“I amnotold.” I burst out laughing at how offended he is.
“No, I didn’t mean that you’re old. I mean that I don’t know how old you are, your age.” I reach up to cup his cheek and give soothing the sting away my best shot by brushing my lips lightly over his. “And you can tell me while we go wash up, because as much as I enjoyed that—and I want to enjoy it again—” I lower my voice suggestively. “There’s a lot of shit we need to deal with.”
“I know.” He sighs and traces a path with his finger from my temple to my lower lip before kissing me back. “I don’t want to get up, though.”
“Me either,” I confess. “Tell me something,” I urge him. “Something you can tell me but you’ve never told anyone else.”
He pulls back and flops onto his back, staring up at the ceiling with a thoughtful little frown. I appreciate that he takes some time to think about it.
“Well, I’m fifty, I think you should know that. My birthday was the day before I rescued you.” That displeased twist of his mouth appears, and I know he’s thinking about how reckless I was, and that just won’t do.
“Thanks for telling me, but lots of people know that, right? Tell me somethingno one knows.”
His face smooths out, so I know it worked, but he still doesn’t speak for a long time.
“I loved my father and mother,” he starts out, and I’m surprised by how hesitant he sounds.
“If they were good parents, then why wouldn’t you?” I ask when he doesn’t immediately keep talking.
“I don’t know ifgoodis the right word, but Da made me who I am. I know he loved me.”
He breathes in deeply then slowly lets all the air out. I reach over and put my hand on his chest. It’s the right move apparently, because Eian puts his hand over mine and grips it tightly.
“My aunt has told me many times how much she regrets not stepping in when she saw how my ma and da were raising me. She thinks they failed me. I don’t know about that. I know what I hated about my childhood, and I made sure Bran never had to go through some of the things I did, but I can’t exactly regret it. I only have this life thanks tothem. I only have this family because they taught me how to choose wisely.”
Choosing family isn’t a foreign concept to me, in fact, it’s the only way I’ve ever had family—I’ve chosen and I’ve been chosen.
“Did they hurt you?” I ask, and I make sure there’s not a trace of pity in my voice, because the last thing Eian deserves is my pity. He’s a formidable man who, no matter where he came from, has amassed a huge amount of power and respect from his men.
And as far as I can tell, he’s done all of that without ever hurting a single person who didn’t deserve it. His definition of who deserves to be hurt might be different than mine, but I know he has honor, and there are so many men who aren’t considered criminals who could never say the same.
“They did,” he says matter-of-factly. “I don’t think they ever enjoyed it, but I know they thought it was what they needed to do to prepare me for life. And it’s not like they ever broke any bones, spilled any of my blood, or were cruel. They just had... certain methods. In any case, that’s not a secret. There are a lot of people who know that.
“My father started to teach me how to shoot a gun when I was seven, I think, and I liked it. I was good at it, and got better quickly. That’s also not a secret,” he adds, and he’s even sporting a small smile when he turns to face me.
I melt a little at how he brings our clasped hands to his mouth and kisses my knuckles, and shifting closer until we’re once more skin-to-skin is inevitable.
“When the Marianos killed my ma, Da gave me an hour to mourn and then he took me out on a hunt for the first time. We went to the Marianos’ house and killed every single person inside.”
His gaze goes unfocused for a moment, like it passes through me, and I know I won’t ever be even close to comprehending what having those memories is like.
“We hunted every man who took part in taking her from us, and he made me do most of the killing.” He pauses for a long second and then it’s like he’s seeing me again. “I cried for days after, but I knew better than to let him or anyone else see it. The next time I cried was more than five years later, the night after I found Rory and Duffy, after I taught them how to torture men to make them pay, after I tucked them into their new beds... After that I cried again, and never since.”
Well, shit.
“I don’t know if I should be glad or not that nothing since has made you cry,” I confess in a whisper.
“I don’t know either,” he says just as softly. “But I’m kind of glad you asked, that you know. That’s weird.” He grumbles the last two words, and again makes me smile so easily.
“Your whole life is weird,” I say as I lean in closer and closer. “That’s why I fit in so well.” And then I kiss him again, soft, grateful, finally done hiding from every feeling he brings out in me. Every single one, more intense than the last, breaks free, and I hope he feels it all in that kiss.
“Sweet Colby,” he murmurs after God knows how long. “My father told me he didn’t trust anyone but me. That my aunt and I were his blood and the only ones who knew what really mattered to him, what he wanted to make of this city, so I’m telling you now... You’re not the only one I trust, but I do trust you, Colby. I trust that you know who I am and why I do what I do.”
“I do know,” I murmur, praying he believes me.
But with his next words, I know that if I say another word, I’m as good as shackled to him forever.
“Don’t break that trust, Colby.”
