up with me dead or in prison.
All that bracing, that mind spinning…
And it doesn’t make the least bit of difference when I pull open the door and see him standing there.
Fuck, he’s beautiful and the impact of that sends cracks skittering through me once again.
He tilts his head and pushes off the wall, uncrossing his ankles and turning in the direction of the front door.
I watch his back as he walks away from me, as he moves through the space and into the kitchen, pulling open the door of the fridge.
“It’s unlocked,” he calls.
I hadn’t even realized I’d moved, trailing him but pausing in the intersection of hallways.
Forward leads to the open-space living room, the kitchen, and dining area. Left…leads to the front door.
“You can go.”
Head jerking up at the sound of his voice suddenly so close, I see he’s stopped in front of me, a bottle of water in his hands.
“But I hope you’ll stay just a little while longer.”
He offers up the water bottle and I take it with numb fingers.
He said those words before.
Years ago when I was considering my exits, plotting the best course of escape.
And I’d stayed. I’d listened and talked and fell.
In like. In lust. In love.
Then he’d shattered all of that without a single look back.
I take a step toward the door.
His breath is short, sharp.
But he doesn’t stop me.
And for some reason…I stop me, hesitating in that intersection.
I need to go. I need to.
Yet, my feet won’t let me.
“So you can arrest me?” I probably—no, definitely stupidly—ask.
His mouth kicks up. “I could have done that already, don’t you think?”
Maybe.
Or maybe the police are on the way. Or his crazy security company is watching us through some cleverly placed cameras, waiting for me to admit—
“Why the thumb drive?”
I clench my teeth together, look away…and unfortunately, it’s right to the windows where the city’s lights are twinkling beyond.
God, that’s beautiful.
Like stars on the backdrop of the evening sky.
“Did you know what was on it?”
A bolt of pain shoots through my jaw and though I want to tell him I have no fucking idea, that I don’t have any control over what I do or who I steal from or the incriminating photos I take or the evidence I plant.
But I can’t.
He’s not going to save me.
He can’t help me—even if he wanted to.
So, I should go.
My stomach growls, breaking the silence that’s fallen.
He doesn’t say anything, just watches me for a long moment before turning and heading for the kitchen, tugging open the fridge door again, rummaging through the contents. “You still like omelets?”
My stomach rumbles again, answering for me.
So instead of getting the hell out of here like I should, I ignore the mindfuck of memories—how many nights had we snuck into the kitchen to make them?—and I follow him.
Food.
I need to keep my strength up.
Then I’ll walk right out the front door.