“You know, when Blake looks at her, all he sees is that little girl he tried to protect.” Jace took a pull from his drink. “The kid he got separated from.”
“Well, she’s not a child anymore.”Obviously. Very, very obviously.
“He feels responsible. The foster care system split them up?—”
“Is this what you cornered me for?” I cut him off. “A lecture onBlake’s big-brother complex? Because I’m aware. Deeply, painfully aware.”
Jace’s jaw worked for a moment. He glanced toward Faith, still sitting by the fire, then back to me. “Have you figured out what happened that night?”
“I can’t discuss the case with you.” My voice came out flat.
“Let me rephrase.” Jace shifted his footing. “Do you have all the information about what happened the night of the crime?”
“Why are you asking me this?” The hairs on the back of my neck stood up. Jace was a CEO. He didn’t waste time on idle curiosity. Every question had a purpose, every conversation an agenda.
He sighed, the kind of exhale that carried weight. “Because I watched you after that poker night. The way you looked at her when she was covered in blood. Most people would have been horrified. You? You looked worried. For her.”
“Jace—”
“And now you’re kissing her.” His voice stayed level, businesslike. “Which means this isn’t just a passing attraction. You’re invested. And if that’s the case …”
I waited. Jace always had a point. Better to let him get there on his own.
“Look, out of all of us, you’ve always had the strongest moral compass. It’s annoying actually, how good you are,” he said. “And the truth is, none of us really know Faith.” He held up a hand before I could interrupt. “Not even Blake. They were separated for most of their childhood. Years of her life we know nothing about. Experiences that shaped her. Changed her.” His eyes locked on to mine. “We don’t know what she’s been through, Ryker. More importantly, we don’t know what she’scapableof.”
The whiskey turned sour in my stomach.
“Your point?”
Jace leaned forward, his voice dropping low. “If you find out that what happened that night was cold-blooded,premeditated murder—not self-defense, not an accident, butmurder—do you think you’ll still be able to have feelings for her?”
The yard went silent except for the crackle of the bonfire.
“You’re asking if I could love a killer.” The words tasted like betrayal to Faith. To Blake.
“I’m asking if you know the answer.” Jace straightened, his CEO mask sliding back into place. “Because if you don’t, you need to figure it out. Fast. Before you get in too deep to swim back to shore.”
And in that moment, with Jace’s question hanging in the air like smoke, I realized I didn’t know the answer.
What the hell had Faith done that night?
21
RYKER
SINNERS AND SAINTS GROUP CHAT
Jace: Poker Friday?
Axel: At the murder mansion? Bold choice.
Blake: Can you not call it that?
Axel: Fine. The “scene of the incident” mansion. Better?
Blake: You’re a moron.
Axel: MORON was such a disappointment after “sentient hemorrhoid.” You can do better.
