"He might never forgive me for this, if he finds out. For helping you lie to him."
She tenses and looks up at me, her blue eyes serious and sad. "Are you having second thoughts?"
I should be. Everything logical and strategic says I should march her right back upstairs, call Ronan, and let him handle this situation the way he sees fit.
Instead, I reach out and squeeze her hand. This time, she doesn’t flinch away from me.
"No. No second thoughts."
She deserves the right to heal on her own terms, at her own pace. Ronan will go after who did this, the same as I would. But I’m willing to wait for her to tell me everything. I don’t know if he’d do the same. And at the end of the day?—
The only reason that really matters, the only one that’s really true, is that she asked me for this. That’s all that she ever needed to do.
No other justification is needed. She asked, and I’m going to help her.
As we descend toward the parking garage, I make peace with my choice. Whatever consequences come from this decision, whatever price I have to pay for helping her, it will be worth it.
Annie O'Malley is worth everything.
And she always has been.
12
ANNIE
The leather passenger’s seat of Elio's car is cool against my cheek as I curl into myself, his loose clothing comforting. It smells like him, like clean laundry and a whiff of his woodsy cologne, and I tuck my head into my chest, breathing in the scent to try to calm myself. He’s taking me somewhere safe, and Ifeelsafer with him, but the terror of the night hasn’t fully passed. I can’t stop seeing the lust in Desmond’s eyes, hear theclinkof his belt as he undid it, feel his weight on me, and the hot slide of his cock, as he came within a breath of taking what I’d decided I didn’t want to give him yet.
I can’t stop seeing his face as he ran after me. He was going to finish what he started. If he finds me, he still will. I know it.
I’m not safe yet. But I’m safer than I was before.
The engine's steady hum mingles with the sound of rain pattering against the windows, creating a cocoon of white noise that makes my eyelids heavy. I should stay awake—should be alert, watching for danger—but exhaustion pulls at me like a riptide.
"Sleep, Annie," Elio's voice is soft, barely audible over the storm. "We have a long drive ahead."
I want to protest, to tell him I'm fine, but the words won't come. My body feels foreign to me now, like it belongs to someone else. Someone who was touched by hands that had no right to touch her. Someone who fought and ran and barely escaped with her dignity intact. I want to be held by someone who I know won’t hurt me, and at the same time, I don’t ever want to be touched again.
The car takes a turn, and I slide slightly across the seat. I breathe in again, leather and the scent of Elio on his clothing. Running away together like this feels like being a teenager again, stealing glances at him across the dinner table when he lived with us. It makes my chest ache with longing even now, when I should be thinking of nothing but survival. It makes me ache for him in a way that has nothing to do with desire and everything to do with a different kind of need.
My eyes drift closed despite my best efforts to stay vigilant.
I'm back in Elio's penthouse, but this time everything is different. This time, we’re in a bathroom—his bathroom, maybe. He kneels beside the tub and reaches for the washcloth, his green eyes dark with something more than concern.
"Let me take care of you," he murmurs, his voice rough with desire.
The water is warm against my skin as he trails the cloth along my arm, washing away the dirt and blood and fear. But his touch lingers, fingers tracing patterns that make my breath catch. When he reaches my collarbone, he sets the cloth aside and uses his hands instead.
"Annie." He breathes my name like a prayer, like something sacred. His thumb brushes across my lower lip, and I part my mouth instinctively. "I've wanted this for so long."
"Then take it," I whisper, trembling for a different reason now. "Take me."
His hands slide into my wet hair, tilting my head back as he leans down to kiss me. It's nothing like Desmond's demanding mouth. This is reverence and need and longing, years and years of it wrapped up into a moment where I came to him when I had nowhere else to go.
When he pulls back, his eyes are hot, needy. "Are you sure?"
Instead of answering with words, I reach for him, pulling him down into the water with me. He comes willingly, his white-shirt clinging to his chest as he settles between my legs. The bathtub is too small for both of us, but somehow we make it work, our bodies fitting together like puzzle pieces.
His mouth finds my throat, pressing hot kisses along the column of my neck while his hands explore every inch of skin they can reach. My clothes have vanished, my skin bare, and I arch against him, desperate for more contact, more of this feeling that's washing away every terrible memory from tonight.
