But I did.
“Better,” I answered truthfully.
His jaw jumped under his skin as he held my eyes.
“I promise,” I said softly, assuring him. He averted his gaze after a moment, clearing his throat. He was hiding from me, which was smart, since I read him so well.
Broken recognizes broken.
Those were the words of my favorite barista, Sam. She worked in the coffee shop of my company building in New York. My throat tightened at the heavy realization that, six months ago, my life was somewhat normal.But lonely.
“She wants to see you.”
I dropped my spoon, the metal colliding with the bowl, the sound echoing through the room. My eyes pooled with tears. “You told her?”
He scoffed, “Of course I did.” Because you are better than you think, Collin Stevens.
“Why?”
He ignored me, walking to the curtains and pulling them open. I braced myself for the harsh light, but the day was bleak, and rain fell down the glass. He stood with his back to me. “Thank you,” I whispered, and he turned his head to the side as he clasped his hands behind his back.
“For what?” he asked, as if the situation didn’t matter to him.
“Saving me.”
“I didn’t save you,” he said, his voice harsher than before. “I am just prolonging your death.”
“Then why are you wasting your time? Just get it over with.”
“I don’t want to kill you, Haley. Never have.”
“Tell your boss that then. He sent his goons after me in New York,” I pressed, anger coating my voice. He shook his head as he turned to me, his lip curled up in anger.
“I put that hit out on you,” he all but hissed, and I flinched.
“That’s twice you have tried to kill me. Maybe next time, you won’t strike out, and it'll be a grand slam.”
“I told those men to make it quick—painless,” he explained, his voice strained as his cold eyes flashed. He was waging a war within himself, broken and abandoned, trying to figure out who would accept him more. Heaven or hell?
I sat up, the pain in my side burning and intensifying. My body may be healing but shit that hurt.
“They were going to rape me,” I snapped. He flinched.Collin Stevens flinched. I pressed on. “Your beloved ‘king’ runs sex trafficking rings all over the world, but I bet you knew that already.”
He stared.Did that mean…?
“Those men were telling me how they were going to bend me over and—”
“Stop,” he bellowed, his voice dark but his eyes. Those cold eyes held…shock and anger. Did he know? He couldn’t have.
He didn’t want to hear this, but he needed to. He needed to hear everything.
I tried to swing my leg over the bed, needing to stand up for this conversation. I'd been bed ridden for weeks, and I hated it. It was a form of damnation, and my body wasn’t willing to cooperate. Pain, Blinding pain.
I whimpered, grabbing at my side. Suddenly, he was there, beside me, gently gripping my wrist to keep it away from me. I looked up at him through my tears, and he held my eyes.
“Say yes,” he said.Consent. He was asking for consent to touch me.
“Yes,” I croaked, and then he kneeled, his eyes snapping to my mid-section as he pulled down the blankets. I was dressed in a hospital gown, and gently, ever so gently, he pulled the green fabric up, revealing my bruised and scarred skin. My abdomen was still blue, but the outer rim of the wound was turning a greenish color—a good sign.
