Page 951 of Lessons in Cruelty

He lumbers over to the couch with unsteady legs cradles Haven to his chest as he carries her into the bedroom. He locks eyes with me when he returns to close the bedroom door.

The near-permanent scowl he’d been wearing since I walked through the door earlier today is gone. He hesitates, flicks hair out of his face, and then raises a hand in a greeting before shutting the door.

When my eyes go back to Rooke, he’s watching me with an unreadable, heavy-lidded gaze. He doesn’t mention my untied hands.

“I’m delighted you came, Fox.” His mouth tilts, and that makes me laugh.

I’m still laughing when he adds, “Merry Christmas, Deputy.”

My legs feel shaky as I stand. Rooke catches my elbow, steadying me for only as long as necessary before letting go.

Thankfully, I’m wearing so many layers that nothing has seeped through my pants.

Yet.

But I’m not hanging around until it does.

Post-nut clarity arrived with instant sobriety. I don’t want to be here when Kai or Haven come back out of that room. Wouldn’t trust myself around them. Don’t even trust myself around Rooke right now.

Because despite everything, the thought spiraling through my mind right now is…

He’s off-guard. Wouldn’t be expecting anything from me. I could knock him out, tie him up, and put a call through to dispatch before either of his lovers come back.

Instead, I follow Rooke to the door.

“You coming, Bash?” Kai yells from the bedroom, voice muffled by the closed door. “Haven needs you to wash her hair!”

Bastian shrugs. “Duty calls.”

Another surge of envy tightens my jaw. Rooke must recognize it, because his expression softens at the edges.

“Think about what I said, Fox. The names on that list evaded justice. If you do your duty, who knows…” He puts a hand on my shoulder and gives he a hard squeeze. “Maybe next year there’ll be a present under our tree with your name on it.”

He opens the door, and I wince as the cold air hits me in the face like the punch I’d been considering landing on him earlier.

We don’t shake hands.

We don’t even say anything in the moment before I start trudging down the porch steps.

We don’t have to.

Guess there’s one person in the world who knows me. A piece of me, anyway. Enough that, sometimes, we don’t need words. It’s not enough, but it’s more than I had yesterday. Maybe one day I’ll find someone who⁠—

I laugh sourly as I open my truck and fall into the driver’s seat. The cab rocks as I slam the door closed harder than I need.

I am a fucking idiot.

No one will ever know me the way those three people know each other. I’ve spent my entire life making sure of it. Can’t think of a single reason to change now.