29. Chapter 29
Chapter 29
The Hound
I’ve never hurt so fucking bad in my life. Every tragedy I’ve ever endured is meaningless as I hold Cher while she shatters in my arms. She didn’t have to explain. She didn’t have to ask me to be here for her. I’m heartbroken, and I’m fucking pissed.
And if being here for her wasn’t so important, I’d be out on the street screaming for the motherfucker to come out and face me.
But there will be a time for that. For now, I have to be here.
I stroke her hair and count to ten over and over, reminding myself that I have to be strong for her. I don’t know how much time passes before her sobs quiet, and she’s left with pained, ragged breaths.
If Henry only fucking knew. He’d come unraveled, and at that moment, I realize that’s exactly why she probably didn’t tell him. Has she held this in for years?
“I’m sorry,” she squeaks into the silence, sucking in a haphazard breath.
I don’t know what to tell her without telling her that I know what happened—that I’ve seen glimpses of her at her weakest, most fragile moments. So, I kiss the top of her head instead.
She sniffles and then wipes her eyes, smearing mascara across her cheek. “Can we talk?” In the moment, Cher appears so small, her voice sounding like one of a child, running scared from another bad dream.
I brush her hair behind her ear. “Yeah, we can talk.”
Cher inhales, her breath choppy. “Can I shower first?”
“Sure,” I say, and then release her, dropping my arms. “I’ll make you something to eat.”
She shakes her head, her hands latching onto my forearm. “Come with me.” The request is surprising, and even more confusing as cryptic words spill from her lips. “You keep them away.”
I hesitate, not wanting to press her too hard but also too confused to let it go. “What do I keep away?”
She eyes me, her expression riddled with pain as a sharp sigh slips from her lips. “The voices.”
Breathing in deep, I let that register, and then decide we can unpack it later. “Come on. Let’s go.” I shift her body to the side of me and stand to my feet. She never lets go, clinging to me like I’m a lifeline.
“It started my junior year,” she says in a timid voice. “I wasn’t doing well in English. Well, he said I wasn’t.”
My jaw tenses as the story begins, and I lead her to the bathroom. I lean over the small pool-sized jacuzzi tub and start the water. “Bath okay?”
She nods, and then continues. “He told me he’d tutor me. I’d asked him for a recommendation letter. I’d always been a good student. All A’s.”
I turn to her, gently reaching for the hem of her T-shirt. “I’m not surprised you were a good student.” I lift it over her head, and she doesn’t fight me on it. I know it’s not the time to check her out, but she’s still the most beautiful fucking woman I’ve ever seen.
“Hindsight, I think he was just giving me bad grades so he could lure me to his house,” Cher says, meeting my gaze. “I was just too stupid to realize it.”
“You weren’t stupid,” I whisper, unbuttoning her shorts. “You were just a kid.”
“I was old enough to know.”
I want to argue, but I just shake my head. “So he started tutoring you?”
“Yeah, and the other girls in my class were so jealous.” Her voice shakes. “They all thought he was so hot, and at first, I let it make me feel good. He graduated from Harvard.”
“Mm,” I mutter, forcing myself to hear every single fucking word as I drop her shorts to the floor.
“But then he started giving me drinks during our sessions.” She slides her underwear down as I unhook her bra. “I thought it was the alcohol, and I was getting drunk. However, after the third or fourth time, I found... blood. I was mortified, but I wasn’t sure. It took months of being sore before he finally quit drugging me enough for me to pass out . ”
I clench my fist at my side but help her into the bubble bath anyway. “I’m so fucking sorry.”
She looks up at me as she sinks down to her chin, the bath swallowing her. “He always told me that no one would ever love me if they knew.”
Yeah, well, I do.
I eye her. “The biggest lie that’s ever been told.”
She pulls her knees into her chest, resting her chin. “I don’t know. The only person who’s ever loved me was my brother, and he doesn’t know.”
“But you’ve never told anyone,” I reason, taking a seat on the edge of the tub.
“Just you.”
“And I’m still here.”
She reaches out and tugs at my hand, her pretty blue eyes asking what she’s too afraid to say. I pull away from her and rip my T-shirt over my head, followed by the rest of my clothes. Carefully, I climb in behind her, the warm water easing the tension in my muscles. Cher leans back against my chest and lets out the sweetest fucking sigh I’ve ever heard.
“You’re safe here,” I murmur into her hair, vowing in that fucking moment I will always protect her.
She tips her head back against my shoulder. “I’m safe with you.”
“Always.”
***
I stare at the ceiling while she lays beside me, her breaths deep and easy. She never uttered the man’s name while she bled for me, pouring out situations I could hardly listen to. I almost asked her, since it’d make my hunt much easier if I knew who broke her.
But I’ve had harder chases, and I didn’t want to press.
Besides, I’m a fucking hound. No one can outrun me.
