The Fall(41)

He didn’t say anything else but I felt the pressure on my chest ease as his arm lifted. One foot and then the other stepped away from me, my body sagging against the wall as he walked to the table.

Following the timeline I’d compiled of file notes and photos, his eyes moved restlessly over each one. Scrutinizing each piece before he moved on. I could barely breathe, my body paralyzed as I watched his brow crease. His gaze dropped to the floor suddenly, at his feet the holy picture. Saint Michael the Archangel with his sword. He glanced at me, watching me cautiously before kneeling to pick up the tiny card off the floor.

My heartbeat quickened as his legs brought him back to full height, ignoring me while he gave his attention to the picture, almost as if he was studying it before turning it over.

Rose.

That one word.

When his eyes looked back at me, I could tell he knew I’d seen it. It was like the air chilled around him even though I knew that wasn’t possible.

And suddenly I was terrified again.





I hadn’t expected her to sit in a corner and think about the good old days while I was gone.

It wasn’t her style to be compliant.

I had no doubt that she would have gone through the warehouse and examined every doorway and window like it held some radical f*cking clue. She would have wanted to be familiar with her surroundings. To know as much as she could about where she was and how to get out if she needed to.

It’s exactly what I would have done.

What I hadn’t counted on was her pulling a f*cking Sherlock Holmes and finding that shit. How the hell did she even know where to look? Did she have freaking X-ray vision and a divining rod? That stuff was hidden in a meter box and buried in the wall. Chances of finding it were so remote, Sofia Amaro either had the instincts of a bloodhound or was the luckiest person I knew.

And I didn’t believe in luck.

Seeing it laid out of the table, my past exposed, wound me up so tight I had my knife at her throat before I even knew what I was doing.

I hated that anyone knew anything about me. And that she had the grand motherf*cking tour of my childhood pissed me off even more.

Heat jacked up my spine as I looked at the piece of shit card. The fact that I hated it more than anything in that file should have been enough of a tip off I wasn’t sane. And yet there she was, looking at me like I needed a f*cking hug.

I hated it.

That f*cking look.

The pity.

And everything else that file induced.

I should have torched it years ago instead of holding onto it like a *. It was ironic that she found it. Shined a big ass light that at some point when I was compiling that boo-f*cking-hoo bedtime story, I’d misplaced my freaking balls.

I tossed it down on the table with the rest of the shit and looked back at her.

She was shaking.

Her one hand was still tight against her throat where I’d held my knife while the other was wrapped around her midsection, like the arm would somehow keep her standing.

And the other thing—she looked terrified.

This whole time we’d dodged bullets, had f*ck knows what on our ass, and now she had chosen to fall apart. Part of me was disappointed. That it hadn’t taken more to get her looking like she wanted to run. While the other half of me was glad that even though she talked shit, she still had some self-preservation in her to know when her number was up.

“You still so sure I’m not going to kill you?” I eased back on the heels of my boots as a twisted sense of relief flowed through me. That even through this, I still had managed to maintain the upper hand.

“You won’t.” Her head moved from side to side like she was trying to convince herself as well as me. “You said to me once when I was thinking of running. If I was going to do it, I would have done it by now.” She took a breath before meeting my eyes. “I think the same could be said for you.”

Even with her back against the wall—both literally and figuratively, she was still trying.

“The difference is you have a conscience, and I don’t.”

“That’s their words, not yours.” Her finger shook as she pointed to the table. The they she was referring to not needing to be clarified.

“So, what do you want to do now?” I laughed tossing my knife on the table. “You want me to lay down and tell you about my feelings? Cry a little?”

Newsflash, neither of those things were f*cking happening.

“Who or what is Rose?” Her back found its spine as she straightened, prepared for whatever shit storm she opened up with the mention of that word.

Rose.

It was barely legible anymore; I was surprised she’d even seen it. Of course given her f*cking track record of uncovering shit I didn’t think could be found, I really shouldn’t be surprised.

I had seen it in her eyes when I’d walked in. And worse still that she understood it was significant.

“None of your business.” I waved my hand casually, ignoring the blood in my veins simmering out of control.

“I don’t believe you.”

“Maybe it’s the name of the whore I stuck my dick in last or maybe it’s the name of the bitch I killed three weeks ago. Take your pick, because I don’t give a shit what you believe.”

“No, that stuff has been hidden back there for at least twelve months, maybe even years. And you wouldn’t keep something like that if it was just the name of some whore.”