death sentence. He knows that. Hell, everyone in a hundred-mile radius is well aware without anyone needing to write the fucking memo.
“I didn’t plan for it to happen,” he continues. “It was meant to be a one-time thing. I was a wreck with this goddamn Luther mess. I just needed an outlet.”
I fall on my ass, the news hitting hard.
If this gets out Stella will lose her father. Layla will bury a husband. I’ll have no family left.
I shake my head and lower the gun, unable to hold it steady. “Who? Where? How long?” I can’t stop the questions.
“It doesn’t matter. It won’t change anything.”
I hang my head, my legs bent before me, the darkness consuming everything. Inside and out. “If Torian finds out—”
“I know.”
“If anyone finds—”
“I know,” he grates. “And I’ll fix it. I just need you to buy me some time.”
“Me? How could you be so fucking stupid?”
He doesn’t answer. He doesn’t have to.
If the past is any indication, he’s already consumed with guilt. He always is. But it never stops him causing more destruction. The remorse doesn’t starve his need to self-sabotage.
I push to my feet and shove my gun into the back of my waistband before I’m tempted to do something I’ll regret. “I swear to God, Benji. Find a way to keep this quiet or I’ll kill you myself.”
23
Penny
I stare at the darkened ceiling, unable to sleep.
I don’t know where Luca is or how long he’ll be gone. The only thing I’m certain of is the discomfort of not having him near.
I’m nothing without him. All my happiness and comfort is woven with each of his breaths. And when he’s close, I’m okay with that dependence.
It’s far better than keeping the company of hopelessness.
I try to picture what a future between us would look like. I shut my eyes, imagining normalcy and routine. What I wouldn’t give for those things.
It isn’t until sleep brushes me with gentle strokes that the bedroom door squeaks. Open, then closed. I tense, instinctively assuming a threat draws near. But my frantic heartbeat quickly fades at the measured footsteps making their way to the bathroom, the door clicking shut before the light flicks on to cast a slight glow over the room.
My stomach warms as the shower starts. The thought of Luca relaxed beneath the water makes me smile.
I slide from bed, needing to be closer to him, my oversized T-shirt billowing at my thighs as I pad to the bathroom. I shouldn’t disturb his privacy. He’d never do the same with mine. But I can’t help testing the door handle, and when I find it unlocked, I have no restraint to remain distanced.
I blink rapidly against the bright light and enter the room to lean against the vanity.
His head is bowed under the shower spray, his hair shrouding his eyes as his arms stretch to the wall before him as if it takes all his strength to hold himself upright.
He’s not the picture of relaxation I envisaged. He seems defeated. Exhausted.
I don’t think he even knows I’m here as he remains immobile, the rivulets of water coursing over the rugged lines of his shoulders and the angry scars along his back.
He’s gorgeous.
Physically. Mentally. Probably spiritually, too, if I’d taken the time to learn more about him instead of being stuck in my own head.
I never could’ve imagined looking at a male’s naked body without feeling anything but fear. Yet that icy chill doesn’t brush my senses. Instead, warmth increases, and it’s not from the steam filling the small space around us.
“What are you doing in here, shorty?” He keeps his hands on the tile, his head dropping lower.
“I couldn’t sleep.” I don’t let my gaze dip below waist-height, not willing to face that challenge just yet. “I wanted to see you.”
His tension doesn’t lessen as he shuts off the taps and opens the shower door, the faintest wrinkle settled between his brows. He grabs a towel from the rail and gently scrubs the water from his hair, unfazed by his nudity while he wipes himself dry and tucks the plush material around his waist.
“Does your head still hurt?” I ask.
“Yeah.” He steps onto the bathmat, his chest peppered with water droplets. “Turns out your brother can pack a punch after all.”
“Do you need to see a doctor?”
He walks toward me, frowning. “Stop worrying about me. I’ll sleep it off.”
I can’t. I am worried.
His pain seems deeper than normal. And the distinct scent of alcohol on his breath only heightens