Fury rolled into Regan’s expression. “Holy fuck. Did you do it on purpose?”
“What? No.” He looked seriously pissed at her accusation. “Yeah, I won’t be sad if you don’t have to work there anymore, but Jesus. It was an honest mistake.”
“I’m still struggling,” Tara said, “with what ‘not exactly a cop’ means.”
Regan didn’t like being caught and wanted someone to blame, and I was an easy target. She gave me a hard look. “I know you probably think you’ve hit the jackpot here, but your story will never get off the ground. The FBI will kill it, make you look bad in the process, and the only thing you’ll end up doing is getting me reassigned.” Her expression shifted and took an edge of desperation. “I won’t be able to protect the people I care about.”
Tara didn’t seem to hear the last part. She balled a hand into a fist and held it against her stomach. “You’re FBI.” It was impossible to tell if it was a question or a statement from her shell-shocked voice. “I can’t . . .” She put her hands on her temples and stared at the ground, completely overwhelmed. “I can’t do this right now. It’s too much.”
When she moved for the door, we all went to stop her.
“Wait,” the couple said.
I ignored them. “Let me take you home.”
“No.” She threw open the door, and I followed her out into the hallway, which she rushed down. “I need some time.”
Down the stairs she went, her leggings glinting in the light as she moved at a fast clip. I was bigger, but it was surprisingly difficult to keep up.
“I know you’re dealing with a lot, but can I explain?”
She flung open the apartment building’s main door, not checking to see if I was still following. She knew I was. “What part of ‘I need some time’ do you not understand?” She whirled around to face me, and she was both angry and scared. Like a wounded animal trying to survive a threat. “I just found out that everyone I care about has been lying to me. And, yeah, I’m aware I’m not innocent in this either, but you’re going to give me one night to work through this shit.”
It hurt to see her like this, especially since I was the cause. “Can I please just take you home?”
A cab with its sign lit turned the corner, and she waved before turning a cold stare my direction. “I already told you no, and you need to respect that.”
It wasn’t a battle I could, or should, win. “You’re right. I’m sorry, and I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. But Tara? I don’t care about the club or what you do there. I’m with you. That’s all that matters to me.”
I should have left it alone, instead all I did was add to her confusion. She said nothing as she climbed into the back of the cab and murmured her address to the driver. Then she yanked the door closed with a slam, and the car pulled away. Her head never turned. She didn’t look back to see me standing there, feeling like I’d just lost everything.
I came home directly after. Maybe it was rude not to say goodbye to Silas and Regan, but that would have been fucking awkward, and I just wanted to be alone. Well, that wasn’t true. I wanted to be with Tara right now. For selfish reasons, but also to comfort her.
She’d trusted Silas and Regan and been honest with them about everything. Their betrayal had to sting, and worse—was she in legal jeopardy? Regan insinuated she was protecting her.
Did Julius know she was FBI?
For once in my life, I wasn’t curious. All I could think about was how I’d ruined what was supposed to be one of the best days of Tara’s life. Hopefully, she’d get a decent night’s sleep, and in the morning, she’d see that our lies canceled each other’s out. We could talk about everything openly and figure out how we’d move forward.
I stared at the used wine glasses beside my sink, Tara’s lipstick faintly kissing one edge.
It felt like I’d just played two rugby matches back to back, and they’d been blowout losses. I locked my front door, turned off the lights in the living room, and made my way to the bedroom. My overnight bag was in the corner, and I went to unpack it, only to be crushed for the second time this evening.
Her ledger.
I still had it.
My knees softened, and I sat on the edge of the bed we’d slept in only a few hours ago, my hands gripping the black book. She’d asked for one night of space, and I was going to give it to her, but first thing tomorrow, I’d tell her what I’d done. It was too much to ask her to deal with tonight.
I was exhausted, emotionally and physically. Weak. It was why I opened to my page in her journal and read it again, running my fingers over the ink she’d spilled about me. It was black and the pages
thin, and I could make out words from the page behind mine. Words like Mr. Gold and humiliated and scared.
She’d stopped working recently because a client had gotten too attached, she’d said. I turned the page, unable to quench the thirst to know what had happened. I needed to know she was safe. It was the last page of handwriting in the journal.
I shouldn’t have read any of it. I knew nothing good could come from it, but I couldn’t stop myself. I read about the vile shit he’d said to her and how she’d told him they were finished. She was worried he wouldn’t handle it well. He was powerful and rich, and one of the best clients at the clubs.
It seemed like he’d been a regular, and I wanted to know more about him. Had he always been this horrible little man? How often had she seen him? Did she know his name?