It’s interesting how life works. You can either be the hero or the villain in someone’s story, depending on how and by who the story is being told.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CROW
Each time I’ve wanted to go down there, I haven’t. Falcon set up the cameras, the speakers, and yet, I’ve yet to venture away from my computer. Work is my focus. But she’s in my peripheral. I want answers, but I also don’t want them. What she told us the other night was enough to anger me even more. Perhaps she’s ready to come upstairs, to listen to our stories.
I wanted her dead, but after what she told us, I’m more intrigued by the girl. It’s why I’ve kept my distance. My plan has gone to shit because I never expected to want to know more about her. She was a means to an end. But it seems this pretty girl has needled her way into my mind.
Pushing away from my desk, I make my way down the hall. Falcon is in his office, the door closed, while Hawk is out. He’s been running solo for the past few days. He hasn’t ventured down to see her again, and I know he’s keeping his distance. That kiss was more than he wanted, I know because the guilt in his eyes afterward was apparent.
We were all meant to hate her, not want to sit and listen to her painful recollections of a monster she grew up with. But we do. None of us can deny it because it’s clear as fucking day.
By the time I’m pushing open the door to her cell, I’m wound up tight. A coiled spring. She’s sitting on the bed, still in a pair of panties and a T-shirt. It’s been a few days since I saw her, and even though we’ve not allowed her to shower, she’s still breathtakingly beautiful.
“Come,” I order, keeping my voice calm, but my insides are twisted with need.
“Where are you taking me?” Even in her predicament, she’s strong, fiery. I want to smile at her, but I don’t. If I do, she’ll take it the wrong way, she’ll think I’m being nice. I’m not.
“If you don’t want to leave this room, so be it. But I’m not going to repeat myself.” I turn and leave her behind. Her footsteps patter behind me and I smile as I lead the way upstairs to the main section of the house.
In the kitchen, I glance at her from over my shoulder, taking in the dirty girl. Fuck, she is stunning. It’s frustrating. I lead her up to the first floor, which houses a couple of guest rooms, along with a bathroom. I shove open the door and gesture for her to enter.
“What is going on?” Her wariness isn’t unfounded. She should be scared. She should be very fucking scared. When we hated her, she was safer. Now, the thoughts running through my mind about her are far more volatile.
“Clean yourself up, I’ll bring you clothes to wear.”
“And then what?’
“You ask too many fucking questions, little mouse,” I tell her, pinning her with a heated glare. I can’t deal with being so close to her. She’s filthy, but I want nothing more than to rip the stupid T-shirt from her body and explore every inch of pale flesh.
“Okay,” she finally mumbles and enters the bathroom. I shut the door and lean against it. My head dropping back against the wood. The shower turns on, and I listen for the glass door to slide closed. Once it does, I move away and hunt down something for her to wear. Because if one thing is clear, she cannot walk around our house with a pair of panties on and nothing else.
When I return to the bathroom, I shove open the door only to find her wrapped in a towel. Her skin glistens with water droplets, and her hair hangs in a long, sleek curtain. The blonde seems to be even whiter, making her look like a goddamned angel.
“Found these for you,” I hand her a pair of sweatpants and a loose fitting tee. It will cover up her body and keep us focused on the task at hand—to not kill her or fuck her. To get information out of her. We need to learn more about the connections her father has. Since Falcon is on the case, digging into the Bratva, I have a feeling we’re still going to need insider info.
“Thank you,” Lucille says quietly. “I didn’t expect you to be nice to me. I understand your anger,” she tells me which seems to only heat my blood with fury.
“You understand nothing,” I tell her. “You were not targeted by a monster who stole from you.”
“Tell me what he did to each of you, please?” Her plea almost has me breaking down. But I’m stronger and her begging steels my resolve. I can’t allow myself to feel anything more than anger. Because if I do, I’m afraid I’ll never stop. It can’t happen.