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The yelled, hug, pamper—okay, that’s Blake—and genuinely make everything worse.
They mean well, they love me, so I stay at Leo’s until it becomes obvious why I’m doing it.
I’m a glutton for punishment. Right now, the men are plotting and I sit on the sofa, biding time to escape.
I’m here because I’m stupidly waiting for Christian, and he’s clearly not coming back.
No one’s mentioned him. Instead, they all talk of heads rolling, retribution, all the things I just don’t want anymore.
I killed a man.
I try and fail to feel bad.
He’d have hurt me, I know that. I don’t know which way, and I don’t want to. I didn’t give him a chance. I pulled my gun because he didn’t think to take my bag and check it. He underestimated me, chalked me up as a damaged, weak woman. So, I proved him wrong and shot him.
Thing is, Christian never once called me damaged or weak. Too strong, maybe, but never anything like the things I think about myself.
Funny how it takes him not being here for me to see that.
Funny how it took me taking control of a bad situation and winning to see what he’s been saying.
But it doesn’t matter, he’s gone and he told me he’s done. He’s walking away. He did say I know where he lives, but he’s not here when he should be and that’s a message.
He gave me what I said I wanted.
And I don’t want it at all.
No, I want him to love me back.
“Mia,” Blake says, breaking me from my thoughts. She smiles, all pretty and sweet and lovely. “I need to check Rocco, wanna come?”
I rise up, and she takes my hand, and I love this girl. If my life is in shreds, then I’m glad she’s got everything she wants. She deserves it.
“Anything to get away from this lot,” I mutter as we slip out of the living room.
Once we’re alone and walking down the hall, Blake veers in the opposite direction of where she lives with Theo.
“Come on.”
Wordlessly, I follow her down the hall. She stops when we reach the foyer and she turns, pressing something in my hand.
Hard metal. Keys.
I frown. “What do I need car keys for.”
“Mia.” Blake reaches up and touches my cheek. “You can stay here but I get the feeling you want to go home.”
“I don’t have a car. And I’m not taking yours. Your brother—”
“These aren’t my car keys. They’re Christian’s. Take his car. It came back from the shop this afternoon. Take it. I’ll send someone to pick it up later.”
Christian—thinking his name, how he just disappeared, hurts—loves his car with a passion. I look at the keys and bite my lip.
“Go.” Blake gives me a little push.
“He’ll kill me.”
“Well,” she says, smiling, “he’ll probably deserve a maiming. He . . . no, listen, okay? Take the car. Go.”
