Gun Shy(69)

You stopped him, all right. Stopped him all over the kitchen. Now there are pieces of his skull bone stuck in my hair.

“I hate you,” I say plainly.

“I know that,” he replies.

“You knew that, and you still killed your brother for me?” I should be thankful, but I’m just confused. “Your brother.”

Damon looks at me and I see the little boy in his grown eyes. The fear. The dread. I didn’t find Daniel Collins when I visited his empty grave, but I have found him now.

My skin breaks out in goosebumps as his words sink past my bruises, down into my bones, where they settle, heavy like lead.

“He wasn’t my brother,” Damon says, pushing his coffee away. “He was the one who made me get into that van.”





CHAPTER FORTY





CASSIE





Damon, sadly, has to work. Which means I am dropped off at the diner for my ten a.m. start, just in time to walk into a fucking shit show.

The place is teeming with truckers, waiting out a snow storm up north before they carry on with their loads. Everyone wants to eat, waffles and bacon and endless refills of coffee. I don’t want to be here, and I’m limping more and more as the painkillers wear off.

Everything hurts.

Even the tips of my fingers feel bruised from where I tried to fight Ray off. I can’t close my eyes without seeing the mess Damon’s gun made of his face, the blood. I beg an early break from Amanda, who directs me to a booth in the back. She can tell I am sick with something. I wonder what she’d say if she knew I was sick with having almost been murdered in my own kitchen less than twelve hours ago. I’m folding a stack of napkins when he appears.

“Cassie,” a low voice says, startling me to attention.

“Fuck,” I mutter, knocking over the black coffee I just poured for myself. Hot liquid goes everywhere, all over the table and my stack of neatly folded napkins. I stare dejectedly at the scene in front of me, not bothering to clean up the mess.

“Shit, I’m sorry,” Leo says. He fetches a wad of napkins from the pass, mopping up the coffee as I watch his hands move.

“Cassie, are you okay?”

I jerk my head up to meet his gaze. God, he’s like a fucking teddy bear. His eyes are soft and imploring. I just want to jump into his arms and beg him to take me away from all of this before Damon kills me, or worse, kills him.

“You’re scaring me,” he whispers, looking around the diner. We’re alone in this little corner for the moment, but who knows how long that will last.

“I’m scaring you?” I say scathingly, staring up at six foot and three inches of muscle and flesh. My God, he survived prison, and he finds me frightening?

“You’re not you,” he says, balling up coffee-soaked napkins and dropping them on the table between us. “What happened last night after you went home?”

“I can’t do this anymore,” I say. “I can’t see you again.”

“Bullshit,” Leo says, sliding into the booth opposite me. “What. Happened.”

I stare out of the window, into the forest, where the police and an army of volunteers have searched three times for any trace of Jennifer.

“Did he hit you?” Leo says, reaching across the table, his hand cupping my jaw as he studies the swollen left side of my face, bruises and swelling that my bangs and a thick application of concealer only half-hide.

“I walked into a door,” I say vacantly. I can’t tell him the truth. I can’t open that can of worms. It will ruin everything. If Leo provokes Damon, Leo will end up back in prison, and this time, it might be forever.

“Cassie, just tell me what to do, and I’ll do it.”

Take me away. Hide me. Love me. Save me.

All perfectly acceptable responses for the way I’m feeling. For the violent brutality I’ve been subjected to. I just want to go somewhere dark and safe and silent with Leo, bury my face in his chest, and sob.

“Tell me what to do,” he repeats, his tone more urgent this time.

I look up at him, wiping my face of emotion as if it were a blank slate. It has to be.

If Damon thinks Leo has anything to do with me, he’ll kill him.

“You’ve already done enough,” I say coolly. “Thanks for the napkins.”

I think of Ray’s face. I think of Damon’s hands. I think of the way I punched Leo as I fucked him. Something breaks inside of me. I wonder how many days— no, how many years until Damon grows tired of me and lets me leave.

I think of how peaceful Ray was after he died, leaving only a broken, empty vessel.

How I was so horrified at the time. How now, I’m not horrified; I’m jealous. Furious, filled with the envious truth that he got to die and I had to stay.

And I decide, very calmly, very matter-of-factly, that I’m done here.

I stand, not bothering to collect my apron and order pad, both now covered in coffee. I won’t be needing them. I won’t be back here tomorrow.

Leo stands too, blocking my path, and I take the opportunity to reach out and press my fingers flat against his chest, right above his heart.

“I know it was an accident,” I say, smiling sadly. “I know you waited for me in that prison, all those years. I know you love me. Okay?”