Touch (Denazen #1)(52)

Alex sighed. “Look, I’m sorry about the other night. Denazen kinda freaks me out. I—”

I wasn’t interested in a patented half-hearted Alex Mojourn apology. “No big, okay? You gotta look out for you. I get it.”

He was quiet for a minute, subtly surveying the room. “You haven’t changed much in here, huh?”

The walls were still the same shade of royal blue they’d been when I was seven. Some of the furniture had been upgraded, but everything was still positioned in the same general place. If you pulled the bed away from the wall, you’d even see the small heart carved into the back of the headboard with both our names running through it. A thousand times after that night at Roudey’s I’d pulled out the bed, kitchen knife in hand, ready to gouge the reminder from existence. Each time I stopped, unable to go through with it.

“There something else you want? I mean, besides admiring my décor?”

He fidgeted and looked at the floor. Fred wobbled a bit. “I need to tell you something.”

Whatever he had to say was making him nervous. It was worth a few more minutes of my time. I sat back on the bed to enjoy it while he continued to squirm.

“I knew who you were.”

I figured he’d finally give me some bullshit—and long overdue—apology for what he’d done. Closure. I should have known better. “Huh?”

He shifted from foot to foot. “I knew who you were. Right from the start. I knew you were Marshall Cross’ daughter.”

All the air drained from the room. It was the ultimate sucker punch. My mouth opened, then closed again. Words. I’d forgotten all of them. He used me? Was that what he was saying? It had all been a lie?

“I figured getting close to you might lead us to information about your father—and Denazen.”

He stopped to gage my reaction. What he saw on my face must have worried him, because he rushed on, starting to pace.

“It wasn’t long, though, before I realized you really had no clue about Denazen or what your father did. You were just an innocent kid caught in the middle of something you had no idea about.”

At that moment, he was worse than my dad. Worse because I’d had so much faith in him. In us. To find out it’d all been bullshit was devastating. “How long?”

He held up his hands in surrender. “We’d only been dating like six months by the time I put it all together.”

“What about the rest of the time?” I advanced on him. My head was spinning—he’d used me, to get to my dad of all people! “We were together over a year.”

“I know, I’m sorry. Ginger and the others—they told me to break it off once we were sure you were a dead end. I couldn’t though. I fell in—”

I lost it. My fist connected with the corner of his jaw in a satisfying, although painful, thud. “Don’t you dare stand here and tell me you fell in love with me.”

“Don’t want to hear it?” Reaching up, he rubbed his chin, expression darkening. “Too damn bad. I fell in love with you. Nothing we ever had was fake.”

I went to hit him again, but he knew me. Expected it. He caught my hand and deflected it and I stumbled to the side. Deep breath. “You’re a prick. It wasn’t enough for you to rip me apart once, you had to come and try to do it again?”

“If I remember correctly, you came to me this time. I had no intention of looking for you.”

I didn’t answer. We stood there in the moonlight, locked together in a stare-down. After a few minutes he spoke again, his voice low. “I’ll do it.”

“Do what?” I snapped.

“Denazen. I’ll do it. I’ll help you.”

Priceless. Come in, gouge out my heart, then try to suck up? Such a typical Alex Mojourn move. “Why? Why change your mind? If this has anything to do with guilt—”

“Guilt has nothing to do with it. I can’t sleep knowing you’re in this alone.”

I laughed. “All of a sudden you care about me? I don’t need you to be my knight in shining armor. You’re an epic fail when it comes to that, so do me a favor and scram.”

“Jesus,” he swore. “I’m really trying here, Dez.”

“Well, don’t! Who asked you to?” I pushed him hard toward the window.

He stumbled, recovered, and pushed me back. “You think you know everything, but you don’t,” he growled. “That night—at Roudey’s—that girl was a Six.”

I groaned. The last thing I needed was the gory details. Next he’d tell me her bra size and that she liked moonlit walks along the beach. “And why the hell would you think I care? It’s old news. History. Moving on now. If you think that makes it okay, then whatever.”

“She was doing me a favor.”

“A favor?” And the funny kept coming. If this had been anyone other than me, I might have found the whole thing laughably ironic. But because I was the star of this little tragedy? Yeah. Not so much. “Letting you grope her while you sucked the lips off her face? That’s one hell of a favor.”

“It was a setup—I set you up. I wanted you to see us together.”

A setup? What the hell did that mean? “You never struck me as the ball-less type. Why not break up with me if you’d gotten bored?”