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His face closes off. “Poppy.”
“I don’t.”
“You do.”
“I...”
“You know.” He steps closer, certainty radiating off him. “You don’t risk your life for someone you’re supposed to murder.”
I look away, but he grabs my chin, rough, unapologetic, and forces my gaze up. “Tell me. Right fucking now.”
My throat burns as I choke out the words. “I couldn’t.”
“You couldn’t what?” He frowns.
“Watch you die.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know.”
His thumb tightens under my jaw. “No. That’s another lie.”
The tears finally break. Fuck. I haven’t cried in years, never for myself, never for anyone. Weakness is for people who get rescued. I rescue myself. But this time, the fight is whether I can tell him the truth before I lose him.
“I tried,” I choke. “Told myself to finish it. I had the knife, every chance. I couldn’t do it.”
“Why?”
I squeeze my eyes shut. Walker waits, no pressure, no mercy—just the truth or nothing. My throat tightens. For once, I want to give it, but the answer won’t come easy.
I open my eyes. “They said you’d be a monster. My father. The Saints. Everyone. Ruthless. Cold. That you’d enjoy hurting me.” I watch his face. “They said you’d use me.”
“And?”
“I waited. For you to prove them right.” I gasp when Walker drops his hand. “But you didn’t.” My voice is raw. “You listened. You saved me when you thought I was in danger even though I was the damn threat.”
“I wasn’t keeping score.”
“I know. That’s the problem.” I swipe at my tears. “You never wanted anything, just me.”
“I wanted answers.”
“Not like him.” Silence. “My father ... everything has a price. Every smile. Every touch. If he gives, he’s already decided what he’s taking.”
Walker’s jaw goes granite.
“I thought that’s how the world worked.” I meet his eyes. “Then I met you.”
His expression softens, barely. “Is that right?”
“I stabbed you because I was terrified.”
“Of me?”
I shake my head. “Of what it meant if I didn’t.”
He gets it. I see it in his gaze.
