Frankie details how the handle trembled from Kody’s pulse, how the sound he made wasn’t human, and how she would’ve traded her soul to take his pain instead.
I look up at Wolf, and he’s watching me, silent, expression chiseled from stone, but I can see the flicker of old anguish.
“Is it true?”My voice cracks.“The bones?The knife?All of it?”
“Yeah.She was trying to survive.Trying to fight him the only way she could.”
“A fillet knife?”I blink hard, a tear breaking loose and sliding down my cheek.“That’s why Kody’s hand is scarred?It was a punishment for something he didn’t do?”
“That was Denver’s way.”
“Holy shit.”My fingers quiver.“And the women, the ones before her, he killed them?”
“You’ll get to that part.”His voice lands roughly, carrying too many scars.“Let’s call it a night.”
“No.”I grip the book tighter.“I can’t stop now.”
“You should.”He leans back, watching me as if measuring how close I am to breaking.“You’ve read enough for one night.”
“I haven’t.You lived it.The least I can do is finish it.”
“You don’t need those pictures in your head, Lovey-dovey.”He frees a heavy sigh.“Trust me.”
“Too late.They’re already there.”
His eyes search mine.Whatever he sees makes his shoulders drop.
“You don’t get used to it.”He reaches out and brushes the tear from my cheek with his thumb.“No matter how much time passes.You just learn where to hide the parts it ruined.”
I study his face, the tension behind his eyes, the faint tremor in his jaw.He doesn’t want to live through it again tonight.He already did it once today, reading it for the first time.
“You don’t have to stay up with me.”I close the book partway, thumb marking the page.
“You’re not stopping?”
“I won’t sleep until I finish it.But you should.Sleep.”
Relief flickers across his expression.Maybe gratitude.Maybe both.“You sure?”
“Lie down, right here, if the light doesn’t bother you.I’ll read quietly.”
He hesitates for a heartbeat, then exhales, tension draining from his shoulders.He lowers himself onto his side on the couch, carefully, as if testing the idea of comfort.His head finds my lap, and before I can second-guess it, my fingers weave through his hair.
It’s so soft and shaggy, damp with the remnants of salt air, curling against my palm.He hums low in his throat, eyes slipping closed.
“My favorite pillow,” he murmurs against my thigh, voice already fading.
“Sleep, Wolf.”
He does.Slowly, his breathing deepens, and his weight settles into me.I absently comb through the dark mess of his hair, the movement hypnotic and grounding.His fingers twitch once against my leg but never lift.
I open the journal again.The pages whisper.
The secrets.The mystery.The unexpected love blooming in Frankie.Love for three feral men who bullied her, kept her in the dark, and protected her from Denver and one another.
Why?Frankie’s word bleeds into the next lines.Why did Denver abduct me?Why didn’t Monty come home?Why won’t they tell me what they’re hiding?
My pulse hammers in time with her questions.They’re my questions, too.The why of everything.The madness.The lies.The secrecy that binds them all.
