I shake my head—wrong thing to do. The room spins. My stomach roils and I dry heave.
My kidnapper laughs. “Can’t fuckin hurl, can you? Thank fuck. That shit smelled.”
I heave a deep breath in through my nose and exhale through my mouth. My mind clears. The room stops spinning. The throbbing in my head doesn’t.
“Why do you hate him so much?”
“Why do you care for him?”
What an odd question to ask. Bobby said the hit on him was personal. The killer aimed for his heart rather than his head. The guy has a balaclava on, but with the light on, I see the resemblance: blueberry-blue eyes and dark-brown hair with auburn highlights. A few strands stick out from under the balaclava. “He’s your brother.” The realization doesn’t surprise me. During one of our many talks, Bobby shared his suspicion that he had more siblings out there.
“He’s a goddamn bastard who deserves every ounce of misery when I kill you, the woman he loves.”
“Why do you hate him so much?” I ask again.
“Answer mine first.” He turns off the flashlight, plunging us into darkness. My kidnapper takes a spot across from me with his back against the wall and his sniper rifle resting on his bent knee. He aims the rifle at my head.
“He’s kind, considerate, funny, protective, smart?—”
“Enough.” He slashes the air. “You saying he’s a saint?”
I shake my head, but stop when the room spins. Groaning, I go to hold my head, then realize I’m in handcuffs. I grit my teeth and glare at my kidnapper. “No one is a saint. We all have our vices.”
“What’s his?”
“What do you think it is?”
He laughs, but it’s not friendly. It’s maniacal. Fear slithers up and down my spine. “Reverse psychology won’t work on me. What is his vice?” He demands in a low and lethal tone.
“He drives too fast on his motorcycle. Spends money too freely on cars.” I still can’t believe he found all of Carlos’s project cars and bought them for double or triple what they’re worth.
“What else?” He tips the rifle from my head to my chest.
“That’s all I can think of.”
“The drinking, the womanizing, the partying?”
I shrug. “He stopped.”
“You fucking serious?”
I nod.
“I don’t believe you. Love doesn’t change a self-serving bastard like Bobby Bliss.”
“It wasn’t love. Bobby was already a good guy. Something in his life made him into the guy you remember.” I tell my kidnapper, Bobby’s half-brother, what he told me about his ex. “She was a monster, lying, cheating, and manipulating him. What she did would be toxic to anyone’s mindset.”
“Mindfucked?”
“Yes,” I say in a soft voice.
“You’re sad for him.”
I nod. “I would’ve turned out the same had I been with a monster rather than my first love, who loved me without conditions or demands. I would’ve lost my mind had I been with someone who cheated, lied, and manipulated me.”
My head is pounding. I squeeze my eyes shut and inhale. A sharp pain in my chest overrides the pounding in my head.
“Bobby isn’t to blame. Whoever hurt you . . .” My words garble. Fatigue weighs down my body. My eyes are heavy, and I blink away the urge to fall asleep. “Whoever hurt you, don’t give them the power to keep hurting you. They weren’t the right person for you. Your person is out there. The past is the past and can’t be changed. Live in the present. Look toward the future.”
