“You do that for me, Kat. I love you—god, how I love you. But it’s more than that. You’ve done more than slip into my life. Hell, you’ve clicked into place. You fit me perfectly.”
I clutched his hand, tears spilling out of my eyes because there was no way that I could hold so much emotion inside.
“You make me feel whole,” he said, his voice cracking with an emotion I couldn’t identify. “And all I’ve done is fuck it up for you.”
Something dark and cold wrapped around me, then squeezed tight, making me work for each breath. “No,” I whispered. I knew he was thinking of those awful photos. “God no. You didn’t fuck anything up. And even if you had, killing Ilya Muratti isn’t going to change a thing.”
“Yeah,” he said. “It will.”
“Bullshit. The only thing that will change is that your juvie record will be unsealed.”
“Goddammit, Kat. You don’t have a clue.”
“Because you’re not telling me.” I had to hold myself back to keep from shouting, I was so damned frustrated. “What do you know that I don’t? How the hell did Muratti even get those pictures?”
“Because I fucked up. Because my brilliant plan to keep you and your father safe took a fucking nosedive.”
I shook my head, not understanding.
“Muratti cut through the layers of paper and corporations,” Cole said. He pressed a finger to his temple and rubbed, as if fighting a massive headache. “I was right that he wouldn’t push back against Stark—I was even right that when he found out about me it would deflect attention from your dad. But he pushed harder. Went further. And somehow in checking on me he found out about you. And along the way, the son of a bitch realized that you’re Maury Rhodes’s daughter.”
The words knocked me back like a blow to the chest. “No,” I said lamely. “How?”
“On paper, it looks like you came out of nowhere, Kat. That’s hard to trace, sure. But it’s also suspicious. And a man like Muratti has both curiosity and resources. He can find what needs to be found.”
I shook my head, reaching out for the table to steady myself.
“He had someone follow you. Follow us. And don’t you know he had a goddamn party when his gopher reported back on the kinds of pictures he’d managed to snag? St. Andrew’s cross. Spreader bars. Flogger. Blindfolds. What do you think, Kat?” he asked, his voice harsh with anger and frustration. “You think your dad wants to see a picture of his little girl with a butt plug?”
I winced and looked away.
“Shit. Shit, I’m sorry.” The harshness was gone from his voice, replaced by a soft gentleness that made me want to cry. “But you have to understand.” He drew in a breath. “It’s my fault. I know that. I should have seen it coming. I should have done a better job keeping you safe.”
“No,” I whispered. “It’s not your fault.”
“Hell, yes,” he said, then met my eyes. “I fucked up. But that’s a mistake I intend to remedy right now.”
“Cole, you can’t.”
“The hell I can’t. Muratti’s going to release those pictures, Kat. If I don’t tell him where your dad is, he’s going to spread them far and wide.”
“Oh.” It was the only word I could manage. I swallowed. Sucked in air. “We’re not telling him where my dad is. I’m not painting a target on my father’s back.”
“Well, you know, Muratti’s not entirely unreasonable.” A horrible irony laced his voice. “He said if I release them myself—if I let the whole world see those pictures of you—he’ll let your dad walk. No retribution, no nothing.”
I met his eyes, then hugged myself. Those pictures, out there in the world. My dad would see them. My friends would see them. My private moments—our private moments—tossed out for the gossip hounds.
And there was no telling myself they’d go away. They wouldn’t.