Heart of the Devil (The Forge Trilogy #3)(23)

The memories I have that seem to dispute the fact? Lies. All lies. I was dreaming if I thought this could ever work, and I deal in reality. Always have. Always will. Whatever happened here was . . . what did he call it? A mistake.

The word hits me like an uppercut to the jaw. I harden myself against the pain, but the anguish sneaks through.

I won’t stay where I’m not wanted. I won’t beg for scraps. And I will never put myself out like this again.

When I reach the bottom of the stairs, Dorsey is already firing up the engine of the boat, and I don’t wait for assistance before I jump on board.

“Pack my stuff up and send it later. Or don’t. I don’t care,” I tell her over the whipping wind. But what I’m really telling myself is I can live without him.

And I can. I will. I have no other choice.

I should have known better, and that’s the part that kills me the most.

It was a business deal. I wasn’t supposed to fall in love with him.

To my surprise, and Dorsey’s, Superman and Spiderman also climb aboard.

“What are you doing?” I ask them.

“We’re going to watch over you for a while,” Spiderman replies, his expression creased with concern. “Just until we’re sure that . . .”

I hold up a hand, and he goes quiet.

“I’m not saying this to be a dick, and it’s not personal either. All I want is a ride, and after that . . .” I suck in a shaky breath as tears obscure my vision. “I don’t want to see anyone connected with Jericho Forge ever again.”

All three of them stare at me. The pity in their eyes stokes the inferno of rage that I’m hoping will meld my broken heart back into something recognizable. The fires of the forge.

No. Fuck that. I’ll let it stay broken.

“But, ma’am,” Superman says, and I shake my head.

“Let’s go. Please.” I take a seat facing the open water, and stare blindly ahead as they throw off the lines and Dorsey guides the boat away from the dock.

Once we’re out to sea and headed back to Ibiza, it’s impossible not to take one final look over my shoulder at Isla del Cielo.

I wipe the tears away as I let go of the picture of the future I was able to see for a short time.

It shouldn’t hurt so much.

But it does, and I hate him for it.

Forcing myself to turn away, I focus on rebuilding the wall around my heart, brick by brick.





19





Forge





My gaze is locked on the boat as it cuts through the water, even though I told myself I wouldn’t watch her leave. My fingers uncurl from the fists they’ve been clenched in, and I press my palm to the glass.

Pain, physical pain, sears me.

My mind conjures Indy’s face when I told her I wanted her gone. When I lied to her. It cuts me, straight to the bone.

I’m a piece of fucking shit. Not worth a goddamn. Uncle Ruben was right.

With a roar, I grab the chair behind my desk and hurl it across the room.

“Fuck!”

It crashes into a painting on the wall and glass shatters. My gaze drops to the signature page of the petition for divorce on the desk. It’s fucking over, and I ended it.

I spin around and slam my fist into the wall, cracking plaster and busting my knuckles open. Blood drips from my hand, but the pain is nothing compared to the agony tearing me apart inside.

I reach down to pick up her ring, but instead, I drop to my knees.

“Fuck!”

Tears, like I haven’t cried since the day I lost Isaac, stream down my face.

There’s honor for you, Federov. It’s fucking hell.





20





India





I wave off Superman and Spiderman at the entrance to my building. I don’t care what their orders are. It doesn’t matter to me, because I’ll never follow another order given by Jericho Forge.

Each step up to my floor takes a ridiculous amount of effort. It’s like I’m walking through wet cement, and it’s trying to keep me in place. The whole goddamned building can crumble around me and be washed out to the ocean for all I care.

Why am I so surprised? That’s the part that kills me. I set myself up for this, and I knew better.

Happily-ever-afters don’t start with losing a bet, kidnappings, and negotiations. Only a naive idiot, which I am not, would believe otherwise.

But that doesn’t mean I can stop the tears or the ache from the gaping hole in my chest.

How could he do this to me?

By the time I reach my door in a sniffling mess, I can barely see where I’m going. I fumble for my keys, which Dorsey retrieved along with my purse from the bedroom, and I unlock my apartment door.

I take two steps inside the silent space, kick the door shut, and collapse against it.

I’m done being strong.

Now I’m just broken.





It could have been minutes or hours or days. I have no idea how much time has passed when the lock above me jiggles as someone pushes a key inside it.

I lift my head, like I’ve been in a catatonic state, and blink. Afternoon light cuts through the blinds, but the room might as well be pitch black to reflect how I feel.