“You’re not a monster,” I tell him when he doesn’t answer.
“Yes, I am.”
“And I’m only safe with you.”
“No, sweetheart,” he says, the expression on his face as he looks down at me, as he pets my hair, so sad and broken. “I wish it were true but no, you’re not.”
“It wasn’t your fault. Even if your uncle…your…” I trail off.
“Father. The word you’re searching for is father.”
“No,” I say, straightening, setting my hands on his thighs, and looking up at him now. “You’re Lizzie’s brother. Your father was her father, the man who raised you and loved you. Your uncle was the monster. Not you.”
He snorts, brings that bottle back to his mouth, so I reach for it.
“It’s enough, you’ve had too much already.”
“Let go, sweetheart. I’ll say when it’s enough.” He gets to his feet, easily shrugs me off and drinks as if to make a point.
I stand and when I try to take the bottle from him, he grabs my wrist.
“I said let go. Go up to your bed—”
“My bed? Not yours? Not ours?”
“There is no ours.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“It’s better for you. Safer.”
I shake my head, try to tug free so I can get the bottle. “I’m not going without you.”
“Yes, you are. And this thing between us, it stops. Now.”
“No.” I try to grab the bottle with my other hand, but he tugs me roughly away and forces me to sit on the couch.
“St. James is right,” he says.
St. James. The man from the photograph. “Right about what?”
“You don’t want to leave, suit yourself. I’ll leave. But this is finished. I should never have started it in the first place. That’s on me.” He drinks the last of the whiskey, sets the bottle down and starts to walk away. “But I’ll be damned if I steal one more thing from you.”
“I want this. You can’t steal what I freely give!” I’m on my feet and grabbing his wrist to stop him. He spins, has me by both arms and slams me against the wall. My head spins and it takes my vision a moment to steady. His grip is harder than it’s ever been before. I forget how strong he is. But then he lets go and I wish he’d hold onto me. I don’t even care if he bruises me. I can’t be without him. Doesn’t he know that?
“See. This is what I mean. Exactly what I mean,” he says. “I can only ever hurt you.”
He’s drunk. That’s what this is. It’s the alcohol talking. “It’s not finished. We’re not finished. I’m yours, Dante. And you’re mine. It’s our destiny. Don’t you know that? Don’t you know anything?”
“Destiny.” He shakes his head, laughs outright.
I slam my fists into his chest. “Yes, destiny!”
He grabs my wrists. “You’re young. And somehow have held on to your innocence. I won’t steal that from you either.” He releases my wrists and takes a step back. “Haven’t you had enough of monsters to last you a lifetime?”
“You’re not a monster. Not my monster. It’s what you said. You said—”
“That was before. This, what’s happened between us, it’s wrong. I can’t be with you. I should never have started it. You should be with someone safe. Someone like Noah. Not a cold-blooded killer.”
“You’re not that!” My voice breaks and my eyes mist.
“I am, sweetheart. I am exactly that.” He cups my face with one hand, fingers warm. His expression softens. “And you know it.”
I lean into his touch. “I don’t want anyone else,” I say.
He shakes his head and walks toward the door. I find myself slumping, leaning my weight against the wall.
“I want you,” I say so quietly I’m not sure he hears.
“Tomorrow, you and Noah are gone. Charlie’s arranging a safe place for you until we can get everything worked out.”
“What?” I’m not sure I’m hearing right, not over the shattering of my heart.
“You’ll have a new identity. Start a new life. Then you’ll be free, Mara. Truly free to have a life.”
“Dante—”
“A life without me.”
41
Dante
It’s Saturday night. I check my watch waiting for a call from Matthaeus. A text. Something to tell me it’s done. She’s safe. I haven’t asked him or Charlie for Mara’s location. I don’t want to know because I’m not sure I’ll be able to stay away.
Truth is that what St. James said scared me. Scared the fuck out of me, in fact. I can take all the shit life throws my way. I can deal with the low life pieces of trash of this world. But bedding Mara? It shouldn’t have happened. I shouldn’t have touched her.
She thinks she loves me. And what the fuck did I expect would happen? She’s a girl. A girl who’s been through hell and somehow survived it. I’m a man for fuck’s sake. What did I fucking expect?