Total pages in book: 128
Estimated words: 132498 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 662(@200wpm)___ 530(@250wpm)___ 442(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 132498 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 662(@200wpm)___ 530(@250wpm)___ 442(@300wpm)
I expect him to cross the space . . .
Please cross it.
But he doesn’t. Instead, he pulls back, not far, just enough to keep some semblance of control.
I blink, trying to breathe like a normal person. I should leave. I should run upstairs, lock my door, and pretend I didn’t almost melt when I thought he might kiss me.
Instead, I stay.
I’m tired of running.
I clear my throat, voice rough, needing to change the narrative of the moment. “I saw Grant.”
“What?”
“I . . . didn’t tell him anything.”
His eyes snap to mine, cold and sharp. “Grant was there? Nico didn’t mention that . . .”
I regret telling him instantly. I should have kept it to myself. But it’s out now, hanging between us, making my stomach tighten in fear.
“Yes, he was there.” I lift my chin. “At my parents’ house. Asking questions.”
Lorenzo’s jaw tightens, and the room feels like it drops ten degrees.
“And you told him what?”
I swallow hard. “As I said before, I didn’t tell him anything.”
His gaze searches my face like he’s looking for a lie. I hold still because he won’t find anything.
“Why not?” he asks, voice low.
“Because I didn’t want you to—” I whisper.
“To what?”
“Get hurt.”
He leans back slowly, like he needs distance from that confession, and drags a hand down his face.
“Christ. You really are going to ruin me twice.”
My chest tightens. “I didn’t do anything.”
“You don’t even realize you’re holding the knife.”
My throat bobs. “Then take it away.”
Lorenzo’s mouth curves, dark and bitter. “I can’t.” The word hangs there.
Heavy.
Too honest.
I stare at him, my voice barely a breath. “Why?”
His eyes lock onto mine, unblinking, and for a second, the cruelty peels back far enough that I can see the raw thing underneath. He shifts closer, not touching, but close enough that I feel him.
“You want the truth?”
My pulse jumps. “No.”
His mouth twitches. “Liar.”
I swallow hard. “Fine. Yes.”
“You were never a phase.” His voice is rough. Filled with emotion. “You were always the end.”
The words hit like a punch. Not because they’re romantic. Because they’re terrifying.
Because an ending isn’t gentle.
An ending is final.
My mouth opens, but nothing comes out.
I don’t know what to do with that kind of confession from a man who turns love into a weapon.
Lorenzo watches me struggle with it, eyes dark, and then his mouth curls.
He walks over to where he placed his glass, lifting it slightly in a mock salute. “Congratulations. You’ve successfully traumatized me, again.”
I blink, breathing again. “That’s . . . not the reaction I was expecting.”
He takes a slow sip, gaze never leaving mine. “I aim to disappoint.”
My heart races, and I still tingle from where his fingers touched my hair.
I’m frightened.
But I’m not even sure why.
The fear lodges under my ribs like a thorn.
I move toward the door.
I need to leave.
If I stay, I might do something stupid. Like reach for him again. Or forget I’m supposed to hate him.
Lorenzo’s gaze tracks me, slow and heavy. “Running.”
“Breathing,” I snap, turning toward the door. “There’s a difference.”
“Barely.”
I take a step and then stop. “Thank you for telling me . . .”
About the past. About its scars.
“Don’t mistake honesty for softness, Little Bird.”
I glance back, meeting his eyes for one beat. “Don’t mistake my concern for forgiveness,” I retort.
His smile is small. Dangerous. Almost proud.
I leave before either of us can say something worse.
Once I’m upstairs, I feel safe again.
Even though I shouldn’t
Because tonight, for the first time, I saw the wound beneath the surface. Which means I’m in even more danger than I thought. Because the moment you see the truth in the monster . . .
You start wondering if the monster can see the truth in you, too.
52
Lorenzo
I stand in front of the security monitors, watching surveillance footage that Dom hacked into.
Eventually, we will find this fucker.
Connor might be good at hiding, but I’m better at tracking.
“Back it up,” I say, signaling to the video currently playing in front of me.
Dom taps the keyboard, and the footage rewinds. The video is from a street camera outside of a nightclub.
My gaze narrows as Dom replays the clip. I narrow my eyes and focus on the figure stepping out of the door.
It looks like Connor.
The man slips through the crowd standing out front of the club.
“Zoom in,” I order.
The image tightens. He turns just enough for the camera to catch his profile. My jaw sets. Yep. It’s him.
“Okay. Now that we know it’s him, let’s zoom and focus on where he goes.”
We watch as Connor exits through the door. The timestamp says it’s 2:17 a.m. The camera outside catches him lighting a cigarette, then he heads toward the street.
“There,” I say. “Freeze it.”
The car pulls into frame. It’s a black SUV. He opens the passenger door and gets inside.
“Enhance the plate.”
Dom does what I ask, and I jot down the license plate number on my phone.