“Yet, here I am.” She spreads her arms out wide. “Trapped up here with you. Just the two of us.”
Shit.
When she puts it like that…
“It was the only way I could think of to handle any of this.”
She shakes her head, tapping her booted foot. “I already told you I’m not killing the story.”
I snap my head up to glare at her. “That’s not why I brought you up here.”
One of her pale brows rises. “What do you mean?”
A low growl slips from my throat, even though I try to swallow it back. “I know you well enough that I understand there’s no talking you out of something once you have your mind set on it. You’re going to write that story, one damn way or another. At least, if you do it up here, no one will know what you’re working on, and if it’s too late and they already do, no one will be able to find you. You can finish it, and you can send it wherever it needs to go, and the Lorells won’t be able to touch you.”
Her back stiffens. “You want me to finish the story?”
The disbelief in her voice only makes me angrier at her for ever putting herself—or the rest of us—in this position.
“If there’s even a chance that your story might bring them down, might actually assist the FBI in what they’ve been unable to do for the last several decades? Then yes, I want you to finish the fucking story. I don’t want to look over my shoulder all the time. I don’t want to have sleepless nights, worrying about who might come onto the homestead while I’m not alert enough to defend it. And I sure as hell don’t want to have more blood on my hands if they do come for us.”
She stands and stares at me for a few moments as the sun continues to rise, the rays spilling out over the tree tops and through the clearing, making her hair almost glow around her like a goddamn firefly.
A bright spot in a place that’s been so dark and lifeless for so long.
It’s too bad all she does is rile me up and piss me off, because Raven is fucking beautiful, even when she’s mad. Always has been. If only that beauty weren’t eclipsed by her shitty attitude toward me all the time.
“I could’ve done all those things at a nice hotel in Raleigh.”
I snort and shake my head. “No, you couldn’t.”
Raven releases a frustrated sound and paces in a small circle, tugging at her hair. “Why?”
“Why what?”
She throws up her hands. “Why are you doing any of this when you hate me so much?”
That’s what I’ve been asking myself since the moment I followed her to Atlanta. But I’m not about to explain my reasoning to her. She wouldn’t believe me anyway.
“Go in and eat, then get to work.”
She eyes me suspiciously, then swallows thickly. “You’re serious about this.”
“Dead serious.”
“And you’ll answer my questions?”
I clench my jaw, wishing like hell that I could tell her no, that I could shut down the memories of that day and of what I did and pretend none of it ever happened. For months, I’ve been fighting talking about it with everyone, all the people who have reached out and attempted to get me to open up about it have had a door slammed unceremoniously in their faces. But I know what she’s asking and why. She needs it…she needs me.
I’m the one who pulled the trigger. I’m the one who drove that axe into Brent Lorell’s head. I’m the one who drove a dying Liam to Asheville in a frantic attempt to save his life. I’m the one who did it all.
Her story won’t be complete without what I know, without what I have to say, no matter how painful it will be to actually voice it—especially to a viper like Raven Perry.
But just like she didn’t when I dragged her up here, I don’t have a choice.
“When the time comes, I will. Whether I like it or not.”
8
