Slow Agony (Assassins, #2)(31)

I bit my lip.

“Didn’t it? You claim it was mine.”

“It was. Of course it was.”

“Then don’t call it a disease.” His voice was breaking.

Oh. I hadn’t thought that he would—

He pointed at his chest. “My child. I couldn’t protect it. I couldn’t protect it from you.”

“No, it wasn’t like that,” I said.

He sank down onto the opposite bed. “I’m supposed to be able to trust you.”

“I trusted you not to leave me.”

“You think I don’t know that? I screwed up.” He rubbed the top of his head with both of his hands. “But I never thought you would do that. And it... when I look at you, it confuses me. I want to protect you, but you... you killed my child.”

My mouth opened. That wasn’t fair.

“I can’t trust you, and we...” He pointed at me and then at himself. “We’re supposed to both take care of our children.”

“It wasn’t a child,” I said.

He punched the headboard of the bed. “Leigh, don’t.”

“It wasn’t,” I said. “You know if I believed that I never would have done it.”

“But what about what I believe? Does that even matter?”

“What do you believe? Do you think I’m a murderer? Is that why you ran to that Daisy person, with all her ‘spirituality’? Because you knew she thought the same way you did?”

He hit the headboard again. “For f*ck’s sake, stop it.”

But I couldn’t. “Do you really think I killed a baby? Really?” Now my voice was the one breaking.

He got up and stalked out of the hotel room. The door slammed shut after him.

I threw aside the covers and got out of bed. I went to the door and threw it open. “Don’t run away from me. Don’t run away from this. All you do is run.”

He stiffened, halting in the hallway. He looked over his shoulder at me. “I’m sorry, doll. I can’t talk anymore. I can’t.” He turned around and kept walking.

I watched him until he disappeared around the corner. Then I pulled myself back inside the hotel room and started crying again. I collapsed on the bed, a mess of tears and anger, and I sobbed until I was too exhausted to cry anymore.





Chapter Seven


I woke up to someone nudging me with a hard, plastic rectangle. I opened my eyes. It was a phone, and Silas was using it to wake me up.

“Griffin got us new phones,” he said. “His number’s already programmed it. Get dressed. We’ve got to get moving.”

I sat up. My head felt fuzzy and bloated from crying so much last night. “Where is Griffin?”

“Gone with Sloane already,” said Silas.

“What?” I got out of bed. “He left?”

“Yeah. We’re splitting up for a few days. Hopefully, it’ll help muddle the trail if anyone’s still following us.”

“Splitting up?”

“Uh huh,” said Silas. “Don’t worry, we’re gonna all meet back up. It’s okay.”

“He left,” I said, more to myself than Silas.

“Meet me in the lobby in twenty minutes,” he said. “They’ve got a continental breakfast. We can grab that.” He left the room, leaving me alone with the new phone in my hand.

I peered down at it. It was identical to the last one I’d got at Wal-mart. Another cheap, disposable cell phone. I scrolled through the contacts. Silas was right. Griffin was already programmed in. I dialed his number.

He picked up. “What?”

“You left?”

“Hours ago,” he said.

“But you said that you didn’t want to let me out of your sight.”

“Oddly enough, after last night, I found I couldn’t stand the thought of being near you.” His voice was biting and harsh.

“We need to talk,” I said.

“No,” he said. “We don’t. Silas will look after you. We’ll all meet up again in a few days. Maybe I’ll feel better then.”

“Griffin, I’m sorry that I—”

“No,” he said. “I don’t want to do this.” He hung up.

I tossed the phone on the bed. Dammit. We’d kissed last night, for the first time in months. We’d made love. Admittedly, we’d had the worst sex I’d had since my junior year of high school, but still, we’d been intimate. And now, he was gone.

As I went to the bathroom to turn the shower on, I realized I was still sore from him, too.

Great. The last thing I needed was a reminder of Griffin every time I tried to move.

Usually, a little soreness after sex was a good thing. It made me feel sweetly weakened and claimed. Now, I only felt used.

I turned on the shower head. Maybe hot water would help.

*

“You gonna tell me what you’re upset about?” Silas asked from the driver’s seat of the car we’d stolen.

“I’m not upset,” I said.

“We’ve been driving for hours, and you’ve been scowling the whole time. You’re upset. And I know from hanging out with Sloane that you need to talk about it or you’re not going to get over it.”