Page 147 of Cruel Lies

"I don't expect anything," he cuts in. "It doesn't matter, anyway. Because he called back and told me it was too late. Stopping would throw up more flags than finishing, so the safest thing for everyone was to let it run its course and then reverse it once the trail went cold. I told him to finish it and then we'd give it back to you the second it was safe. That was the plan when you picked up that phone. I was going to tell you everything at the lake house. And then I lost my nerve, because I'm a coward, and then you found out first, the worst possible way."

I don't say anything. How can I?

It makes too much sense.

As I grapple with that awful truth, Ronan reaches into his desk drawer and takes something out.

The napkin.

He sets it on the desk between us and smooths it flat with two fingers. Then he takes out a pen.

I watch him write across the bottom of it. When he's done, he turns it around so I can read it.

It's a contract. Crude, handwritten, but real. Signing over every scrap of Bradshaw Holdings back to me, Calista Meadows, free and clear. His signature follows underneath it.

"It's yours," he says. "It was always yours."

He slides it toward me.

Against my better judgment, I reach for it. God help me, I reach for it, because for one single second, I dare to let myself believe that this is a man who did a terrible thing and is trying to undo it.

I almost let myself fall for one last cruel lie.

Until his hand covers mine halfway there.

"But I can't give you it yet," he says sadly.

He might as well have slapped me across the face. "Why not? What the hell is the point of all this, if not to— Goddammit, you twist and you turn, you lie and you lie and you fucking lie, when will it stop, how the fuck is anyone supposed to?—"

"Because the second I hand it back to you," he explains, "you're free of me. It's bad enough that that would destroy me, but I could live with it. It'syouI can't let be destroyed." His gray-blue eyes are hot with fear like I've never seen before. Seeing that on him terrifies me more than anything else I've uncovered. "The feds hounding Todd are the least of it, Calista. The people I'm actually worried about don't file paperwork. They shoot first and ask questions never. I won't allow that to happen to you, or to Hayden and Isabella."

His voice drops low. Not menacing. Pleading, almost, though I don't think a man like him knows how to plead. "If I let you walk out of here unprotected, I am handing you to my enemies. And I will not do that. I would give up everything I've ever had first. In fact, I've already started."

"What does that mean?" I whisper.

"It means that I've officially ended the Akov Bratva's gunrunning business, the source of all the cash flows that only you are clever enough to find. I'd rather have you." He comes around the desk. To my shock, he gets down on one knee beside my chair. I don't know what to make of it—this enormous, terrifying man, looking up at me with tears tracking down his face.

"I know what I am. I know what I did to you. You're right about every receipt, every one, and I will spend the rest of my life sorry for it. But I need you to let me keep you safe. That's the only thing I'm asking. Not to forgive me. Just to let me protect you and Hayden and Isabella until this is done. Please."

And for a moment—one long, terrible, endless, awful, hopeful, stupid moment—I almost say yes.

Because I'm tired.

Because he's on his knees.

Because he told the truth about so many things for so long that I almost started to think he was one of the good ones.

But then I look down at the napkin under his hand. The out he's keeping, for "my" own good, becausehehas decided—once again—what I get to have and how I get to be kept.

"No."

I clear my throat and stand.

"No," I repeat. "I'm sick of your cages, Ronan. I decide who keeps me safe from now on, and it's not going to be you."

I yank the laptop off his desk and hold it against my chest.

"Goodbye, Mr. Akov. I hope I never see you again."