I slide the covers back and slip out from underneath them. I place the comforter back softly, and then creep across to where Cher’s purse lays on the floor. I sweep it up, and to avoid making any unnecessary noise, I exit the room. Thankfully, in the time I’ve had, I moved the computer set up to the guest bedroom.
As soon as I’m inside my makeshift tech cave, I close the door and unzip her purse. I pull out her busted phone and set it on the desk, but as I do, I catch sight of a small tear in the lining of her bag. And because it looks more like a cut than a tear, I stick my fingers through the opening.
My fingertips graze a baggy. I’m not surprised when I retrieve the white powdery substance from her purse. I set it down, and then reach in again. A mostly empty small liquor bottle comes next. Then a taser. And a .380 pistol.
I line the four items up, not missing the tinge of blood like stains on the ends of the taser. As much as I can’t wrap my fucking brain around it, the more I know this is evidence she is who my brain is telling me she is.
She’s a huntress. She’s the Black Widow.
And it makes sense. It makes a lot of fucking sense.
I wait, expecting to be concerned or at a minimum, a little leery at the confirmation. But no uncertain feelings follow. In fact, it’s a relief. Taking a deep breath, I nod to myself. My brain plays back the moments she told me she didn’t sleep with the men I saw her with, and she was telling the truth.
Because she kills them.
It’s fine. Everything is fine.
The girl I’m in love with kills men who come onto her.
“Cool,” I mutter aloud, suddenly needing a cup of coffee. I take the contents on the desk and put them back in the purse, save for the phone. I plug that into my computer, and hope it’s not so fried I can’t access the content.
I head for the kitchen and start coffee, my eyes staring out the window at the rising sun. One question hangs in my mind and no matter how hard I try, I can’t shake it. If Henry knew what happened to his sister all those years ago, what would he do?
The sound of brewing coffee fills the air around me and I fold my arms across my bare chest. Eventually, I’ll have to tell Henry about us, and as bad as it would hurt—and potentially drive him crazy—Henry should know what happened to her. Not for any reason other than Cher being able to heal.
And maybe then she’d get some help for the voices. Maybe it triggered schizophrenia? Or is it some sort of PTSD?
I’m no fucking therapist. Groaning, I run my hands over my face and turn to fill a mug up with coffee as my head keeps spinning its wheels. If Cher saw him last night, did he follow her here? Is he the kind of creepy ass stalker that lurks in the shadows, or is he going to escalate? Obviously, my guess is that he’ll escalate.
But how long has he been trailing her?
That question leaves me shuddering. I fucking hate old pervs.
The sound of soft footsteps break my thoughts and I turn to see Cher entering the kitchen in just my shirt, her hair messy and disheveled from sleep.
“Hi,” she says, her eyes diverting to her feet.
“Coffee?” I offer her, holding it out. “I can pour myself a new one.”
She eyes me and then takes it with a sheepish look on her face. “I’m sorry I fell asleep so fast last night. I just laid down and passed out.”
“You needed the sleep,” I comment, wishing I could just fucking kiss her until we were both panting for air, though I haven’t pushed for anything physical since she told me everything about her past. “But Henry is going to be wondering where you are soon.” I hate that I have to say that. I hate it because I don’t want her to go.
But if Henry finds out about us at this moment—without knowing what I’m trying to do—it’ll be bad. For everyone.
“I know.” Her voice is small, and I see the worry on her face. She’s been rocked, but if she’s really the person I think I’ve figured out, she’s going to come back.
And wreak havoc.
“I still owe you that apology,” Cher says, sitting her cup down on the counter and meeting my gaze. The sultry hues in her face have my cock jerking to life, but I’ve done enough when it comes to forcing a physical relationship with her.
“You don’t have to do anything.” I shake my head. “We can let it be water under the bridge.”
She glares at me. “So what? Now that I’ve told you I’m fucked up, we’re just friends?”
I set my coffee cup down and chuckle. “Oh, we’ll never be just friends.”
She eyes me as I take a step toward her. “Then what are we...” Her voice trails off as I slide a hand under her shirt, grazing her soft skin and stopping just above her ass.
I lean down, kissing the place her jaw meets her ear. “What do you want, Cher?” Her chest heaves as I press my body against hers, my cock digging into her lower stomach.
She tips her head back, meeting my gaze. “To crawl to you.”
Oh fuck.
“You don’t have to—”
“Don’t change how you treat me,” Cher demands, her brows furrowing. “Please. I still owe you that apology.”
For meeting with a detective. But you’re the Black Widow.
I need to hash that out, but the feel of her against my cock floods my mind with so many other desires—it can wait. “Finish your breakfast then find me in the guest bedroom. Sooner the better.” I reach for her shirt and tear it over her head. “You won’t be wearing this, either.”
Her cheeks flush with crimson as I leave her there in the kitchen to come to me when she’s ready. Just as she asked, I have no intention of going easy on her. She still hasn’t let me in on her greatest secret.
And it’s the sexiest fucking one.
My little wicked spider.