following the rhythm of my footsteps as I walk quickly up the stairs.
Goddammit. None of this should hurt as much as it does. I thought my mother was dead for years, and I came to terms with it. So how can finding out she’s alive be somehow worse than that?
And Brian. Why does learning how much he was paid off make the sting of his betrayal even sharper?
Maybe because it makes it all so fucking real.
It seems insane that only a few short weeks ago, I was torturing myself over the fact that I hadn’t stayed loyal to Brian. Agonizing over the feelings I was beginning to develop for each of the men. Deep in my heart, maybe I knew part of the truth without realizing it—Brian wasn’t good for me. He never had been. Every moment in our relationship sticks out to me as suspicious now, as a red flag that I somehow missed.
Did he ever actually mean anything he said?
Maybe he loved me in the beginning. But obviously not enough. Not really. He was lying to himself just as much as he was lying to me.
I may have cheated on him—every time I let the guys touch me, fuck me, every time I let myself feel something for them. Every time I let my mind wander into those dangerous thoughts, I cheated on him.
But he was going to kill me.
For money.
That’s all that it was ever about. Money. He wasn’t relieved to hear me on the phone when I called him from the bathroom, crouched down by the sink and keeping my shaky voice low. He was relieved because he knew that his job was about to get much easier. He didn’t have to waste any more time tracking me down, not when I told him exactly where I was.
In that moment, he didn’t hear my voice on the other side of the phone. He didn’t hear his fiancée.
Scared. Alone. Desperate.
He only saw the paycheck that Camilla had promised him hovering within his reach. He was thrilled, not because he was going to get me back, but because he was finally going to get rid of me, once and for all.
He would’ve bought things with that blood money. Maybe one of those expensive cars he always talked about, maybe a house. Maybe he would’ve blown it all on women and booze and gambling in Vegas—I don’t know. The law abiding Prince Charming I thought I knew was just a role he played. The cover for a cold-hearted asshole, a dirty cop.
After all the promises he fed me, after the years we spent together. He threw it all away for money. For a fucking payday.
And the worst part is, Leland made it seem like Brian had a choice. He had a choice to bring me in or kill me. Which did he choose?
He wanted to kill me.
I don’t even want to know how he decided on that. If he wanted to watch me die, or if he just thought it would be easier than handing me over, knowing I was still alive. I don’t know if he wanted to kill me as a fucked-up way of trying to protect me from whatever Camilla planned for me, or if it was a cheap thrill for his sick mind.
When I reach the second floor, I stalk down the hall and slam the bedroom door behind me.
I don’t know what to do. I want to go into a rage—throw things, smash things, pull apart the room with my teeth and nails, but I can’t. I can’t destroy anything else. I can’t let my presence ruin anything else.
Fuck.
A knock at the door makes me jump. My back is pressed to the hard wood, so the sound is loud right next to my ear. Trying to get my breathing back under control, I press away from the solid door and turn to open it.
Zaid and Lucas stand outside, concerned looks on their faces. It reminds me of the way Hale looked when he came to get me earlier, and I hate that I’ve lost my cool. Again. I thought I had put myself back together well enough to face my past, but I’m obviously hanging on by a thread, and they can all see it.
I don’t want sympathy though. I don’t want worry. Not now.
I don’t know what I want exactly, but before the twins can open their mouths to say anything, I pull them both inside and shut the door behind them.
“Are you