Erasing Faith(78)

Without taking my eyes or my gun off him, I crouched down and scooped up the keys.

“I’ll stay here for another day, in case you change your mind. There’s a cabin in the clearing just through those woods.” His words were flat as he gestured to the copse of trees off the dirt road. “If you come back before tomorrow at midnight, I can keep you safe. If you don’t…”

He didn’t finish the thought.

I didn’t speak another word as I backed away from him toward the driver’s side door — I had nothing left to say and, frankly, I wasn’t sure I could even form words. My anger was wearing off and the brave face I’d worn for the past fifteen minutes was splintering with each passing second. Seeing him was simply too painful — the ache of it overrode every other sensation, until I was crushed beneath the weight of my own broken heart.

I climbed into the car and immediately locked the doors behind me, not releasing my gun as I shoved the keys in the ignition and started the engine. My eyes were trained on the rearview mirror, watching to see if he would try to stop me.

He didn’t.

He stood on the dirt road, hands shoved deep in the pockets of his jeans, and stared at me through the glass with a look on his face that almost brought tears to my eyes. That careful expressionless mask he always wore slipped as he watched me leave, and his eyes swirled with something that looked a lot like regret. Maybe even longing.

I forced myself to look away, with an internal reminder that nothing he said, did, or showed me was trustworthy. Once a liar, always a liar.

Right?

So why was my stupid, foolish heart begging me to stop the car and go back to him, even as I raced down the road and left him in a cloud of tire dust?





Chapter Forty-Three: WESTON


OUT OF MY MISERY



I replayed it over and over in my mind as I watched her car disappear down the winding road, back toward the highway.

Her eyes flashing hotly, her expression pinched with anger as the words flew from her mouth.

God, what don’t you understand? I hate you.

She hated me.

I hated me, too.

Standing there, watching her drive back out of my life, I almost fell to my knees in the dirt. Almost lost it completely.

It had been hard enough to hold it together when she was standing in front of me. Now that she was gone, my cocky facade slipped entirely and I felt myself spinning out of control.

I bit down hard on the inside of my cheek, pressed my eyes closed, and counted until my breathing rate returned to normal. This time, it took far longer than five seconds to regain command of myself.

Seeing her again — no matter how pissed off at me she’d been — was like breathing fresh air for the first time in years. Like stepping into a pool of sunlight after a lifetime spent in the darkness. She was even more beautiful now — her cheekbones were sharper, more angular, framing those catlike eyes and making her soft mouth look even more inviting.

I tried to block out memories of that mouth, hot as hell against my own — in a cable car, in an alleyway, on a hardwood floor, in her bed. I tried to shut out thoughts of her hands threading into my hair, pulling my lips down on hers in a kiss so bruising I worried I’d hurt her with the strength of it. I tried to ignore the tightness that settled in my chest when I noticed her curves, the full-bodied curves of a woman, beneath the tight-fitting clothes she wore.

Gone was the girl in cut-off shorts and flip flops — whatever traces of youth had remained when I’d met her in Budapest were long vanished. She was a woman, now — dressed to kill in stilettos and a skirt that hugged her ass so tightly it made my mouth go dry and my cock twitch in my jeans. Thoughts of the luminous white skin I knew lay beneath those clothes drove me to distraction the entire time she stood there glaring at me with a gun aimed at my chest.

I half-hoped she’d shoot, just to put me out of my f*cking misery.

Looking at her and knowing I’d never have her again was worse than any torture my enemies could ever come up with. But it wasn’t just unfulfilled lust driving me insane. It was the realization that she was different.

Budapest, meeting me… it had changed her.

The stylish clothes and darker hair were new. So was the gun.

But the thing that hit me like a f*cking sledgehammer was the change in her eyes.

They were no longer wide with wonderment at the world. They weren’t the eyes of a naive, young girl with an eternity of possibilities laid out before her. There was no excitement or blind trust in their depths.

Now, they looked like mine. Narrowed with suspicion. Wary of everything and everyone.

And the thought that Faith — that the hopeful, happy girl I’d loved since before I could even recognize the emotion — was less like herself and more like me — a coldhearted bastard with a bad attitude and no redeeming qualities — was the biggest f*cking tragedy of all.

She’d said it best — I ruined her life.

She didn’t want my help.

She didn’t trust me.

She hated me.

Too bad. I didn’t give a f*ck.

I was going to make sure she’d stay alive to hate me for the rest of her extraordinarily long life, if it was the last thing I ever did.

Sure, it would be easier for both of us if I simply vanished again. She wouldn’t have to relive the worst thing that had ever happened to her, and I wouldn’t have to look at her like she was a stranger. Wouldn’t have to keep my distance and pretend it didn’t kill me every time her eyes flashed with anger and abhorrence.