If she had died…
Her pulse throbs under my thumb. Quick, strong. She’s angry, but she’s keeping it under control. I guess we’ve both learned some tricks the past few months.
Her eyes flick left, right. “We’re alone now,” she whispers fiercely, leaning in close enough to kiss. “You can drop the act.”
My heart slams into my rib cage. Before I can stop myself, I’m grinding her wrist bones together.
She winces, and then a spark of victory lights up her eyes. “They’ll believe anything you tell them, Zach, but you showed me your true colors. And I can’t unsee that.”
And then it hits me.
She’s talking about the knife. What I said when I told her to leave.
I drop my head, huff. “Fuck,” I murmur.
She huffs too. “Yeah, fuck.” Then she pulls her hand out of my grip and gets to her feet. “I won’t ever let you hurt them again. Not now, not ever. And if that means you’ll always hate me, then you’d better strap in, because it’s gonna be a bumpy fucking ride.”
Trinity moves to walk past me, but then I’m standing, my body a wall she can’t pass. She rears back, glaring up at me, mouth opening.
I don’t give her a chance to speak.
She makes an angry sound when I grab her wrist and force her hand against my heart, pushing her palm flush against the thick scar left behind by my surgery.
“You’re wrong about a lot of things,” I tell her.
“Am I?” she mutters, trying to pull her hand away.
“You were wrong to forgive Gabriel.”
She ducks her head, laughs bitterly. “Oh my God.”
“You were wrong to forgive your parents.”
Her head snaps back, her plump mouth distorting into a snarl. I don’t try and stop when she slaps my face with her free hand, but then I grab it too, press that against my chest.
“And you’re wrong not to forgive me.”
“You don’t get to decide who—”
“You want the truth? I told you to leave that morning because I couldn’t stand the sight of you anymore.”
She gapes at me, indignant, but far from incredulous. How she saw this coming, I don’t know. I guess I got my point across better than I thought the morning Gabriel snatched her from Saint Amos.
“You make me sick, Trinity.”
Hurt flashes in her eyes.
That tiny spark of pain reminds me of the beast I harbor inside my mind. The one that seeks out violence and chaos…and vulnerability.
That’s all it takes.
Just one spark.
And I’m done.
I can never hurt her again. Never bring her pain again. Not like this. I wasn’t going to carry on talking. I was going to leave her with those bitter words. But for the first time in my fucking life, I want to ease her pain. Even if it denies me the thing I’ve always craved so deeply.
But she has to understand.
I slam her hand into my chest. “Every time I looked at you, my heart would twist. Every time you came close, my skin would go cold.” I manipulate her hand, bringing it up to my cheek. Not the one she slapped—that one’s still stinging, but the other.
I press her knuckles to my flesh and will her to feel that chill.
“Every time we were together, the five of us, I felt like I was dying.”
Slow realization turns her bronze-dark eyes to bright amber.
“So yeah, I told you to leave. I shouldn’t have, it was selfish as fuck, but when I thought about how I felt around you…a sadist like me…I couldn’t even imagine how you made them feel.”
I glance past her, to where my brothers said they’d wait.
“So I made you leave. And I told myself I was doing the right thing.” I shake my head, let go of her hands. “That we’d be better off if you were gone.”
Her hands drop to her sides. The hurt is back in her eyes, but it’s different. It doesn’t fuel me like it should.
I clear my throat. Rake fingers through my hair.
“When I realized how wrong I was…that’s when I came back. And it was wrong. I shouldn’t have pushed you away from them, Trinity. It wasn’t my decision to make.”
She stares up at me, silent, barely blinking. Her chest rises as she takes a deep breath, but she exhales without saying anything.
“And what I’ve been trying to tell you…” I look down, reach for her hands.
I wait for her to pull away so I can turn and leave.
She doesn’t.
Trinity lets me take her hands again. Does nothing as I lace my fingers with hers. As I pull her a little closer.
I clear my throat again.
“I’m waiting,” she says.
I start to growl at her impatience, but I check myself immediately.
Swallow. Fucking breathe.
“I don’t forgive you, Trinity Malone. I don’t think I ever can.”
Her eyes go wide. Her fingers tighten around mine. “What?” she says, but it’s barely a whisper.
“I was broken before I met you. Broken, and selfish. And I was happy not giving a fuck about anyone but myself.” I tug her the last bit, until her body’s pressed against mine. “Then you came along, and you fixed me. You made me feel again. I’d promised myself I’d never be scared again. And then I met you.”
I shake loose one of my hands, then the other. I finally get to peel the strands of wet hair from her throat, and run my thumbs down the side of her neck.
“And now I’m terrified all the fucking time.”
She puts her hands over mine, her lips parting. “Zach, I didn’t—”
“I love you, Trinity. But I don’t think I can ever forgive you.”
Her eyes are limpid, glowing.
I duck my head. Aim for her lips. And they part oh so fucking invitingly.
But then a finger presses against my mouth, hard enough to push my head back. My eyes fly open, and I glare down at her as she puts her head to the side.
“No.”
A most familiar frustration rises inside me. “No?”
“I don’t accept your apology.” She shrugs. “That was a good start,” she says, and then clears her fucking throat. “But it’s not enough.”
“Christ, woman, what the hell—” I start.
She puts her finger back on my mouth. “Nuh-uh.”
I pull away. Bite down on my lip and pretend it’s hers instead.
It doesn’t work.
I want to rip her to shreds…and then plaster her back together with kisses. I’m trembling from the force of stopping myself lunging at her.
She puts that same finger to her own lips, purses them. Cocks her head again. Taps her lips once, twice, three times.
“What?” I growl, when she stays silent.
“You must be tired,” she says.
I shake my head. “Not even a little.”
“You should rest.”
She takes my hands, laces our fingers, and leads us toward the bedroom. And then my heart does that thing I hate so much—twisting in place before thumping around like a tooth in a loose socket.
“Why didn’t you just say you wanted to fuck?” I tell her as I leer at her ass through the silk robe she’s wearing.
She stops dead in her tracks, and turns to frown at me. “Who said that’s what I want?”