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His full lips purse, almost as if he’s embarrassed to admit, “We made a deal. You got the mayor to give up the name of the security guy at the Hanson House.”
“Yeah, but I was never able to give you the information. You were arrested before I got there.” And the name disappeared from my pocket, just like Van Gogh.
“It didn’t matter. I told you I would help you find your sister, and I did.” And the fucker kept it from me for years.
“You really are the sweetest, aren’t you?”
My husband, the arsonist, chuckles, rolling his eyes in the process. “Clearly, my motives changed over time.”
“Clearly.”
He shoves me away. “Go, before I change my mind.”
Doesn’t he realize that’s exactly what I want him to do? “Fine,” I agree. “Push me away, but just know when you come to your senses and figure out your shit, I’ll be with my sister, waiting for the most epic groveling session ever performed by an arsonist.”
This man did not stalk me for years to leave me again. For fuck’s sake, he moved to Georgia so he could stalk me at college after he was released from prison. I know him better than he knows himself, and when my husband wants something, he won’t stop his pursuit until he gets it. He’s a relentless man—something that I’ve always loved about him.
Exhaling a deep sigh, Van looks at me, his palm going to my cheek in a loving gesture. “This is goodbye, Flower, now and forever.”
Come to find out, the car Van used on our wedding day was mine. The liar bought it for me as a wedding gift so I could go back and forth to the university. Can you believe that shit? The man is a complete sweetheart—yet he’d rather you believe he was a soulless monster. I’ve always seen through his bullshit, though, and right now, while he’s reeling from this revelation about Enoch, he probably believes it.
I don’t know why Enoch would have been the one to turn him in, but I know that Enoch loves him more than anything. There has to be a logical explanation, and as soon as Van pulls his head out of his ass and talks to Enoch, he’ll realize that, too.
And maybe… I’ll also practice what I preach and stop being a chicken and get out the car. I’ve been parked outside the address Van gave me for fifteen minutes, too scared to go up to the door and ask for my sister. I mean, what if—
A man covered in tattoos taps on my window, nearly startling me into the backseat of the car. “Can I help you?”
“Depends,” I shout through the closed window. “Are you the widowmaker?”
I didn’t even see him approach—that’s how deep in my head I am. The drive to Madison, Georgia, from Atlanta, didn’t take very long. I was here in a little over an hour, driving the back roads through rolling hills and farmlands—much like the ones at Eden.
“Who wants to know?”
This man has a fucking attitude the size of Mount Rushmore. No wonder Van hates him. They’re very similar. But I’m used to dealing with assholes.
“Your mom,” I say just as sternly, narrowing my gaze at the man in the window.
His muscled cheek twitches. “Cute, but I won’t ask you again. What do you want with the widowmaker?”
I almost say a baby just to be funny, but this man’s stern glare changes my mind. “Fine. My husband, Alistair Cain, told me to ask for the widowmaker. He said he would know where I could find my sister, Julia.”
This man, with his oversized chest, swollen arms, and multitude of tattoos, immediately tenses. “I don’t know a Julia.”
A wedding ring glimmers on his left hand. No way. No. Freaking. Way. My sister better not have gotten married without me. Well, I did get married without her, but still, she’s the oldest. She should set a better example.
“Sure, you do, pal.” Opening the door, I push the man back. “My husband is never wrong.” He’s also stupidly protective and would never send me to a place where someone could hurt me.
“Listen,” I offer, coming to stand in front of him and only reaching his pecs. “I’m alone and wasn’t followed.” I hold up one finger, just in case he’s thinking of finding a place to dispose of my body. “But if I don’t call my husband in the next hour, he will destroy this entire planet with fire. You don’t want me to miss placing that call, sir. So, why don’t you go inside and ask my sister if she knows a Reese Carmichael. I’ll wait out here for her hug.”
I’m talking a whole lot of shit right now, considering Van hasn’t picked up the phone when I’ve tried calling. But if there’s one thing I know, it’s that Van knows I’m here. I don’t call him a stalker for nothing.
“All right, sweetheart. You’ve sparked my interest.”
I bet I also remind him of someone he knows—like my sister.
“I’ll see if I can find this Julia person.” He steps back, a casual smirk planted on his face. “Wait out here. I don’t want to shoot you if you rush my door.”
That comment makes me nervous. “You a Marine?”
