Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 78867 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 394(@200wpm)___ 315(@250wpm)___ 263(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78867 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 394(@200wpm)___ 315(@250wpm)___ 263(@300wpm)
“I feel utterly disgusted,” I confess. “I can’t believe I was friends with such a monster. What kind of man hurts little girls?”
“A very bad one, and that’s on him, Sylvie. You have to let it go.”
I pull back, looking down at him. When I see the pain and regret in his eyes, I want to bargain with him, to tell him that I’ll try if he does, but once again, I know neither one of us is capable of it.
His hands cup my jaw, eyes dropping to my mouth, and I hold my breath as he leans closer, but then his lips ghost over my forehead, the softest kiss I’ve ever felt before he releases me and allows me to lower my head back down to his chest.
When the tears start again, they fall for the loss of this man I can already feel.
Chapter 26
Spade
I held a woman in bed for the first time in my life without the expectation of it leading to sex.
I didn’t hate it like I always expected I would.
I can’t say the same for Sylvie.
She can’t even seem to make eye contact with me this morning.
I hate the dark circles under her eyes as she leans against the counter, holding on to a steaming mug of coffee like a lifeline.
I know she didn’t sleep well because she jerked and whimpered all night against my chest as if she were in pain. Holding her tighter only made things worse, and maybe I’m an asshole, but I didn’t allow any distance between us. When she rolled over, I was right at her back, arm around her waist, reveling in the warmth of her.
“You need to take some time off work.”
I’ve formulated several responses for when she argues, but she just nods in agreement. It throws me off a little. Agreeing with me is out of character for her. I think the woman would argue that the world is flat if I said it was round just to get a rise out of me.
I hate the instant capitulation.
“How long are you going to be here?”
I could appease her, tell her not long, but she’s been lied to too much recently.
“You’re not safe until Varon is located and apprehended,” I tell her instead of saying that with his ties to South American traffickers, the man may never be located.
“They may never find him,” she whispers, her eyes locked on the liquid swimming in her cup.
“I know,” I agree as her gaze lifts to mine.
The fire that once burned there has dimmed, and I know she’s feeling guilty. Hell, I feel it myself. We both feel like we’re responsible for what happened to both Greta and the little girl.
I want to take that pain from her, allow her to rest it on my shoulders because carrying the weight of regret has become second nature to me. Looking back, there are always a hundred different things we feel like we could’ve done to allow for a different outcome. As Cerberus, it happens all the time.
If we’d moved a day sooner rather than waiting for more intel, one more life could’ve been spared. If we enter a house through the back instead of the front, a perpetrator wouldn’t have had time to slit someone’s throat. If I would’ve strangled Will Varon in front of his office when he put his hands on her, a woman would still be alive, a little girl not left beaten.
The point is, guilt and regret aren’t new for me, and I have a lot more experience living with it. Watching her suffer with the same is painful.
“How do you feel about being forced to stay with me against your will?” Her tone isn’t teasing, the flat affect of her mood causing even more concern.
I could answer the question many different ways, but I don’t think confessing that I’d be here even if Kincaid didn’t expect me to be would go over well. I can’t let myself think that her spending a single night in my arms changes a damn thing she feels about me. If anything, she probably feels like she was a hostage more than anything with how tight I held her when she tried to move.
“It would be easier if you were at the clubhouse,” I say instead.
She looks away, as if the thought of going back there, spending time in my room, makes her stomach turn as much as the thought of Will Varon does.
“You will have to stay there if we get called out for work.”
Instead of arguing, she gets that faraway look in her eyes once again, as if she’s seeing and not seeing at the same time. It’s similar to the near catatonic way she looked last night as I helped her into her house.
“What are you thinking?” I ask, looking for a little insight into where she’s at emotionally.