Every moment—even those where he drugged, bound, and threatened me—are all relived with a sickening gravitational pull toward admiration. Or worse, lust.
It doesn’t make sense.
It’s not who I am.
“Thanks for your time.” I yank her door open and stalk toward the receptionist, holding out my bank card to pay before continuing my thunderous steps outside into the late afternoon air.
I can’t keep doing this.
I have to quit thinking of him. Thinking of us. Thinking there’s some stupid connection between me and a psychotic murderer when those reflections tear my ethics and principals to shreds.
He manipulated me.
Groomed me.
Just like his father did with all those stolen women he turned into sex slaves.
Cole instigated a mind game I couldn’t resist. And he won.
End of story.
I continue onto the footpath, thankful for the long walk home because, apart from alcohol, the casual stroll is the one thing capable of stabilizing my pulse.
If only I could find the peace I crave.
Insomnia would be a blessing right now, instead I pass out nightly, the dreams of Cole luminous and palpable.
“Hey, Fox, wait up.”
I freeze at the sound of Anthony Easton’s voice behind me, my mindlessness temporarily appeased. The fellow FBI agent has been the only stability through this entire ordeal. He’s the one who convinced me not to go back to work until I’m ready, and I haven’t.
He’s the lighthouse through the storm. The steady shore.
And despite having limited knowledge of what happened between me and Cole, he’s intuitive enough to make sure he bad-mouths that motherfucker constantly, making me despise my inappropriate thoughts like a mentally stable person should.
But Easton also increases my self-loathing. Being around him, with his kindness and generosity, is a constant reminder that I crave the wrong things. He’s been my rock, yet I still fixate on poison-filled kisses from a predator.
I turn to find him strolling toward me, his suit crisp, his jawline covered in thick stubble, and those gentle eyes filled with concern.
“What are you still doing here?” I paste on a smile. “I told you I could walk home.”
“I know. But after dropping you off, I had nothing better to do, so I thought I’d wait around and give you a ride.” His gaze narrows. “You finished early, though. Is everything all right?”
“Everything’s fine. Apart from me and my shrink having a difference of opinion.” I force out a laugh. “I don’t think we’ll be seeing each other again.”
His expression softens, the kindness transforming to pity. “Is that a good idea? You need someone to talk to. It’s been weeks since you last ran into Torian and you’re still struggling to cope.”
No, not weeks.
He has no clue I had an unscheduled reunion with my satanic libido builder last night. On the side of the road. With a police officer present.
Penny, Decker’s sister, had needed help. The recently released sex slave I assisted in saving from Greece, had stolen a hitman’s car and wasn’t prepared to be targeted for the drive-by shooting that followed.
But that deluge of information is a rabbit warren I refuse to crawl into with Easton.
“It’s okay.” I continue along the sidewalk, determined to make my way home. “I’ll figure it out.”
“No, wait.” He rushes after me, his strong grip latching onto my wrist. “You’re not alone in this. Let me help.”
I stare down at the fingers gently embedded in my woolen sweater. I want to feel relief at his touch. Warmth. Affection. I wish something other than the need to compare would overwhelm me whenever he pays me attention, but that’s what it always amounts to.
I’m constantly pitting him against Cole and he never wins.
He’s not fierce enough. Strong enough. Possessive enough.
Yet, I know things between us could potentially become serious if I gave it a try.
He wants me. That much is clear. He’s alluded to a relationship beyond friendship a time or two, his eyes turning hungry more often than not after we share a few late-night drinks.
He could be the necessary distraction to take my mind off Cole. All I need to do is be accommodating.
“You’ve already helped a whole heap.” I clasp my hand over his and squeeze. “And I’m thankful. But I’m going to be okay. I promise.”
He keeps scrutinizing me, his brows furrowing. “He really messed with you, didn’t he? Whatever happened between the two of you is far bigger than you’ve let on.” He takes another step, bringing us a foot apart, face-to-face. “I don’t know why you’re protecting him.”