It’s habit. To need to touch her. To crave the buzz of energy constantly flitting across her skin. To feel it penetrate mine and make me come alive.
“You don’t scare me,” she breathes, her gaze pinging to my lips. Andfuck, I should not want to kiss her right now.
“Nothing scares you,” I whisper, leaning forward to rub my nose against hers. “Because you’re a monster,” I growl. Her eyes flash with hurt, and I regret it the moment I see that pain in her golden irises. But I shouldn’t regret it.It’s true.Isn’t it?
“You want to know who the monsters are,detective?” The title rolls off her tongue wrapped so heavily in disgust, it’s offensive. Her eyes don’t stray from mine for even a second. Her hands aren’t shaking anymore, but her voice is trembling when she says, “You want to know what they did to me?”
I should take my hand off her, but I only get as far as letting it fall to the warm skin of her chest. I should take a step back, turn away, go to my captain. But I can’t fucking bring myself to do it. Part of me is desperate to hear what she has to say. That those men deserved it. That she did what she had to do. That they had it coming, even though those types of thoughts are so far from thoughts I should be having. They are so far from the beliefs that should align with my morals and duties as an officer of the law. And yet…everything I thought I stood for is crumbling beneath my unsteady stance, threatening to give away and let me fall. I can almost feel the hitch in the pit of my stomach, the bile it’s forcing toward my throat.
It's similar to what falling for Chloe has felt like, but scarier. More uncertain. Confusing.
Casting her gaze toward the floor, she takes a moment to find the words. And then, “They did whatever they damn well wanted.” Her voice cracks, and if there’d been even the slightest hum of an appliance in the room with us, I’d have missed her statement entirely, it was so quiet. “Every night,” she continues. Her eyes fill with tears threatening to fall from her lash line, and I can’t help but reach up and rub my thumb across the tiny hairs. “They drank themselves drunk and they beat my mother, drugged her, and had their way with me every night.” Her head falls back as she barks out an incredulous, watery laugh. “Can you believe that? Not just one, butmultipleassholes. How lucky were we?”
I press my forehead to hers, cupping her face in my hands, and then my lips to her skin.
I never knew I could feel so hollow, yet simultaneously so full to the brim of rage and bitterness that I could shatter into a million pieces.
If those men weren’t already dead, I would kill them myself.
Fuck the badge.
I would pull each individual hair from their bodies. Their nails. Their skin. Limbs. Until there was nothing left of them. I’d stick them in Chloe’s barrels in the basement and let them drain into the soil.
No one touches her. No one touches what’s mine.
Still, I try to fight this battle inside me. I pull my face back from hers, looking into her eyes.
“That’s what the police are for, Chloe. The justice system,” I argue softly, but the conviction in my voice falls flat.
“The justice system? Do you know how many times we went to thejustice systemfor help?” My hands fall to my sides, and I finally take a single step back, regret washing through me. Because Iamthe justice system, and I failed her. “Too many fucking times,” she spits, yanking at the cuff on her wrist once more. “Take this off, Colin.”
I want to.“I can’t.”
“Colin.” She steps forward as much as her restraint will allow, taking a couple of steps and letting her hand pull behind her. She brings her other hand to the side of my face, and the gentle touch on my cheek feels like both a stab to the gut and the most comfortable landing I’ll ever find.
Who is this woman? Comfortingme, after allshe’sbeen through?
My instinct, my mind, my heart, they are all in a vicious battle between everything I thought I knew. About her. About me. About right and wrong.
But Iwasright about her all along. I was right to be suspicious. To think people were in danger of her. But also…I never feel more alive than when she’s next to me, yapping about her skulls or dragging me to her damn painting classes. And something deep in my gut is whispering to me that she’s not as dangerous as I’ve believed.
I feel the electric life slip right through my fingers as I take a step out of her grasp and let the rage reinvigorate inside me. She stays stretched in my direction, eyes searching for something in mine. Connection, maybe, or trust. Camaraderie.
“You murdered my mother’s nurse.”
“Colin,” Chloe grits, like continuing to flesh out these details is just an annoyance for her. “She was killing your mother. Wouldn’t you have done the same?”
“I would have gone to the police!” I shout, my arms splaying out wide. But at the same time, I wonder if I would have. The relief I feel over her death, the gratitude I feel toward Chloe for stepping in to protect her when I should have been the one, it’s fighting for air.
But the heat of the anger inside me spreads across my chest, up my neck, and over my face. I can feel the pinch of frustration in each hair follicle dotting my skull that Chloe brought us to this point. That we were so close to moving forward and building something together…
She’s everything I thought she was, and I fucking hate her for it. I fucking hate what this world made her become.
“Oh my God, Colin!” She turns away and threads a hand through her hair, her fingers rigid with frustration as they grasp at her wild, blonde strands. “She killed eleven people! Your mother was going to be the twelfth! And she was going to move on to the next town without any consequences!”
“You don’t know that, Chloe,” I argue, this time with force. “We could have turned her in. She could have gone to prison for the rest of her life.”
“Or not,” she argues back. “And that is never a chance I’m willingto take.”
