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He’s reading the journal again.
“‘I want someone to protect me… to show me that I matter…’ That’s me. It’ll always be me.” He flicks ahead to a few more pages. “‘I just wish that fucker dead. After what he did to me… the way he used me… I’d kill him if I could…’ I gave you the chance. But, let me tell you, if you ever used his name instead of calling him ‘fucker’, he would’ve been dead the first time I had to read how he hurt you.”
That’s right. In every journal entry I ever wrote about Carter, I called him ‘fucker’ because, well, that’s what he was. And I wanted him dead. God, did I wish I could be the one to do it.
Yet, when I missed, Burns did it for me.
My mouth falls open. The only thing I can think to say is, “Stop.”
He glances over the top of the journal. “Do you really want me to? Maybe we could talk about how you fantasized about me pulling my gun on you and making you go to your knees. That’s in here. So’s the idea that I bend you over in public. I like that one.”
The rain was a nice touch. So was the trap that let me think I was close to getting away, even when I desperately wanted to stay.
“Yes. Stop.Please.”
This time, he slams the journal closed. “If that’s what you want.”
That’s not all I want—and, damn it, he knows it.
I’m trembling. When Burns makes a move toward me, I hold up my hand. He immediately stills.
“How much?”
“How much what?”
I gulp. “How much of it… of us… was real?”
He understands immediately what I’m getting at.
“Every fucking minute of it.”
I wish I could believe that.
When I turn away from him, not even my hand can keep him on the other side of the room. Dashing toward me, he takes my hands. “Look at me, Angela.”
I can’t. I’m not sure what I’ll see if I do.
Loathing? Disgust? Or, worse, that teasing smile that says that everyone’s a fool for falling for Burns’s facade?
Who is he? The man I imagined, the man I’ve spent weeks with, or someone else entirely?
“Look at me!”
Desperation fills his voice. For that reason, I dare a peek back at him.
Relief fills his gaze as he demands, “How did I find your journal?”
I don’t know. I shrug.
“Answer me.” When I glance away again, he grips my shoulders, forcing me to look up at him. “If I wasn’t already in your room, how would I have found it? If I wasn’t already obsessed, sneaking up the fire escape to watch you sleep, wishing you weren’t too good… too much of an angel for a man like me… why would I do this?”
“I don’t know.”
“I did this for you. I gave you what you wanted because I love you, and if this is the man you want as yours, I’ll be it. I’ll be whatever the fuck you want because you’re not going anywhere. Neither am I. We’re it. You understand?”
“I want to…”
“It’s only ever been about what you wanted. Believe me.” He tucks me against him, resting his chin on the top of my head. “Look, we’re both broken. I was born this way. You were made this way. But that’s the beauty of us, angel. No matter what, we can make each other whole. Forever has been built on less, and we have our mutual obsession and a taste for justice to keep us together.”
