My chest tightens. My throat closes.
I hang my head. I don’t want to look at him for the next part. I don’t want to see his pity or disgust or anger or understanding. I don’t want to see anything at all.
I drop my gaze to the ground, tears dripping off my chin.
“I’m worthless now,” I say. “I know that. A traitor. A failure. A runaway. My own father will kill me if he finds me. You probably should too.”
My breath trembles.
“I’m not asking you to, but if you did, we'd both be better off for it.”
My voice trails off into silence.
This is it. I've told him everything. Now I'll wait for the barrel of his gun to return. For the cold metal. For the end.
For him to put me out of my misery, because living or dying doesn’t feel like it belongs to me anymore.
10
CALLUM
Istare at her as her words still ring in me, all that history, all that blood, all that madness.
I look at the scar burned into her forearm. At the blood dried on her knees. At the way her shoulders shake with silent tears. At the emptiness in her voice when she called herself worthless.
Christ.
She looks so empty, so stripped down she barely resembles a person. If she really had nothing to do with killing my father, if she's just another one of Cormac's victims caught up in his war, then what the hell am I supposed to do with that?
And I should feel rage. Instead, looking at her now, I feel something closer to pity, and I hate that. No innocent woman should feel like this. Should look this hollow. This broken.
"Please," she says in a low tone, lifting her head again just enough to gaze at me. "Please just tell me what you're going to do with me."
My jaw tightens.
I need to verify things, cross-reference her story against the intel we've pulled, against what Matei's men might tell me when I ask, because I sure as hell am. I just need time to think without her sitting here staring at me with those goddamn eyes.
And I don't like that she keeps asking.
I stand abruptly. This interrogation is over for now.
"Tommy."
The door opens immediately. He steps inside, shoulders squared, waiting for orders.
I glance at the girl, Zaria, whose head is staring down at the floor.
"We'll keep her here," I say. "But you can cut the bindings off for now."
Her head snaps up, and I meet her eyes.
"Try anything," I add, "and you'll be back in ties until I'm done with you. Understood?"
"I won't," she says quickly, her voice cracking. "I promise."
I scoff because a promise from Cormac Donoghue's daughter means so fucking much.
"And no food or lights until I verify things," I say flatly.
