Page 17 of My Cruel Salvation

“It’s more than that,” he says, and there’s a rawness in his voice that compels me to shift in his arms so that I’m facing him. “Pain, pleasure,” he continues. “They’re intimate.”

I nod, his words cutting straight to my core.

“You’re at your most vulnerable when you experience pain or joy. But joy can be ripped away, and pain can go beyond what’s safe. But trust … Trust is the most intimate thing of all.”

“Yes,” I say, my eyes pricking with tears. “I trust you completely. I know you’ll always take care of me. And, Devlin,” I add, reaching up to stroke his cheek, “I’ll always take care of you, too.”

Chapter Eight

Devlin dozed, but he never managed to sleep, and when he finally decided to give it up and pry himself out of bed at three in the morning, her words still filled his head. I’ll always take care of you, too.

It was truer than she realized. She’d always taken care of him, always been that compass that kept him at true north. His version of true north, anyway. He and Ellie differed on the details, sure, but they’d never wavered in the truth of what they saw at the core of each other.

The only real question was how he’d survived so long without El in his life.

And the only real answer was that he hadn’t. Not really, because how the hell could he have been alive all those years with a piece of his heart missing?

He pulled on a pair of pajama bottoms, then paused by the bed, looking down at her. At his woman who had pulled his focus from the first moment he’d laid eyes on her. And why? It was a question he’d asked himself on and off for years. It wasn’t as if her beauty had claimed him in that first moment. She was pretty, no doubt about that, but Ellie had never had the kind of cover model looks that would have turned the head of an eighteen-year-old boy.

On the contrary, at sixteen, she’d been a bit awkward, as if she hadn’t yet become comfortable in her woman’s body. There’d been a shyness about her, too, and that wasn’t something that usually compelled him, not even back then. And yet compelled him she had, and with such force and power that she’d left his head spinning.

He’d had the same effect on her; he knew that. But why?

He’d never found the answer, and maybe it didn’t matter. But what he believed in his heart was that they were two halves of a whole. Proof that soulmates truly existed. Which was, of course, why he was only truly alive when he was with her.

He bent over and pulled the thin sheet over her bare shoulder. She smiled in her sleep, and his heart twisted a little. She was content. Despite everything that had happened last night and all the ramifications the press leak brought with it, she was sleeping peacefully, secure in the belief that no matter what, they would be just fine in the end.

He smiled, because he believed it, too. He only wished that they didn’t have to clamber over the rocks and barbed wire to get to that glorious place called Fine.

He stretched and yawned, deciding that coffee was very much on the agenda. He pushed the bookcase aside, opening up the room, then started toward the small kitchen area, only to freeze at the sight of the figure on the sofa.

It was only a split-second of terror—a flash of frustration that he had no weapon—then his body went slack, and he cursed his friend. “What the fuck, Ronan? You ever heard of knocking?”

Ronan aimed intense blue eyes at him, his golden hair gleaming in the dim lamplight. Ellie once told Devlin that Ronan looked like a Nordic god, and right then, that assessment seemed spot on. An amused god, apparently, as Ronan’s mouth curved into an almost mocking grin. “Yeah, well, I tried that, buddy. Rang the bell, called your phone. Wouldn’t have barged in, but under the circumstances I thought a wellness check was in order.”

Now his mouth outright twitched. “Almost burst into the bedroom, too, until I realized those weren’t screams of torture. Or, at least not the bad kind of torture.”

“You’re an ass,” Devlin said mildly. “And if you know what’s good for you, you won’t tell Ellie that. She’ll fry your balls for breakfast.” In all honestly, knowing that someone was listening probably ranked high on El’s turn-on list. But that wasn’t something Ronan needed to know.

“You’ve been working the leak,” he said, changing the subject as he moved into the kitchen and put a pod into the coffee maker. They hadn’t talked since the fiasco, but even so, it wasn’t a question. He knew his team, and he knew his friend, and Ronan would have taken point immediately.

“Been analyzing the video footage to identify the reporters who had early knowledge—the ones asking the question on the red carpet. Over a dozen shouted out, and we managed to track down five of them already. We should catch up with the rest of them today. Most weren’t answering calls or texts last night.”

“And?”

“Anonymous gmail from [email protected].”

“That’s it. No one tried to get confirmation first?”

Ronan scowled. “The one guy I talked to said he was willing to take the risk and go on faith. There’d be value in being the first one out of the gate, and for all he knew, he was. Toss it at you out of the blue, and if you flinch, then it’s true. But if you react with confusion and denial, he’d back off, tell you where the info came from, and everyone would publicly investigate.” He shrugged. “Wasn’t like they were stating a fact and facing a defamation claim. They were shouting questions, right?”

“For the most part, yeah,” Devlin said. “As for defamation, maybe, maybe not. But I’d hardly want more light shining on the allegation, so it’s a moot point.”

“Which they’d also know.”

“True enough,” Devlin said, then passed the first cup of coffee to Ronan before making another for himself. “You came over in the middle of the night to tell me that?”

“And to let you know I’ve put a team on you. Charlie and Grace. They’ve got eyes on the building now.”