“No, you wouldn’t,” he says calmly. “You didn’t even know I owned the place. You slipped into the restaurant and took cash from a tip jar in the back.”
The memory hits me all at once.
“Oh my God… I remember that. My mom needed money for her insulin. I didn’t have a choice.”
“I figured that out after,” he says. “After I found out where you lived. That dump you called a home. Parents who couldn’t even be bothered to take care of you.”
A chill sinks into me.
“So I let you live.” The gun drifts along my cheek. “Not only did I let you live, but I made sure you were taken care of.”
What is he talking about?
“A job. A place to go when things got bad. People put in your path at the right time.” His head tilts slightly. “You think it was luck that you were able to run off when that job with Barrett fell apart?”
My stomach drops.
Holy shit.
“I knew you were getting in too deep. Knew you would need help when everything blew up in your face.”
Oh my God, I can’t breathe.
“That mechanic who fixed your car? I paid him.” He smirks. “Samuel, the one who helped you disappear? That was me too. It was always me, moya vorovka.”
“Wh-what?” The room tilts. “No…no, that’s not possible.”
“Of course it’s possible.” The gun feathers down my throat. “I’m a very connected man, malyshka.” His stare holds mine. “Maybe you haven’t realized how far my reach goes.”
My chest rises and falls too fast.
“I knew everything there was to know about you.” His gaze drags over me, sharper now. “And yet somehow…” Those steely eyes narrow. “I never saw you pregnant.”
My heart stops.
“How?” he asks, voice low and dangerous now. “How did you hide that from me?”
I swallow hard, my fingers curling into my palms.
“Baggy clothes,” I whisper. “I-I never put on much weight. It wasn’t hard to hide.”
His jaw flexes.
“I’ve been trying to protect you all this time,” he cuts in, his teeth gritting, the calm finally cracking. “And all you’ve done is lie to me.” His stare pins me in place. “Why?”
My chest constricts so hard it hurts. I can’t think past the shock of it, past the question circling in my head.
Why would he do any of that for me? Why would he help me?
He finally lowers the gun to his side with a shallow exhale, and that’s when I see it clearly: the way his composure is slipping through his fingers, the way he’s breaking.
And I break with him.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” He grabs the back of my head and drops his forehead to mine. “I would’ve given you anything, Sloane. Anything. I would’ve ripped out my own goddamn heart if you’d asked me to.”
I let out a cry, everything inside me ripping open. He draws back just enough to look at me, and the pain on his face is almost worse than the gun was.
“I’m sorry.” The words fall out of me in a rush as I take his face in both hands. “I’m so sorry. I never wanted to hurt you, but I was terrified. Can’t you understand that? Haven’t you ever been that afraid in your life?”
