Is he…
Ace’s voice echoes in my mind.“People are always giving themselves away, whether they know it or not.”
“Ohhh…” I raise my brow, my smile sharpening, “… sorry, I didn’t see it before. Still in the closet, are we?”
It’s a bluff and kind of a dick move, but the way his face hardens confirms it. Before I can react, another backhand slams across my cheek, and that onewaspersonal.Ouch.
Thankfully, my satisfaction soothes the hurt.
“Oh,Detective.” I chuckle, the sound bitter and taunting. “It must be hard, huh? Pretending every day… wanting something you can’t admit.”
I don’t give a flying fuck if this guy is gay and hates himself for it, but Iwilluse it.
Sue me. The fucking asshole hit me.
Twice.
His face twists with rage, his control slipping further as he begins to totally unravel. The cracks are showing, and it’s only a matter of time before he breaks completely.
Good. If I’m going down, I’ll drag him with me.
“Tell me who sent you!” he practically screams.
I glare back at him and reply tauntingly. “Make. Me.”
For a split second, uncertainty flashes in his eyes. Then his hand moves behind his back, revealing a gun I hadn’t noticed, and aims the barrel straight at my head.
This is it.
I expect fear, but it doesn’t come.
Instead, a strange, eerie calm settles over me, a weighted blanket smothering the fire of adrenaline. My breath steadies until my pulse quiets to a whisper, and it’s as if I’m both here and not.
The barrel seems so small and insignificant, compared to the weight I’ve carried inside for so long. All the fear, anger, grief drift away like smoke.
My eyes flutter shut, and I let out a long, measured breath. The name escapes my lips in a toneless whisper, a soft prayer—a long-awaited greeting.
“Rosalee.”
TWENTY-FOUR
My cheek throbs in disappointment, each heartbeat sending pulses of pain across my face as if my body itself is punishing me for getting into this mess.
After what feels like forever, I finally open my eyes to see the gun still pointed at me. My breath hitches, but I force myself to exhale slowly, then shift my gaze to Hill.
The fury that just burned in his eyes is gone, replaced with something colder. Detached. Calculating.
When he finally lowers the gun, sliding it back into his holster, the tension in the room doesn’t ease, it sharpens, pressing down on me in new ways. My shoulders ache with the effort to stay still, not to react, but my mind races, trying to read him. What’s his next move?
I keep my gaze locked on his, refusing to flinch, trying to project a calm I haven’t felt since I opened my eyes. I was ready to go but fuck if I’m ready to stay here in this room with this asshole. My pulse pounds in my ears, drowning out everything but the heavy silence between us.
He doesn’t speak right away, instead staring at me, his expression giving nothing away.
“This doesn’t mean I trust you,” he finally says, his voice gravelly. “It simply means I trust you…enough.”
The fuck is he even talking about?
Before I even have time to process his words, his hand snaps out, gripping my upper arm tightly as he pulls me forward. I stumble at first, the sudden motion throwing me off balance, but I quickly steady myself, matching his pace as we move out of the security room and down the hallway. My cheek still throbs, a reminder of the bruising anger simmering below the surface.
