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“Fucking hell, Ghost. It’s not like she was intentionally trying to hurt you or fuck you over. Her family was murdered, she was left for dead, and you were in prison,” he said in exasperation as he turned from his screens to stare at me.
“I know. And we weren’t exactly together when it happened. I told her to go on with her life when I left for prison. I returned all her letters. We were young. I was sentenced to five years. I didn’t want her waiting for me—it wasn’t fair. Yet you have no idea how bad it devastated me when I thought she’d died. I don’t have the words to describe it.” I’d never admit all this shit to any of the other brothers, but Facet was like a vault.
“So you think there’s still anything there? Between you two, I mean,” he said.
“Hell, I don’t know,” I said as I dropped my head.
“I think you do,” he said, and I hated that he might be right. The Royal Bastards operated on the wrong side of the law, despite the fact that we did it for what we believed were good reasons. As a convicted felon, I could go away for the rest of my life if I was ever caught. The thing is, I believed in the things we did. It wasn’t only about the money. It was about the fact that we kept the scales balanced. Maybe we were vigilantes and what we did was legally wrong, but we didn’t let people who hurt women, children, and the innocent get away with it.
“The thought of dragging her into this life when she’s already dealing with so much doesn’t sit right.”
“Why don’t you let her decide that?”
“So just tell her that ‘oh, by the way, we torture and kill people that do the same to others and get away with it?’ Because that will go over well, I’m sure.” I dropped into the weird round chair he had in his room.
“I didn’t say you should start with that, but from what I know about her, she’s not exactly an angel either,” he said with a cocked brow.
“And that is something I have a hard time reconciling with the girl I once knew,” I muttered.
“Well, people change and do what they have to in order to survive. We all cope in different ways. She copes by doing the same thing we do, in a way,” he said as he shrugged. He brushed his dark hair out of his eyes. Guy was funny. He was so into his computers that he’d neglect his hair until he couldn’t stand it anymore before he got a haircut. Personally, I didn’t know why he didn’t just grow it out. At least then he could put it up if he needed.
I snorted. “Yeah, okay. You expect me to believe she’s a vigilante? You told me she only lurks in the shadows, not the darkness of the web,” I said while making sarcastic hand motions.
“Well, she rights wrongs. Same difference,” he huffed.
I stared at him.
“What if she won’t talk to me?” I asked, realizing I sounded like a damn pussy.
“Jesus Christ, hell must’ve frozen over, because I’ve never seen you give a shit if a chick didn’t want to give you the time of day.” He gave me a crooked grin, and I could tell he was enjoying this. Fucker.
What he didn’t understand and I didn’t want to admit was that this was different.
Because she mattered.
I’d gone back to my room because I wasn’t sure it was a good idea to open myself up if she planned on hauling ass at the first opportunity. Yet after the fifteen-thousandth lap around my room, I couldn’t stand it. I stormed to my door and jerked it open. I was startled when a door down the hall flew open at the same time.
“Oh!” she said in surprise, and that simple tiny word had my dick stirring in my jeans. Not wanting her to retreat into her room again, I strode to her doorway.
“Can we talk?” I asked. She appeared hesitant, and I sighed. “Please?”
Her shoulders that she’d held damn near up to her ears slowly fell, and she stepped back to let me in.
The room they’d put her in was like all the rest. Concrete floor, plain comforter on a queen-size bed, nightstand, dresser, desk, and chair. There was a framed image of an old pan-head that one of the original members had taken years ago, but that was it.
She didn’t sit, and neither did I. There was too much energy running through me to be still, but for her, I think it was not wanting to feel vulnerable.
“Do you want me to call you Lila or Laila?” I began.
The corner of her mouth quirked up slightly. “Laila. Lila seems like a different life.”
“I get that,” I said, and I did. “You certainly don’t look much like you used to.”
Her soft chuckle drew me toward her like a magnet, while I fought the pull. Despite the changes, she was still beautiful. Hell, she might be even more beautiful, if I was being honest. She’d matured into a stunning woman. Her new look suited her, but I wondered if it was really the person she was now, or merely a shell—an armor of sorts.
“What made you get the ink?” I asked her, deciding to start with something neutral.
She sighed and seemed to think about her answer. “I guess because I wanted something that the old me wouldn’t have done. In a way, my ‘death’ became a rebirth.”
