Maybe I really was.
“In my nightmares,” she whispered suddenly, “Cece still looks at me after she's dead. She's bloody, chopped up, but she looks right at me and says what he said to my dad.”
Obey, or be killed.
That was the message Lars had left behind.
I couldn't take it. I couldn't tell her the truth, but keeping it from her was burning me up. I needed to know how to make this work. A plan that was so precise, it'd ensure she could live, but that she wouldn't jeopardize our future with what she knew about us.
I wouldn't let Jacob go to prison. I cared about him more than anyone else—he was my damn Blood Brother.
But what was Marina?
Where did this strange girl fall on my spectrum?
It was ripping my heart in two. I knew how she felt, knew exactly what she needed, and I could give it to her... just like Jacob had for me the day we'd made our oath.
My hand flexed, remembering.
“Kite,” she said softly.
“Yeah?”
“Why are you rocking me?”
Blinking, I realized I'd been holding her tight, swaying with her gently on the couch. It was ridiculous. What was wrong with me?
I eased away, sitting up. “Marina, I promised I would help you find your murderer. I really will. You believe me, right?”
She searched my face, then slid her hand into mine. The sensation was a jolt of bliss. “I do. And... thank you. You've helped me so much. I never expected to have a guardian angel.”
Her smile sliced up my conscience. Fuck, that hurt. I was no guardian, and certainly no angel. Everything she thought I'd done for her, it had all had a purpose. Most of it self-serving.
“I can't believe that guy tried to drug me last night,” she chuckled.
Prickles of sick shame washed down my back. “Yeah, what an asshole.”
I hadn't been able to stand watching him flirt with her. It had taken everything in me not to crack him in the jaw. Killing him would have been going too far, but hurting him... that would have been a pleasure.
Instead, I'd settled for intervening. Marina didn't need to know the truth.
The drink hadn't been drugged.
My lies were too many to count.
Sitting on the couch together, she snuggled against me in a way I never thought she would. It was comfortable, our hands linked. Just having her body touching mine was enough to rattle my senses.
I wanted this woman.
But did I want what was best for her?
Marina grabbed the remote, turning the TV back on. “Did you hear about the body they found?” she asked, reaching for her cereal, then stopping when she saw how ruined it was. “My old neighborhood still sucks, apparently.”
I just forced a smile. “Right. Hey, let's change it. Want to watch cartoons?”
Her eyebrows furrowed. I thought she might argue with me. There was doubt in her wickedly black eyes, a frown hovering on her lips.
When she spoke, relief hit me so fast I nearly choked. “I thought you'd never ask.”
The TV changed, dancing mice and spinning cars and a number of images that I didn't even absorb. It was a juxtaposition, such happiness in front of us while my brain ran in circles with its horrible visions.
Marina dead at the hands of Lars.
Marina dead... because of me.
All she wanted was revenge, to be able to end the life of a man who had no problem raping a child, of making her dad watch, of chopping them all to pieces and burning their business to the ground.
Lars had ordered the hit on his old acquaintance, Frank, and he'd threatened Hecko into silence.
But were Jacob and I any better?
This girl we were wrapped up in, hungering for more and more of, didn't we plan to end her because anything less was a risk?
Marina should know the truth.
If she did, she would hate us both.
So instead of that... instead of telling her about Lars Diana and risking everything we'd spent our lives building... I bit my tongue, and put on a cardboard smile.
Marina was oblivious. It was how it had to be.
No mistakes.
No risks.
She couldn't know we held the key that would lock her nightmares away.
- Chapter 22 -
Jacob
––––––––
Kite hadn't stopped pacing.
His eyes were frantic, fingers alternating between jamming into his pockets and flexing at his sides. Kite wasn't capable of holding still.
For the third time, I offered him the bottle of whiskey and he waved it away. That was good, it was only ten in the morning. But it was also strange. Since when did Kite turn down booze?
“If you plan to keep me here,” I said, eyeing my watch, “Could you at least tell me why you're so upset?” He'd interrupted my Wednesday errands, catching me at the bar with my duffel bag full of gym clothes at my side.
It had been an ambush.