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She does, her eyes shooting to mine. They’re welling with tears, and I know she’s expecting me to get angry.
In a way, Iamangry.
“How long ago?”
“Six years,” she whispers. “We were twenty-two. He was fresh out of the academy, but they all loved him instantly. They were devastated when they found out he died.” She shrugs awkwardly. “Some of his cop friends were on the news a lot, crying and promising they wouldn’t rest until they found me. I always hoped they’d move on somehow, but one of his old friends still emails me every so often.”
Blowing out a slow breath, I stand and grab her hands, helping her to her feet. She looks so unsure of herself, and I want to bring her comfort, but I don’t have the right words yet.
How do I tell her that I’m only angry because I wanted to see the life drain from his eyes, too? How do I say that I would’ve loved to see her end his miserable life and then probably fuck her for it after?
Carefully, we make our way off the broken table, ensuring she avoids sharp pieces of glass or wooden splinters. Then, I grab our clothing and help her get dressed, needing to give my hands something to do while I think. When we’re done, I grab the shotgun and lead her upstairs to our bedroom.
“Enzo?” she prompts, timid and uncertain.
I run my hand down my face, my mind racing.
“Where did this happen?”
“Nevada in the States.”
I sigh. “Australia would turn you into U.S. authorities,” he says. “But other countries wouldn’t.”
She nods slowly. “I was never going to stay in Australia, Enzo. I've been hiding out in different states over the past six years. I finally built up the nerve to use one of the identities to get a passport and leave the U.S., so I got a flight to Indonesia. But someone I knew saw that I was at the airport waiting for a flight, and they were going to out me, so I had to make a split-second decision and change flights. I went with the first one available and ended up in Australia. I’ve been staying low for now, but I was always going to leave.”
I was always going to leave.
And now I don't know if I can let her.
“Look, I know what I did was wrong, but—”
She stops short when my head snaps to hers. Whatever she sees in my expression has her teeth clicking shut.
In the blink of an eye, her face is cradled in my palms, and she stares at me like she isn’t sure if she should be scared or not.
“Do you know how envious I am? I only wish I had been there to reward you after. And then, I would’ve made sure you were never caught for it.”
Sawyer shakes her head, confounded. “How are you not upset? I murdered someone. In cold blood.”
“Baby, I’m only sorry you spent the last six years regretting it when you could’ve been rejoicing in it.”
I focus on her pink lips. I’m also sorry I waited so long to taste those.
When I drag my focus back on her baby blues, she’s just staring at me, puzzled.
“Did you kill me back on that table? Did one of the legs impale me or something? This can’t be real.”
I grin, and her eyes widen. “Oh my God. Ididdie.”
“Do you want me to be angry?”
“No?” she says, but it sounds more like a question. “I guess a normal person’s reaction would be shock, a lot of judgment, and then maybe dial 911 on the low-low.”
“It’s not 911 out here, it’s 000. And we’ve been over this. We can’t call them.”
She rolls her eyes, stepping out of my hold.
“I just wasn’t expecting you to be happy,” she admits.
