Tears prick my eyes. “I love you too,” I assure him. “So, so much.”
A sad smile graces his face. “But I’m not the only one, am I?”
I can’t answer with words—a knot has wedged itself in my throat—so I simply shake my head.
No. He’s not.
“That doesn’t mean I love you any less,” I whisper, wanting him to believe it. Needing him to.
“I know that.” He blows out a breath and shoves his hands into the front pocket of his hoodie. “Fuck, I know that. You have the biggest heart of anyone I ever met, baby girl.”
A wry smirk tugs at my lips. “I’m not sure if that’s exactly a compliment. You don’t really know a lot of people.”
A bark of surprised laughter escapes him before he sobers, stepping closer to take my hands in his. “I’m working on my shit, Ellie. I promise. I won’t let you go. I can’t. You’re a part of me, embedded so deep, it’ll be impossible to remove. But this is something I need to work on. I’m not…” He takes a shuddering breath. “I’m not asking you to choose. I know that would make me a selfish asshole. Just…just give me time to wrap my head around this, okay? Don’t give up on me.” The last words are a whisper, a plea that burrows its way beneath my skin and finds a home there.
“Never,” I vow, wanting desperately to hug him but not knowing if he’ll welcome it. “You gave me time to deal with my shit. I can give you all the time in the world to deal with yours.”
“So, you dealt with it? Your shit, I mean.”
A giggle escapes me. “Out of context, that sounds really, really gross. Makes me think I have a constipation issue.”
“Do you?” Ryker asks seriously.
I swat at his shoulder.
For a moment, we stare at each other, both smiling, a companionable silence permeating the space between us.
But it doesn’t last. It never does.
The door to the ballroom is pushed open, and Raymond stalks inside, his expression terse, his lips compressed in a firm line.
Ryker steps farther away from me, despite the fact we’re no longer doing anything. He casually reaches for his hood and flips it over his head once more, shadowing his face.
“What’s wrong?” I frown at my uncle, a ball of panic rising in the base of my throat.
“Dom was just contacted. Again. POP is having another meeting.” Dark lines etch themselves into the skin around his lips and eyes. “Dominic’s father invited you and him to it.”
Okay? How is that any different than normal? Harvey calls practically every day.
Then Raymond continues.
“This time… This time, I think you should go.”
5
ELLIE
“Obviously they’re not going. We’ve been telling Harvey no for months now. Why should we agree now?” Landon bites out from where he sits on the couch in the lobby. The only evidence that he was stabbed a couple of months ago is his strained expression and the sweat cascading down his face. His skin is abnormally pale, a striking contrast to the dusting of shadow on his jawline.
Okay, so that’s a lot of fucking evidence, but at least he’s no longer crying out in pain or cursing up a storm whenever he needs to move.
All of us have taken up residence in the expansive room. I sit between Dominic and Beckett on one couch, while Ryker, Landon, and Zane sit opposite us. Raymond chose to stand, his arms folded over his broad chest and his head tilted to the side.
“We all know this is a trap,” Dominic adds. Unlike Landon, he at least attempts to keep his voice at a reasonable volume. His emerald-green eyes flick from face to face before landing on mine, softening marginally. The brief glimpse of vulnerabilityonly lasts a second before his expression hardens once more and he shoots my uncle a penetrating glare. “My father would sell me out in a second if it meant climbing the ranks of POP.”
“He wants you to be his prodigy,” Raymond points out. “He’s been trying to convince you to join for months now. If he knew about Ellie, he would’ve halted his invitations, at least for a little while, while he figured out what to do next. The last thing he’d want to do is piss off The Divine One. He’s nothing but an oblivious sheep, and fortunately for us, we can work with that.”
Dominic scoffs and shakes his head, a strand of platinum-blond hair falling across his face. He lifts a hand to push it aside, seemingly irritated when the strand doesn’t behave the way he wants it to.
