one
I sit inside the shower, the water’s spray washing blood from my jeans and T-shirt and splattering Kayden, who kneels in front of me. And while my hand trembles with the weight of the Glock I point at him, the lies I’m certain he’s told me shred my heart. “I want the truth,” I demand.
“Give me the gun, Ella,” he orders softly, his voice a tight band of control I want to break, his piercing blue eyes unreadable, the absence of a real answer painfully telling.
“Make me trust you and I will.”
“You already trust me, and with good reason. I would die for you.”
“Because I’m important to you,” I say, and I don’t even try to keep the accusation from my voice. “The question is why.”
“Ella,” he breathes out. “Don’t do this.”
“Do you know who I am? Not this ‘Rae Eleana Ward’ person you turned me into. Do you know who I was before I was attacked in that alleyway?”
“No, I do not.”
“Yet I just told you about that butterfly necklace, and you already have a photo of it in your office.”
“Put the gun down, Ella.”
“That’s not an answer. That’s a dodge and weave, and you never dodge and weave with me. And I hate what that means.”
“You’re jumping to conclusions.”
“Were you after the necklace when you found me in that alleyway? Were you always after it?”
“Damn it, Ella. Give me the gun.”
“No. I will not give you the gun. Answer the damn questions.”
His hands flatten on his jean-clad knees. “Listen to me, sweetheart. This is not about a dodge and weave. It’s about this being the wrong time to do this.”
“Is there ever a good time to have a gun held on you?”
He stares at me, his eyes unreadable, but then I’m not sure they ever were readable. “I haven’t lied to you, Ella,” he says. “Not one lie.”
“You just omitted facts.”
His answer is to move before I can, leaning under the spray of water and closing his hand over mine and the gun. I have a split second to decide whether to pull the trigger or let him take my weapon . . . but I can’t hurt him—even if he might hurt me. I relax my grip and stand up, shoving open the door and exiting the shower.
“I let you have the gun,” I hiss, whirling on him, the puddle at my feet instant, the chill in my bones getting colder with every word I want him to say. “I could have shot you before you took it.”
“But you didn’t,” he says, setting the gun on the counter, drops of water clinging to his naked chest while it literally pours off of me. “Because you care about me, just like I do you. Before I go attend to business, we need to cut through your anger.”
“Anger isn’t what this is.”
“Then tell me. What is it?”
“Apparently business.”
“You are not business,” he says, taking a step toward me.
“Stop,” I warn, backing into the counter, my hands grabbing it behind me, but he doesn’t listen. He closes in on me, his big, overwhelmingly hard body caging mine, the heat of that connection a drug threatening to consume me. “Maybe I should have shot you,” I hiss in frustration, my hands moving to grip his unmovable shoulders, stupid tingling sensations shooting up my arms.
“You don’t mean that,” he says. “And I know you know that there are times I have to put business front and center.”
“Am I one of those times?”
“I’m not using you, Ella. Nothing could be further from the truth. You are in my bed. You are in my life. And you are in parts of me I didn’t think anyone could find again.”
It’s so much of what I want to hear, and yet not enough. “Then tell me that you didn’t know about the necklace before I told you about it.”
“I swear to you, I didn’t know you knew about the necklace.”
“So you knew about it.”
“Yes,” he confirms. “I knew.”