One moment, I was a free man standing in my own apartment trying to repair the damage with a girl I would never admit to caring for.
The next, I was a prisoner held between two officers, brute force yanking my arms back even when I offered no retaliation.
“Penn Everett, you’re under arrest.”
I laughed.
It was the only fucking thing I could do.
That night.
That field.
That kiss.
Elle lost her shock, dashing forward and hanging on the arm of the officer who snapped the metal restraints over my wrists. “Wait, you can’t do this.”
A female rookie with a fresh uniform, polished buttons, and a never-been-used weapon stepped forward and pulled her back. “Ma’am, don’t touch the arresting officer.”
Elle whirled on her. “Don’t touch him? Well, tell him not to touch him.” She pointed at me, her hand shaking. “We’re not done. I need to talk to him.”
“He’s done.” The officer who caught me grinned with smugness. His ginger hair prickled like a hedgehog with his buzz cut. “Guess you’re going home, huh?”
I glowered.
Elle shook her head. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
The officer replied, “It means I’ve followed his record, and it was only a matter of time until he slipped again. They always do.” He chuckled, motioning to the rookie to grab an elbow and march me toward the door.
I went with them. I offered no resistance.
Things would only get worse if I did.
“Wait. You can’t do this. Release him.” Elle stayed by my side, fighting all over again for me.
Does she remember that night?
Did she remember the way she begged for my freedom in the park? The way she’d run as hard as she could and offered herself as a sacrifice when she couldn’t run anymore? The way she’d kissed me breathless and frantic in the bushes while I waited for the police to take me because I didn’t want her to hurt or fear anymore?
I’d fallen for her for that.
I’d fallen so fucking hard in only a heartbeat. She’d been the only good thing in my world. The only light after so much darkness. How could I control my free fall when she treated me with such kindness? When she’d kissed me. When she’d trusted me. When she’d given me half the chocolate bar I’d stolen from the convenience store only an hour before meeting her?
Christ, I’d fallen so damn hard, I hadn’t recovered from the bruises even years later.
It was only till after I was freed from prison did my infatuation with the princess I’d met that night turn to malice. Such simple adoration twisted the more I learned about her. The more I researched and grasped at fragments of information widely available online and in newspapers.
She was rich.
She was powerful.
She could’ve helped free me.
But she hadn’t.
She’d left me to rot.
She’d lied to me that night about feeling something. Because if she’d felt half of what I had, she wouldn’t have left me behind bars without doing everything in her goddamn power to find me.
But I’d grown up since then.
Since Larry found me and did what I’d hoped she would.
I finally had someone on my side, and it wasn’t her.
I wasn’t proud, but I’d let the snowballing hate smash through whatever ground I’d stood on. I’d fallen harder for her but the wrong way this time. I’d allowed my stupid sleuthing to tarnish the only good thing in my world and turn it into the chalice of everything I despised.
I’d never felt like that before.
Never been so livid against injustice and frustration and anger. I’d known weakness and helplessness. I’d know destitution and abandonment. I’d known terror and shame and respect and confusion and every fucking emotion on the roulette called life.
But I’d never known love until her.
And I’d never known hate until her.
Never laid awake at night with my guts churning and heart burning and a paralysis that kept me stuck forever thinking about her.
Her out there. Free.
Her out there. Rich.
Her out there. While I was inside trapped and crippled by a system that’d failed me in every fucking way since I’d been born.
I had nothing to say as the officers led me from the apartment I’d paid for in cash—cash I’d earned the right way, not the wrong way—and crammed me into the hallway.
Elle chased us.
Her face alive. Her eyes disbelieving that once again, the law would tear us apart. She didn’t even know. She didn’t trust, even now. She believed I was Gio or Sean.
How fucking could she?
How could she kiss me and not trust in that?
How could she think I was a rapist when I had so much I wanted to fucking say to her but never would?
You hurt me, Elle.
More than anyone.
In a strange way, I was glad I wouldn’t be allowed to see her again. It made this so much easier. I wouldn’t have to deal with the betrayal or spill everything I’d done to make amends.
I wouldn’t have to admit I was wrong.
That she was rich and powerful and above most rules, but she hadn’t forgotten me. I knew better now. She would’ve come for me. If only I’d told her my goddamn name that night instead of keeping it secret—terrified she’d be embarrassed by me. That she’d go from thinking I was a down-on-his-luck passerby and know the truth. The truth that my bed consisted of cardboard and donated blankets. That my meals consisted of charity and theft.
It was my fault.
And hers.
We’d fucked up together.
All this time, I thought I would be begging for her forgiveness. That she would walk out of my life once she knew I’d lied to her and I admitted just how much my hate navigated my actions.
But in reality, I would leave her and the justice system would banish her from my world.
“Stop!” Elle stood to her full height in her ridiculous gold negligée, wrapping herself in authority not many excel at and few are born with. “Let him go. I won’t ask again.”
“Ms. Charlston?” David, her driver, bodyguard, and fucking nuisance, climbed the stairs with his arms loose by his sides. He seemed to have a knack for turning up at the wrong time.
Did he not trust me with his employer?
That made two of them.
His languid steps didn’t fool me. He was packing and just itching to draw. He’d wanted this ever since he recognized me the night I picked Elle up at the Blue Rabbit and took her back to my place to fuck her the first time.
He’d glared into my eyes, and in that glimpse, we’d both relived that night in Central Park. The night when he’d come to claim sweet nineteen-year-old Elle and left me on my own. I’d expected him to say something. To say more than ‘he looks familiar’ but he hadn’t. He’d zipped his lips and let Elle decide who to believe I was.
I had to give him credit for that, at least.