Wicked Truths (Hunt Legacy Duology #2) - Jodi Ellen Malpas Page 0,33

on that part of my rant, which should probably ease me a little. ‘You’re not leaving full stop.’ He’s worried about me running away again. Good! I’m a gangster’s moll. Sculpting a fake, paying someone to authenticate it? Planting it in a house so it’s found, the auction, the act . . .

‘Talk, Hunt. Talk now.’

He matches my determined stare, his chest puffed out, his jaw tight. It’s a standoff. He better be prepared to lose. ‘Fine.’ I pass him and get precisely nowhere.

‘Eleanor,’ he breathes, catching me around the waist and lifting me from my feet.

‘You’d better start talking,’ I hiss, wrestling with his hands around my waist. ‘I didn’t come back so you could carry on with the lies, Hunt.’

On a bark of irritation, he dumps me on my feet harshly, his frustration getting the better of him. ‘Keep your voice down, Eleanor.’

I’m quivering with fury, and I have a boatload of determination backing it up. He better not underestimate me. ‘Talk!’

I see the moment he comprehends that I’m not backing down because he clams up. That angry look, the unique one that only shows when his parents are mentioned, is present, but it’s not scaring me away this time. His hesitance isn’t because he’s reluctant to spill about his crimes. He’s actually more reluctant to share the story of his parents. He doesn’t want to talk about it, wants to avoid the pain. But he’s putting me in the centre of his corrupt world. He can’t be selective with the information he provides to help me survive it. ‘All or nothing,’ I say.

He balls his fist and brings it to his forehead, banging repeatedly as he clenches his eyes shut. ‘Fine, I’ll tell you about my mum and dad, and then you’ll understand why I forged Head of a Faun and made sure that arsehole bought it.’ He stomps off across his office, leaving me stuck to the carpet where he plonked me, and on a roar of agony and grief, he throws his fist into the back of the solid wooden door.

I flinch, watching as he pulls his arm back, ready to hit the door again. ‘Becker, stop.’ I hurry over to him and seize his balled fist before he can land the door with another brutal punch, though he doesn’t make it easy for me, resulting in a tug of war that I refuse to lose. ‘Stop!’ I yell, wrenching at his arm. His eyes are wide, revealing all of his anguish as he heaves before me, more through emotion than physical exertion. ‘Just stop it.’

He gasps for breath and throws his arms around me, squeezing me to his chest. I’m struggling to breathe, being suffocated, but I endure his fierce hug, let him swathe me until he’s ready to let go. ‘Mum was in a car accident,’ he spits the words into my neck urgently, his voice rough and broken. But he isn’t telling me anything that I don’t already know. It was front-page news. The whole world knows his mum died tragically in a car accident.

I try to wriggle from his hold, failing miserably. ‘Becker, let me see you.’

‘No, just stay where you are for a minute.’ His strong arms lock down some more, making escaping impossible. ‘She was on life support for three weeks. Almost every bone in her body broken.’

I wince and swallow.

‘Her brain showed no signs of activity.’

‘Becker—’

‘Dad signed the papers to switch off the life-support machine. I didn’t want him to, but he said even if she survived, she wouldn’t be his Lou any more. Wouldn’t be my mum.’ I want to tell him to stop, but I realise that sharing this with me, albeit almost robotically, is a huge breakthrough for him. I need to let him do it, no matter how hard I’m finding it to listen. Hard, but not as hard as it would be to live it. I’ve had my own loss, but the burden of such a decision to turn off your loved one’s life support doesn’t bear thinking about. Or, more to the point, not having that decision. Becker didn’t want to give up on her. ‘I couldn’t watch,’ he whispers.

My eyes flood with tears that I’m fighting so hard to hold back. ‘I’m so sorry.’

I feel his head nod a little. ‘She was on her way to the bank to put the map in Dad’s safety deposit box.’

This piece of information comes from leftfield, and I spring from his arms, looking up