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FORTY-TWO
VIOLET
Achille rushed in, gun drawn.
He was like an avenging angel. He strode into the light, a thick wave of hair framing a savage but beautiful face. His gaze swept over the scene—Becky tied to the chair, her face streaked with makeup, me standing over her.
The door smacked the wall, and a bitter cold rushed into the shed. He flicked the safety on his gun and tucked it into his waistband. The aggression melted from his features. He stepped forward. Cautious, but determined.
“Violet, you okay?”
I opened my mouth, but words failed me. How could I explain the depth of my regret? Tears spilled over my cheeks.
He frowned.
Becky scoffed. “I’m strapped to the chair, ding-dong.”
Achille looked at Becky, who flinched. His lip curled, and he prowled closer to her. She trembled. He fingered the knot I’d tied, testing its strength. He yanked on it, and it loosened. He retied it as Becky pleaded for her life.
“Please don’t do this. I’ll do whatever you want.”
He grabbed her jaw and twisted. Then he lowered to her ear. He hissed something. Becky’s eyes widened, and she pressed her lips into a thin line. She shrank to one side as though she could press herself into a ball and become invisible.
Achille faced me, soft again. He offered his hand. “Give it here, Bumpkin.”
Shaking my head, I tightened my grip on the gun.
“I promise I’ll return it to you.”
I flicked on the safety and slid it onto his palm. He stuffed it in his jacket and took my hand. Then he led me outside. Night blanketed the forest like a velvet blanket. Stars speckled the sky, the only light glowing from the cabin. A man stood at the window, watching us.
“I-I’ve made a terrible mistake,” I choked out. “I thought I was protectin’ Jack. But I was wrong. So wrong.”
“We were both wrong.”
“I’m so sorry. I never should’ve left.”
He shook his head. “I’m sorry, too. I should’ve told you my suspicions about Becky.”
“At the party, I saw Romeo and her together. It freaked me out.”
He sighed heavily. “I read your note.”
My pulse pounded. “And?”
“Is that all true? You love me?”
I flushed and nodded. “I couldn’t let you think I took off because of you.”
“You could’ve said something.”
“If I did, I’d never have the guts to leave,” I muttered, hating the pain on his face. “I couldn’t follow my heart. It kept tellin’ me to wait, that I owed you an explanation, but I knew if I did, you’d smooth it over with a kiss. You’d tell me everything would be fine, and I’d believe you because I love you.”
He squeezed my hand. “I’ve been around enough to know that what I feel for you, it’s rare. It’s not just because you’re beautiful, or that you have a voice that makes the hardest men stop and listen. It’s more than that.”
My throat tightened.
He stepped closer. “You fight for those you love, even when it scares you. You’re the only person who sees me for who I am. Somehow, you look past my job and push me to be better. You bring light into my life in ways I didn’t know were missing.”
