My breath knots.
I don’t turn around.
“You and me,” I say flatly.“Shouldn’t have happened.”
She laughs, a broken sound.“Right.Got it.Just a moment of weakness, huh?”
“Exactly.”
“You want me.”
“I wanted distraction.”
Becki stands so fast the bed squeaks.“Look at me.”
I don’t.
“Royal.”Her voice cracks like a whip.“Look.At.Me.”
Against every survival instinct, I turn.
She looks wrecked.Beautiful.Angry enough to tear the world apart.
“Tell me it didn’t mean anything,” she whispers.“You saying I’m yours.The knife.Go on.”
“It didn’t.”A lie so sharp it tastes like blood.
She flinches but recovers fast.
Her jaw sets.
Her chin lifts.
“Fine,” she says.“You want cold?I can do cold.”
Taking the jacket from my hands, she pushes past me, shoulder slamming into my chest hard enough to bruise.
The door swings shut behind her.
For a long, suffocating moment, I don’t move.Then I punch the doorframe hard enough to split my knuckles.
Because letting her go was the right thing.
This time… I hate being right.
Chapter 39
Sophie
The woman is barely more than a shadow when I find her behind the Hollar Dollar on the county line.At first, I think a stray dog got tangled in a garbage bag, something rustling, small, helpless.
I only stop because instinct screams at me.Women in this county disappear too damn often, and I’ve learned to listen to the quiet warnings.
What I find instead is human.
Barely.
She’s curled behind the dumpster, hoodie swallowing her frame, knees scraped raw.A half-empty water bottle clutched in white-knuckled hands like it’s the last thing keeping her upright.When she lifts her face, the streetlight catches the streaks, tears carved through dirt.
