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Twisting me around, he pushes his palm hard against my mouth and forces me to look up at him. His expression is set and firm. His jaw clenched so tight, his hollow cheeks have completely disappeared in the shadows.
There is no hint of remorse over what he’s done. Only unwavering determination.
Staring at him through the watery gleam of my tears, my heart feels as if he’s literally shredded it to pieces.
“He was stealing from me. Stealing from you. Us,” he nearly spits. “Our future children!”
Wait… what?
My pulse skips a beat and my head spins trying to understand. What is he talking about?
“I gave him every opportunity to correct his mistakes,” he goes on, his voice becoming harsher with every word. “But his greed could no longer be tolerated. I can’t and won’t let anyone fuck with our livelihood.”
Is he… talking about killing someone?
He takes a deep, shuddering breath, as if he’s trying to get himself under control. “I didn’t plan on it being today, but it couldn’t be helped.”
Lifting the arm not smothering my mouth, he flexes his fingers between us. “He forced my hand.”
Eyes drawn to the movement, I look at his fingers and see red splattered in tiny dots across them.
Is that the same red I saw smeared near his button?
Not lipstick… but a man’s blood?
He clenches his fingers into a fist. “You know what I am, Abigail. You’ve always known.”
Dropping his fist to his side, his eyes are full of fury and something else…
Something I doubt he’s let anyone else see.
Something dangerously close to vulnerability.
He may be treated like a man by everyone else, demands to be treated like it, but deep down he’s still a boy.
A boy not much older than me.
“I can’t…” He sharply shakes his blond head. “I won’t let you leave me. Even if it makes you hate me.”
More tears fill my eyes and the pain in my chest, in my heart, twists. No longer for me, it throbs and aches for him.
Reaching up, I grab his hand. At first he resists, not wanting to let me go, probably afraid to let me go, but finally relents.
Dragging his hand away from my mouth, I swallow in air.
When he tries to pull his arm back, I slip my fingers through his and squeeze, trapping them.
He gives me a look full of confusion.
“I… I thought…” I say breathlessly. “I’m sorry.”
He glances at our joined hands then frowns and looks back to me. “What did you think?”
How can I even explain it now without sounding like an idiot? That I thought he cheated on me when he really killed a man? And now that I know better… I’m not mad at him?
It sounds utterly crazy.
Am I crazy?
