That fucking snake. He reminded me too much of both of our fathers: manipulative, using everyone he could. He was smart, too much like Noah in too many ways… and he could be vicious like Samuel Rodriguez, only he didn’t use his fists. He used his belt.
My knuckles clenched. The scars on my back burned again.
Ingrid hadn’t asked for any of this. She’d gotten dragged in because of me. Because of Noah’s deal with her father, because of Darragh’s leverage, because I’d let her walk into my world without telling her what lived in it.
I’d been furious at her for hiding her father.
I’d told her the truth about what my father was like, and she knew about my mother…
Most of it,came a guilty voice.
But I’d hidden my past with Darragh.
I sagged back in the chair.
She was living in a nightmare, bruises under makeup, hiding in my hoodies, still showing up soft when everything around her had been trying to break her.
And I’d walked out on her. Instead of being her sanctuary, I’d become another source of pain.
I dragged a hand down my face.
We had a meeting this afternoon. I didn’t care about the deal or what our fathers wanted from us anymore. I just needed to get to her.
My mother’s fingers were still in mine. I squeezed once.
I might not be able to save my mother from her paralysis, but I would destroy myself trying. I felt that same desperate need for Ingrid. And I prayed I hadn’t destroyed her trust in me.
Because I’d already lost the first woman I ever loved.
And I wasn’t losing her too.
Chapter thirty-one
Tristian
Iwalked into my father’s office thirty minutes late. Noah and Samuel were mid-conversation. I didn’t look at either of them, my hands itching to tear both of them apart. Instead, my eyes went straight to the empty chair.
“Where is she?”
My father tilted his head, his expression unreadable. “We thought she would be with you.”
Ignoring their looks, I checked my phone. Nothing. No calls, no texts. That was wrong. When she was anxious, she hovered, bombarded me with her presence because she was terrified of silence. This afternoon, there was nothing at all.
I tried to think back to the morning. I’d left her, I was angry, cold, distant. I remembered telling her to lock the door behind her before I walked out.
Wait.
“I gotta go.”
I didn’t wait for a response. I turned on my heel and ran.
I drove like a maniac, weaving through traffic carelessly. I prayed she was on the couch, watching her little shows or sketching. Anything.
I reached my building and took the stairs three at a time. I reached for my key, but the door gave way under my hand. It was unlocked.
The apartment was dark, the only light a dim gray filtering through the window. I fumbled for the lamp by the door, and what was in the light felt like a punishment.
Ingrid was curled in a ball in the middle of the floor. Not moving, hair a wild curtain over her face. I dropped everything, and rushed to her side.
