Objective (Bloodlines #2)(66)

“How could you?” I grouse at him. He shakes his head, keeping his nose tilted up in the air to keep the corn resting just right.

“It wasn't intentional. You didn't see her, dammit. It was bad. I couldn't keep her safe from a distance because she had no friends. No interaction with anyone. She isolated herself completely. She almost killed herself drinking those first few months. It was f*cking bad, man. You were lucky you didn't have to watch her disintegrate day by day. That girl you lived with, the happy, studious, college student who gave a shit about everything and anything disappeared. I got to know the new woman. The changed woman. And I couldn’t keep away. It just happened. I was there for her...not replacing you, just there for the new her. It wasn’t intentional, it just happened slowly over time. I am so sorry, man,” he finishes.

The worst part of his whole rant is that I get it. I wasn’t innocent. I tried to screw Magnolia out of my heart but I always woke up loving her. He fell for the part of her I don’t understand or know, and maybe she fell for him out of that same part of herself. This morning I thought I was the only man she’d ever been with, only to find out in one day that I’m just the first of three. It breaks my heart. Worse is knowing she was just starting to try and move on to love someone else. It’s like no matter what, I f*ck up her life. The crushing feeling deep in my chest is worse than living under the pretense that she tried to kill me on purpose. This hurt is different. I don't know whether to hold onto her, to fight for her, or to let her go so she can find a shred of happiness, uncomplicated happiness, in her life.

“I shot Ezra,” I reply, moving our conversation to an easier topic.

“Damn...” he groans.

“He was going to kill her, Bent. He raped her. The sick f*ck told me he did it. My own uncle. She never told me. That night, the entire situation was so far off from what I thought it was. She wasn’t trying to kill me, she was trying to kill him.” I watch as Bentley’s face registers surprise, then understanding.

“It makes sense now...” he mumbles.

“There’s more. He was going on about the pack, the one she took. When she said she spent the money, that it was gone, he didn’t seem to care. The backpack was mine. I almost always had it with me, but he seems fixated on it. Something’s up.”

“Did you kill him?” he asks, shifting the bag of corn over his left eye.

“It was a slug to the chest, close range, but we both know you can survive that. I’m not sure. I cut Mags loose and ran. I didn’t wait around to find out if he had a pulse.” I watch as Bentley drags a hand down the good side of his face and grunts in frustration.

“It all happened so fast,” I finish.

“Forget about it. You did the right thing, we just need to figure out next steps. I need to make some calls.” He strides by me and exits the cabin, pulling his phone from his pocket.

I push up from the floor and relocate to the couch. My hand is swollen and bloody but I’ll deal with it later. I push the heels of my hands into my eyes but it does nothing but hurt the bruising from my black eyes. When Bentley comes back in he looks like I feel, defeated and tired. My mind races with thoughts of him touching my girl, being with her. Jealous anger wells up inside me but I try my best to tamp it down. There are other things to deal with now – I may still need to protect us. I stand, stretch, and let Bentley know that I’m going to grab our stuff from the car. I shoulder our bags, flip the glove box open and tuck the pistol into the waistband of my pants. My cell light blinks, indicating a text message. I grab it, slam the car door shut and stagger, exhausted, back into the cabin. I set Magnolia’s bag just outside her bedroom door and toss my bag on the couch after setting the pistol and my phone on the coffee table.

“What’s that?” Bentley points to my phone.

“A phone?” I volley back, irritated. I pick it up, flip it open and read the text message.

Betrayal is not tolerated.



“You brought that with you?” he squawks at me. “Jesus H. Christ, he’ll be tracking you!” Bentley booms. I slam the phone on the floor next to my foot, smashing it into tiny fragments.

“I wasn’t exactly thinking straight!” I snap at him. He drops to the couch beside me and lays his head back.

“We need to move. It won’t be safe here after tomorrow. There’s another location a few hours from here. You and I will need to travel separately from her. I have someone coming who will be able to transport her safely. It’s late. We’ll be up early, go get some sleep,” he grunts as he strides to the empty bedroom next to Magnolia's. I slam my fist into the coffee table. Pain splinters through my knuckles but it does nothing to distract my heart from the real pain I’m feeling.

She hasn’t uttered a single word to either of us. Our morning has been silent outside of Bentley and me pleading with her to talk to us. The silent treatment from her could bring any man to his knees, but what’s worse is she's not ignoring us really. We informed her we’re moving her to a more secure location and that she needs to pack up and be ready to go, and she nodded her acknowledgement. At breakfast she smiled at me when I handed her a bowl of cereal. When Bentley asked her questions she gestured her answers. Mute Magnolia was a sad version of the girl I love. She only existed, it seemed now, to show us how badly we’d messed her up.