How the hell do I fix that?
Rip’s eyes dart between Thomas and me, shaky. “It was a job, Kingsley. I didn’t know she was your fiancée. I didn’t even know you! I’m sorry.”
My nails dig into the palms of my hands. “But you eventually realized it, right? And you kept going even after everything you learned about me, everything I showed you, and everything we shared. Right?”
“King,” Rip whispers gently, as if he’s worried I’ll break if he speaks too loudly. His blue eyes shine in the moonlight, big with regret and a hint of something I can’t decipher.
“I don’t even know why I asked.” I glare, my body rigid with tension. Then a loud, incredulous, bitter belly laugh erupts from me. "This whole thing was a setup! You never meant well, and none of it was ever real. Everything went according to plan foryou, huh? You snuck your way in while I was the most fragile because it was the perfect opportunity. Can't even blame you at all; anyone would be a moron to pass a chance like that up.”
His eyes darken, and he waves his hands. “No. You don’t get to do that. Don’t erase everything and convince yourself it was fake because I fucked up.”
Rip states it like it's so simple. We built our relationship on a lie. How can I not believe all the parts and pieces of it were lies too?
Did he find it funny how I shared the story of Sylvie’s death and how it broke me? When I told him shit about me that even my sisters don’t know, personal shit that happened because Sylvie died, did he feel empowered? Was this all one big joke to him?
Have I been one big joke to him?
I have, and I played along like a clown. I’ve become so comfortable, so reliant, sohappywith Rip. He is someone I never should have gotten close to, and now I’m left bewildered by his treachery. He blindsided me, shattering the happy illusion he built up in my mind, and now I'm lost without him to guide me back to reality.
The false reality.
With a blur of red, I lung, pinning Rip against the solid wall. He doesn’t retaliate like normal, allowing me to get uncomfortably close, my breath hot on his face, as saliva pools in my mouth and I yank and twist at his shirt.
“You and Thomas will go to the charity event like none of this ever happened, then pack your bags and be gone in twenty-four hours,” I force out, his shirt balled into my fist. “If you’re here even a second after that, I’ll put a bullet in your head myself.”
Rip doesn’t argue. He nods once, his blue eyes fixed on the ground, a picture of defeat.
But I would bet money that he doesn’t feel as defeated as I do.
29
Rip
I’ve never hated myself more than I do right now.
Not after the first time I accidentally let an innocent get caught and killed in the crossfire, not after I shouted to Mum that she wasn’t my real mum during an argument, and not after I realized that the true reason my biological Mum and Dad never came back for me in foster care was simply because they did not want to. Guilt is a rare emotion for me, yet each of those situations plunged me into a debilitating, heart-wrenching shame.
And yet, none of that compares to the suffocating dread consuming me now.
My mission was clear to me. Even though I got way closer to Kingsley than I ever imagined, I knew what I was doing from the start and continued anyway. Inevitably, it would all come crashing down at some point. Now that it has, I want to go back in time and choose differently.
“Rip,” Thomas calls.
I’m fiddling with my suit buttons as I glance his way. “What?”
He stands in the doorway, eyes wracked with dismay. The whole Kingsley situation’s gone to his head. “What will we do about Ryland?”
Shit, Ryland. He’s been such an obedient hostage lately, unlike any captive I’ve ever had. Sometimes I forget we kidnapped the guy.
I smooth my hand over my hair, making sure the gel has it all slicked back. If even one hair sticks up tonight, I’ll lose it.
“We will tell Kingsley we have him here before we bolt.” May as well make him hate me even more. “Did you feed him?”
Thomas shakes his head. “I’ve been getting ready.”
Sighing, I push past Thomas and head into the small kitchen. Let’s see what’s in these cabinets for Ryland. Considering that the last time we paid him any attention was two days ago, he’s probably starving.
Once I find something, I unlock the bolted closet door and toss a cup of noodles at him. He’s sleeping when it smacks him in the head, and he startles awake. We got him a little cot a few months ago. Honestly, it felt wrong to keep him tied up on the floor all the time. See? I’m fair.
