“I know,” she says, voice low and thready.
“Do you hate me now?” Have I ruined everything? Please, let her give me a second chance.
“I don’t know.”
41
CARA
“I don’t know,” I murmur truthfully. I can see my words strike him like an arrow. And I wish I could call them back at the same time satisfaction roars through me. Finally, I’m not the only one hurt by all of this.
I’m not being fair. Declan isn’t a wizard in one of those games he plays. He can’t just wave a wand and make all of this go away. But I’m still mad.
“What can I do?”
I have to laugh. “What can you do? Aside from turning that Delorian into a time machine and going back to that night?”
“I wish more than anything I could go make and stop Tyler from hurting you.”
“Not that night. The other night. The night Colt’s brother killed that man's cousin and set all of this in motion. The night a bunch of kids made a mistake that I’m now paying for.” Clenching my shaking hands into fists, I turn to him. “I killed someone in order to save myself and Bree. But it gave this guy an opening. Now my entire life is being toyed with because he hates you guys. And I’m so fucking angry about it.”
He flinches, rocking back on his heels. “I don’t blame you. All of this is out of your control. But this plan will work. We’ll go in there and make sure they never come after you again.”
“Sure. It’ll all work out perfectly. Why wouldn’t it?” I’m verging on hysteria, and I don’t care. “Oh, right, because you’re talking about blackmailing a Judge and the D.A. into dropping the charges against me. What could possibly go wrong?”
He reaches for me, brushing his hand down my arm, then dropping it. I don’t know if I want him to hold my hand, to hold me, or if I want him to leave me the fuck alone.
Ok, I do know. Alone is horrible. Alone means too much time with my thoughts, worrying about what will be left of my life after I get out of prison because my brain has gone all the way there, straight to being convicted and locked up.
“Blackmail’s an ugly word. We’re just showing them we know all about their fucking shady dealings and encouraging them to make the smart choice.”
“Right. Blackmail. Pretty it up all you want, but this plan could land you in prison, too.”
His words are low, firm. “No chance. These guys don’t want this shit out there. They’ll cave. It’s a game of chicken, and Ransom never backs down first. He’s got this.”
“Maybe. There’s a lot that could go wrong.” It could go so, so wrong. And leave me destroyed. I don’t care what anyone thinks. Being men and being really rich is almost like being a superhero in this world. They can get away with almost anything.
But not me. I’m no one in the grand scheme of things.
“Nothing will go wrong. I’ll be there. I have all the information. It’s fucking airtight.”
On the list of the worst days of my life, this one’s just cracked the top five. It’s fucking bad. Not parents dying bad. Not Tyler attacking Bree bad. But bad. And I’m so tired of holding myself together.
Declan’s hand is threading through my hair, and he’s pulling me to him. I resist, for a nanosecond, then collapse into him. Letting him hold me. Letting him tell me it’s all going to be alright. And I try to let myself believe it. But I can’t stop the tears or the sobs that follow them. And just like that morning in the motel room, he’s steady, cradling me, soothing me. Being exactly what I need, despite my pain and misplaced anger. This isn’t his fault. I know that. Doesn’t make me any less angry, though.
He walks me through his apartment, the place I left this morning, and I feel like I’ve aged a decade since then. Sitting me on the edge of his bed, he pulls off my ridiculous, fluffy kitty slippers, then tucks me into his cool sheets. He pauses only long enough to strip down to his boxer briefs, then he follows me in, pulling me tightly into his arms.
“I’ve got you. For right now, I’ve got you. Nothing can get to you in this building. Nothing.”
I snort out a surprised laugh. “Except all your brothers, their women, and my sister.”
I can hear the smile in his voice. “Right. Except them.”
Burrowing closer, tucking my head into the crook of his neck, I share the boogeymen living in my heart. “I don’t want to leave Bree. She’s lost so much. She needs me with her. And I don’t want to lose the club. I’ve worked so hard to build it. And if I go to jail, it’ll fall apart. And I look horrible in orange. Do all prisoners wear orange? Do you get to pick what color jumpsuit you wear when you get there? That would be better. And you better send me really good shampoo. I can’t handle that sulfate crap.” I sniff pathetically. I wouldn’t blame him for laughing, teasing me, or telling me I’m being ridiculous.
He does none of those things. Instead, he kisses my head and murmurs, “Tell me more. Tell me everything that’s scaring you.”
So I do. I tell him every scary thing that’s crossed my mind in the last month. Every random thought, every nightmare, every silly wondering. Pretty sure I tell him I’m afraid I’ll have to eat beans in prison. I hate beans, the canned disgusting mushy ones, and somehow the idea of having to eat them in prison is more upsetting than the rest of it. How dumb is that? And he listens like the rest of the world doesn’t exist. He doesn’t try to tell me I’m dumb. Or that my fears are stupid. He just holds me.
