Hush (Black Lotus #3)(59)

“So what happened?”

“Turns out, it was a ruse,” he reveals. “Once I handed over the names, that was it, I was given two options: go immediately into witness protection, or go back to my cell. If I went back to my cell, I would’ve been dead in a matter of days; I was a nark and some of those guys I was in there with were in some way affiliated with the names I had just given the feds.” He takes my other hand in his and looks at me intently. “They used you to get to me, princess. I knew from that moment that I’d never see you again, and it felt like I was being murdered anyway, because my life didn’t exist without you in it.”

“And your gravesite?”

“Since the threat level on my life was so great, the feds thought it best to stage my death. I begged them to let me take you into the program with me, but they refused. My hands were tied. A part of me thought it would be better for you that way though. I figured it would give you closure instead of me simply disappearing with no trace.” He takes a moment to collect himself before saying, “And here you are. All grown up and so gorgeous.”

I continue to shed heartache as memories from the day I was told he died fall from my eyes and down my face. I remember lying in bed with Pike. He held me for hours as I sobbed.

“They assured me you were in a good home and that you even had a foster brother.”

Declan’s hand suddenly constricts on my leg; he thinks I’m going to tell my dad about my suffering. A part of me wants to because it was a lie—I wasn’t in a good home—and the resentment of what could’ve been festers in me. I want to tell him about the torture I endured so I can slap him in the face with it. I’m furious that I was cheated from the good life he assumed I had.

But I’m not going to tell him—I can’t. I have to lie, because telling him the truth would serve no purpose. The past is done, and it can’t be changed, it would only hurt him to know, and in the end, I just want his love.

“They told me you were happy and thriving.”

I muster up a smile. “Yes, I was happy.”

“And your foster parents . . . they were good to you?”

“Mmm hmm,” I respond and nod. “I was well taken care of.”

The lie is a rusted spike through my veins; it’s nearly debilitating to see the relief in his eyes.

“Are you all still close?”

“No. They actually died,” I tell him. “And so did my brother.” And the tears that puddle in my eyes from the mere mention of Pike are taken by my dad as sorrow for my whole foster family. They aren’t—they’re solely for Pike. What he doesn’t know and will never know is that all three of them died because of me—by my hands.

“I’m so sorry. Do you have other family?”

“Only Declan,” I tell him.

“Are you two married?”

“No,” Declan answers. “We live together though.”

“Close?”

“Declan’s home is in Scotland, but we recently moved to London.”

“Wow. That sounds amazing,” he says with a sullen expression. “Can I ask how you found me?”

“I saw your face on the news,” I tell him. “Someone Declan and I know was able to get ahold of the passenger manifest. It took a while for me to discover that Asher Corre was you—was me.”

“Rose Archer,” he murmurs. “Like I said, you’ve always been with me.”

My chin quivers, and I have to ask, “Those are your biological kids, aren’t they?”

“Yes.”

I look away from my dad. It hurts too much to think they are getting everything I was deprived of.

“I met Gillian shortly after I entered the program. I was so low from losing you, and she helped me stand back up.”

“She knows about me?”

“I had to lie to her. She knows I had a daughter named Elizabeth, but I had to tell her that you . . .” His words stall, and I pick them up, positive of what they are and resume for him, “You told her I died, didn’t you?”

He nods. “I would’ve never done so, but the tattoo . . . it’s what I was instructed by the government to tell people if anyone were to ask.”

“You love her?”

“I do.”

“And you gave your son your name—your real name.”

“I did.”

“And your . . . your dau—” I stammer through mounting anguish. “Your daughter . . . you lo—”

“She didn’t replace you,” he insists.

“But you love her?”

“I do. But don’t you dare think for a second that it’s the same love I have for you. It isn’t. I will never love anyone the way I love you.”

“You call her princess,” I state. “I heard you call her princess.”

“You heard me?”

“I was parked across the street from your house last night,” I confess. “You were late getting home.”

“Sweetheart—” he starts and then stops when I drop my head and start crying.

He wraps his hand behind my head, and I lean against him while Declan rests his reassuring hands on my shoulders. My father’s lips press against the top of my head, the same way Declan often does, and I squeeze my dad’s hands.