you are.”
“Oh.” She finally smiles, and it breaks my heart into a thousand pieces. “I better go and find him.”
She stands and leaves, and I can’t stop it. I can’t help the lone tear that rolls down my cheek. I feel like I’m going to explode into a bucket of emotions. I can barely keep the stress from bubbling out. I’m strong, probably the stronger than most, and yet this is breaking me. It’s ripping me apart from the inside out. I feel like I’m here, doing something to stop the trafficking, and yet I’m not doing enough to stop it.
I’m hanging on the end of a rope right now—one slip and I’m done.
“Hey,” Dax says, sitting beside me.
He takes my face in his hands, and my head spins a little. It’s almost like one sip of that drink has pushed me over the edge from being tipsy to drunk. That’s weird.
I stare at his face, and the tears burst forth. I can’t stop them. No matter what I do, I can’t stop them. Dax actually has the nerve to look sad, to look like he’s worried about me, to look like he cares.
When was the last time someone looked at me like that?
It only makes me cry harder.
I’m lonely, I’m scared, and now I’ve been drinking.
“It’s okay, hey. Shhhh.”
Dammit.
Why must he comfort me?
Why must he confuse my drunken mind?
“Why are you crying, beautiful girl?”
No.
Please.
“I’m just . . . I don’t know . . .” I say, and then turn my face away.
If I look at him, if he says any more nice things, I may not be able to help myself from caving to his kindness. It’ll make it worse, and I can’t handle worse right now.
I can’t handle it.
“Sweetheart,” he murmurs, his voice low and husky and damn him. Damn him. Damn him.
“You wouldn’t understand,” I say, keeping my face turned away.
“Try me.”
I look to him. I need to push my act. I need to bring it further to the surface. If I let it slip now, it’ll all go to hell.
“Do you know what it’s like to live a horrible life, Dax?” I ask, because even though I don’t know the answer to that, it’s a question that would make sense for me to ask right now.
“Yes,” he tells me, his voice low.
I’m stunned. For a second, I stare at him in confusion. I didn’t actually expect him to say that.
“My mother died giving birth to me and I was raised by a cruel man. So cruel, I was taken when I was five because he locked me in a basement for two weeks, and I got so sick I nearly died. I was then placed into a foster home, where my foster father assaulted me in ways you couldn’t imagine. That’s when I met . . . Peter.”
Oh. God.
No.
No.
Please, no.
“I was only eighteen when I met him, but he took me under his wing, and he helped me out of the hardest parts of my life. I owe him, I suppose. When you’ve lived in hell your entire life, you have to wonder what fuckin’ heaven feels like eventually. I took what I could get, even if at times it made me question who I am.”
God, stop.
Stop.
I stare at him, and I swallow the thick lump in my throat.
His hand goes out and cups the side of my face.
I can’t breathe.
“There’s something about you, Waverly. Something different. Something that makes me feel . . . things I haven’t felt before.”
Oh no.
He leans in, and every part of me is screaming—I just don’t know what for. My head is spinning, my mind is a mess, and when his lips touch mine, I shut down. For a moment, I shut down. I don’t know how to think or how to breathe or how to act. I just know that I can’t function right now. I can’t do anything but sit here, stunned.
Then he’s kissing me a little deeper, and it feels nice.
God, it feels so nice.
My lips move, and I feel woozy, and I don’t know what’s happening.
I don’t know what is wrong.
My mind is chaos, my body is in turmoil, and I’m kissing a monster.
I pull back and gasp as my head spins and I topple off the chair.
I don’t feel right.
I don’t feel well.
I need to get out of here.
I just kissed the man responsible for so much torture, so much pain.
He’s a monster.
A cruel monster.
Oh, god.
“Waverly are you okay?” he asks, standing and helping me