“No,” he snarls. “I’m nothing like him. Nothing like any of them. I’m a Beast, not a fucking monster.”
Sorry, Damian. I know there’s a soft heart in there somewhere.
What am I even thinking?
“What time do you finish?” he asks.
“Seven.”
“See you then. Remember–call me if there’s a problem.”
I climb from the car, feeling his eyes on me. When I get to the main entrance, I look over my shoulder. He’s staring at me like his life depends on it.
CHAPTER 13
DAMIAN
The hole is more difficult to dig than usual. But I don’t mind the work. Winter ground, cold and icy. Rico’s dead eyes watch me from his spot leaning against a tree deep in the woods.
He’s even worse than Celine knows. He confessed some fucked-up things to me before he tasted my blade. Things I’ll never share with anyone. It’s for the Beast to carry.
Once he’s where he belongs, I drive back toward the city, calling Julian.
“She’s safe,” I tell him. “She’s at work and knows not to leave the building.”
He sighs. “Good.”
“I’m… sorry.” The words come out huskily.
I’m not apologizing for telling Celine about the mob.
I’m apologizing for the kiss. For the touching. Because I want to do it again… and again… and again.
“It’s done,” Julian says bluntly. “Just keep her safe.”
“How are things on your end? The Don suspect anything? Anyone else?”
“I’m walking the line,” he says, sounding tired. “But it’s getting tougher. Sooner or later, someone will have to make a move.”
But did you already make a move, Julian?
“Hmm,” I grunt.
I hang up, no warm feelings, a rift growing between us that was never there before.
As the city pierces the winter skyline, suspicion grips me, poisons me.
One step at a time, I remind myself.
When I pick Celine up, it’s like she’s made a conscious decision not to talk about anything that’s happening. She sits in the passenger seat with a breezy smile on her face. Probably forced, but no less beautiful.
“I think I’m going to watch a Christmas movie when I get in,” she says, looking out the window. “Curl up with some hot cocoa and disappear into my laptop.”
“You can use the TV,” I say. “Cost enough. Would be good to get some use out of it.”
She nods, keeping her eyes focused out the window. “Sure. Thanks.”
A long pause. I want to tell her she looks beautiful after a hard day of work, her hair frazzled, bags under her eyes from her lack of sleep. She looks gorgeous, stunning, powerful even. She looksreal. And that’s the biggest gut punch of all.
