The Bodyguard: A BWWM Bad Body Romance(19)
For a long beat, Juliet didn’t answer him - and Hank was fairly certain it was because she was still pissed. When she did speak, however, her voice was barely above a whisper. “Maybe you’re right to assume the worst of me, Hank. I’ve seen….awful things. Things that still give me fucking nightmares.” Her eyes were haunted, and it was clear, in that moment, that the drink had the same effect on her that sleepless nights had on him. “I could have stopped him. I could have said something...but I didn’t. I was a fucking coward. You’re right - it’s more than justifiable to hate me for that.”
Fuck.
Hank didn’t know if he was getting soft or if it was just Juliet in particular, but this was wrong. She wasn’t supposed to be telling him he was right. She was supposed to be cursing him out - telling him that he was the villain here. He took another long drag of his drink. It was probably better if he was drunk for this particular conversation. “I don’t hate you, Juliet.”
At that, Juliet laughed mirthlessly. “Yeah, right. You can hardly look at me. I’d say that justifies as hatred.”
But Hank didn’t change his story. “It’s not you I hate. Anyone who knows anything about the Aguilers tends to feel...bitter towards them.”
Juliet poured herself another drought of whiskey, taking a long swallow before she spoke. “You know...when I met Solomon eight years ago, I really thought he was the love of my life.” She shook her head, her expression turning bitter. “I realize now how ridiculously na?ve you are at eighteen. I just wanted to sing, and I thought he wanted to help me.”
When she fell silent, Hank couldn’t keep himself from prodding her. “And what did he really want?”
Juliet drew her good knee up into the chair with her, wrapping an arm around it as she considered the plastic cup in her hand. “To own me.”
Though Hank waited for her to elaborate, Juliet didn’t say anymore. Instead, she merely finished her whiskey before easing her foot from his lap. When Hank moved to help her, she waved him off. “I’m fine. I got it.”
“Juliet.” Hank’s fingers wrapped around her wrist as she rose from the table and her eyes met his. God, there was so much hurt in those eyes. How the hell had he failed to notice it before? Hank had never been the sentimental type, but there was a part of him that wanted to take Juliet Brown into his arms and make her forget whatever it was that haunted her. To remind her what it was like to be a woman that just needed to be with a man.
But that, he knew, would be idiotic. “You know, you’re not alone anymore.”
It was the only thing he could think of to comfort her - but Juliet’s returning smile was wooden. “I’ve been alone for a long, long time, Hank. I’m used to it by now.” She pulled her arm from his grasp before reaching for her crutch to hobble back to her room. Hank watched her as the alcohol began to buzz through his head, wondering what the hell he’d gotten himself into.
Chapter 5: Escape
By the time of her first official questioning, Juliet had to say that she and Hank had reached a kind of truce. They weren’t screaming at one another anymore, which was an improvement upon when they’d first come to the cabin. But Juliet didn’t have to ask Bosh and Crowley for her everyday needs either. After she and Hank’s odd midnight drinking session, the man didn’t seem as sullen or detached when she came to him with requests.
Juliet wasn’t kidding herself either to think that meant the man liked her. He tolerated her - and only because she’d gotten drunk enough to speak to him on the level.
The fact of the matter was that Juliet was dealing with no small amount of self-loathing. She knew exactly who she’d been involved with, and that it made her guilty by default that she hadn’t acted out. Harder was accepting that she couldn’t change what was in the past. All she could do was talk to the FBI in hopes that they captured Solomon now - before he could hurt anyone else.
Which meant she and Hank tiptoeing around one another wasn’t doing either of them any favors.
“I hope you understand that we have to record these sessions for purposes of the law.” Simmons had arrived on their fifth day in the cabin and set up recording equipment in the living room. Bosh and Crowley, for the first time, were right outside the cabin instead of down the drive, and Hank...Hank was to be the one questioning her. He sat across from her as Simmons set up the equipment, his eyes fixed on her unmoving form.
It was the first time Juliet would ever get to tell her story. She was, understandably, more than a little bit nervous. “I understand.”
“Hank, you’ve got the paperwork?” It was a redundant question. Juliet had seen Simmons hand Hank the thick folder of materials when he’d entered. He was, it seemed, making conversation to put her more at ease.
It was a task that was much easier said than done.
“I’ve got it. Just turn the damned machine on.” Juliet was struck, for the second time, at the contrast between Simmons and the man beneath him. The elder man was impeccably dressed in a two-piece suit and tie, his graying hair combed back from his brow. Hank, meanwhile, wore his customary wife-beater and jeans, exposing his intricately tattooed arms. Anyone who stumbled upon the scene might think Juliet was meant to be questioning him.
He was a contradiction, this man. He looked and spoke every bit like a gang-member, but it was clear that Hank had a deep-seated grudge against organized crime.