Footsteps start in my direction, and I slap my palm over my mouth to stifle my gasp, sliding back from the doorway.
“Well, maybe I’ll just have a little chat with Lenny. Let her know how you’ve been going around killing people in her honor.”
My eyes widen, bulging out of my head, and I bring my free hand up to cover the other one, pressing harder. He’s what?
Silence. “Maybe I’ll just finish the job. Make sure you don’t get to say anything to her ever again.”
Preston laughs, and the sound sends a shiver through me. “Killing me doesn’t resolve her father’s debts.”
“No,” Jonas agrees, and I glare at the wall, completely lost. “But I bet she’d sleep easier at night.”
“There’s something wrong with you,” Preston says, and it sounds like there’s some shuffling. A thud makes the wall I’m leaning against vibrate, and I inch away from it, fear coursing through me now at the thought of being caught eavesdropping.
“There is.” A choking sound echoes through the empty hall, and I back up even more. “Remember that when I come to collect.”
The gargling suddenly stops, and then it’s silent again. After a moment, I hear footsteps scurry down one end of the hall, growing softer as they seem to get farther away.
Blowing out a breath, I drop my hands and turn to investigate; a scream rips from my throat as I collide with a broad chest, and Jonas reaches out to steady me.
His expression is unreadable, and it makes my stomach sink for some reason.
“What are you doing out here?” he asks, jaw tense.
“Are you…” I swallow, the words searing the inside of my throat like a serrated knife. “Is it true? What Preston just said?”
He doesn’t answer. His violet eyes darken as he tilts his head, taking on that dangerous blue hue.
Like an anchor tossed to sea, my stomach drops even more, heavy and burdensome as discomfort rests at my feet.
“The stuff I told you about him, and his friends? Have you—”
“Have I what, Lenny? If you’re going to make accusations, spit them out.”
Removing my tongue from where it’s stuck to my cheek, I push away from him, glaring. “Are you murdering people for me?”
Stuffing his hands into his suit jacket pockets, he just stands there. Staring.
“Oh, my god.” Bile scorches up my esophagus, begging to be set free even as I swallow and swallow, trying to repress it. Spinning away, I start back the way I came, but he chases, grabbing my wrist and yanking me back. “Don’t touch me. Don’t you fucking dare, Jonas.”
He ignores me, pinning both my wrists between us. In a flash, he’s reached into his pocket and pulled out a pair of dirty handcuffs, and within seconds I’m shackled and helpless.
“I was helping you, love. Finishing what you bloody started on the balcony at your parents’ house. Those bastards didn’t deserve to live, not after what they did to you.”
Tears sting my eyes, spilling over and streaming down my cheeks. I continue thrashing, my mind very quickly spiraling out of control as every emotion I’ve pressed down over the last year seems to come to the surface, collapsing together like the creation of the universe.
An ugly, raw, painful universe I never wanted to be a part of.
That people forced me into.
And here, this man I thought I could trust with my secrets, my shame, pushes me further into it.
“I didn’t ask you to do that,” I sob, feeling like my chest has been ripped open, my trauma displayed for all to see, even though it’s just the two of us here.
But it hurts, oh god does it hurt, as the memories rush past, forcing me to relive them one by one.
“You never would’ve asked,” Jonas chokes out. “And you shouldn’t have to, Lenny. You deserve to have someone in your corner without having to beg them to show up in the first place.”
The sobs grow in volume. In ferocity. I struggle to draw in a breath, sheer terror seizing the bones in my body, locking them up tight.
“That wasn’t your battle to win.” I punch against his chest, once twice, the handcuffs making the movement choppy. “That pain was mine, and you commandeered it. Stole it from me, and for what?”
“Because I bloody love you!”
I hiccup, staring up at him through blurry eyes. He exhales, bending to press his forehead against mine, and his fingers gingerly trace my jaw.
“Look,” he murmurs, his minty breath washing over my face. “I don’t know when it happened, or what it means, but bloody fucking hell, love. If you hadn’t noticed, I’ve been quite enamored with you for some time now.”
My heart skips, hopeful in spite of the complete meltdown I just had. Am still having, albeit internally while he rambles.
“You might have been dealing with it on your own, but I… I couldn’t. I’m not strong enough to sit idly by while men who hurt you still roam this earth.”
Another hiccup from me, and I let his words soak in. Try to take them at face value, even though my brain is begging me to do anything but. It says not to trust him—that all the work it’s done over the last year is for naught if we’re just immediately going to fall in love with someone else.
Love hurts, my brain says.
But it also heals.
And my heart is a damn fool to its temptations.
My heart wants him.
His thumb strokes over my skin, and I suck in a deep, cleansing breath. Pinching my eyes closed, I nod. “Okay.”
Shock colors his face. “Okay?”
I shrug, tapping him with my restrained fists. “I’m resilient, remember?”
He laughs, tilting my face back for a kiss, and even though I don’t return the gesture, he doesn’t mention it.
When he pulls back, I clear my throat. “Do you think you could grab me a paper towel from the bathroom? I don’t really want to go back inside looking like this.”
There’s a split second of hesitation, but he glances at the handcuffs and seems to deem it acceptable. It might help that the bathroom is right across from us, but either way, he tells me to stay put and disappears behind the wooden door.
I consider it.
Staying put.
But then I think about what he said.
About how the men who hurt me are still roaming this earth.
Acting as if nothing ever happened.
So, I bolt.
Kick my heels off and head for the exit Preston went out of, trying not to cringe when Jonas’s shout reverberates down the hall.
As soon as my bare feet hit concrete, a large arm wraps around my waist and a hood comes down over my head, and then I don’t hear or see anything at all.
40
I don’t know why I run.
Even before I’ve made it out of the building, I know she’s gone.
Scouring the entire premises of the gallery, I search for her, my skull feeling like it’s been cleaved in two with each second I spend not finding her.
Eventually, I circle back around to the parking lot, beating my fist on the hood of a random Hyundai as I try to regulate my breathing. Panicking does me no good—in fact, all it does is cost me precious time.
I’m teetering, trying to determine whether she’s hiding or not, when my phone rings. Pulling it from my pocket, I don’t even bother checking the number, immediately barking “What?” into the receiver.