Page 51 of Wrecked With You

I draw a breath. “Fine. Fine. Truth? I don’t know how I feel about him. Okay, no. That’s not true. I’m pissed as hell. I connected with him, El.” I hear myself and want to wince, because I sound weak and lost and confused, and that is not who I am. And that makes me even more pissed because Antonio Fucking Sanchez is the one who made me this way.

“Talk to him,” she says. “Maybe you’re wrong. I can’t believe he would think that of you. I mean, you. You’d never align yourself with people like that.”

“He must have believed it. Why else didn’t he come looking for me? I was on the island all night. I got on the first shuttle off the next morning, but I was there in one of the cabanas until morning. He could have had the front desk leave me a message. Hell, he could have met me at the runway. But he didn’t come, he didn’t call. He believed The Serpent. He believed that low-life, murderous scum over me.”

She says nothing. Just sits back with a frown. For a solid minute the silence hangs between us, and it feels like a year. “You told him. You told him about us. Our life. And about you getting arrested. About getting recruited. Emma, you told this guy all of that?”

I don’t answer, but I know she can see my throat move as I swallow, and her shoulders sag under the weight of my silent confession.

“I’m sorry,” she says, and for the first time, I’m certain that she really and truly gets it. Because I never open up that much to anyone. And the fact that I did—and then he looked at me with such cold horror…

This really shouldn’t hurt so much. I’m tougher than this. Or, at least, I thought I was.

With a sigh, I untangle my legs and stand up. “I don’t know. Maybe I deserve it. The truth is, I didn’t tell him everything. I never told him the SOC’s been after The Serpent. Or that I wanted him dead as well. For all he knows, I’d never heard of the asshole before.”

“Not exactly relevant to him hurting your heart.”

“Isn’t it? Karma’s a bitch, right?” I frown, thinking about all the reasons Karma has to punish me. After all, that wasn’t the only thing I held back from Tony. I never told him about his father, either. About how Clyde Morgan was the one who’d arranged to buy me and Eliza on the black market. But since that’s the one secret I’ve kept from Eliza, too, I don’t mention it now.

“You’re frowning.”

“Gee. I wonder why.”

She tilts her head, and I scramble to cover. “I was thinking of Thea. The poor girl is dead.”

“You said she was in bed with The Serpent. Literally and figuratively.”

I nod. “True enough. But I don’t think she had a choice. She got sucked into the quicksand and was trying to find a way out.” I meet my sister’s eyes. “That could have been either one of our stories.”

Eliza nods. “Yeah. And you’re the reason it’s not. You took care of both of us.”

I manage a smile and a soft, “I guess.” But what she says is only the partial truth. It wasn’t just me. It was Seagrave and the SOC. Because I did get sucked into the quicksand and the system was ready to take me out of the game entirely. They gave me back my life and set me up with a solid career.

And now, because of me, one of the criminals they most wanted to bring in and interrogate is dead.

I’m definitely not batting a thousand.

Eliza stands and pulls me into a hug. “I’m sorry about Tony. Do you want to stay for dinner? Quince’ll be home in a couple of hours. We could have spaghetti and watch some ridiculous action movie with spies, and you two can spend the entire show complaining about how it’s not realistic at all.”

“Wow. It’s like you know us so well. But no. I need to get home.”

“Call if you need me. Any time.”

“I know,” I say, then hug her tight again. “Listen, El,” I begin as we break apart.

“Yeah?”

I wave the words away. “Nothing.” I want to ask how long it took before she knew that Quince was the guy for her, but I already know the answer. She knew within minutes of meeting him in a London park.

It had been true insta-love. Until he fucked up, anyway. But at least he fixed it.

I’m not sure if what I’m feeling is love or lust or something else entirely. But I know it hurts.

And I haven’t got a clue how to fix it.

Chapter Eighteen

I’d biked from my bungalow to Quince and Eliza’s Santa Monica condo, and by the time I’ve cycled back home, the physical exertion and sunshine have cleared my head a bit, if not completely lifted my mood.