More shocked silence from behind and just as well, she should be shocked. No one knew that the empire he wanted to take down and been partly created by him in the first place. Out of ignorance. Out of a desire to please the man who’d raised him. The monster who’d created him.
“Then one night, for my twenty-second birthday,” he went on because he had to go on. “Dad brought me a girl. I don’t know how old she was, but she must have been very, very young. And he told me that I deserved something special. A virgin, just for me. All the women I’d been with before had been … willing, or at least that’s what I thought. But this girl … She was crying and she had bruises around her throat. She flinched whenever I moved and … for the first time I really saw her. I really looked. And I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t touch her. So I left. Dad ranted at me the next day, told me I was chickenshit. That I needed to get over myself, that real men were stronger than that. Stronger than guilt or scruples. That real men relished the freedom of not having to obey society’s rules and did whatever the hell they liked. I’d always believe him before, but that night…” No, he wouldn’t close his eyes, blindness was inexcusable. “I got home, and Violet was waiting up for me. And I realized then that girl couldn’t have been much older than my own goddamn sister. It felt like someone had ripped a mask off my face. I went to the Lucky Seven the next day, and all I could see was the bruises on the faces of all the whores I’d been with. The pain in their eyes. All the things I’d never seen before were suddenly right there. I told Dad that day I wanted out, that I couldn’t be what he wanted me to be.” Jericho felt his mouth begin to curl in a bitter smile, and he let it. “You know what Dad said? He said that I was a pussy. And that if I ran, he’d make Violet his heir instead.”
A hand settled on his back, a slight pressure, a warmth he couldn’t bring himself to shrug away no matter how much he knew he should. A comfort.
You don’t deserve comfort.
He didn’t. But surely, now he was so close to the end, he could take this.
“I knew there was no escape,” he said hoarsely. “But I also knew that if I stayed, he’d turn me into what he was, and I couldn’t allow that to happen. I’d spent so many years being a blind, self-entitled little fuck, letting all this terrible shit happen all around me, and I couldn’t, I just couldn’t…” The hand on his back pressed harder, and he realized his voice was shaking, rage cracking it apart. “I knew what I had to do. I knew I had to fix what I’d helped create, what I’d let fucking happen. And there was only one way to do it. I briefly considered killing Dad, but I knew how the system worked by then. Someone else would have taken his place, and the whole thing would keep on going. If I wanted to take it down, I’d have to be the one in charge. So that’s what I did. I faked my own death because Dad would never have stopped searching for me if I hadn’t, and I hoped that would mean he’d also leave Violet alone.” There was an ache somewhere inside him, part of the guilt he’d long since ceased to feel because if he did, he would have gone mad. “I had to leave her. I had to take a calculated risk that she’d be okay. Out of all the things I’ve done, that’s up there as being one of the hardest. Leaving Violet to that monster with no one to protect her.”
Warm arms slipped around his waist, a lithe body up against his back. He could feel her head resting between his shoulder blades.
The ache became a raw wound deep inside. One that would never heal.
“Don’t,” he whispered. “Don’t touch me.”
But she stayed right where she was, her arms like iron bands around him, holding him together.
Then she said, quietly, “I killed my father.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
She’d forgotten why she’d put her arms around him. To give him the only comfort she could offer or to stop herself from breaking into pieces, she didn’t know. But maybe it didn’t matter. Maybe all that mattered was the feel of all that hot, hard muscle, the ridged plane of his stomach rising and falling under her palm in time with his breathing, the tension that ebbed as she tightened her arms around him. The things he’d told her. The darkest parts of himself he’d revealed.
And regardless of trust or anything else, she knew she didn’t want him to be the only one to lay bare his soul.
No one knew her dark secret. Not one person.
He didn’t speak for a long moment and neither did she. Instead she pressed her forehead against his back, inhaling the warm spice of his scent. The cotton of his black shirt was smooth against her skin, and she just wanted to stand there, surrounded by the smell and the heat of him, holding on to him, taking some of his strength.
Because whatever else he was, he was strong. And determined. He had a powerful will and a bravery to match. A deep sense of responsibility too. All of those had been twisted by his father, molded into something they were never meant to be, and yet somehow he’d broken away. And made a decision no one should ever have to make at twenty-two.
Her age. That still killed her.
“What did he do to you?” he asked, his deep, beautiful voice rolling over her.
And she could have cried at the assumption. Not “What did you do?” but “What did he do to you?”
“After Thalia disappeared, there wasn’t anyone around to protect me any longer. And I knew what that meant. I knew he was going to go after me instead.” She closed her eyes tightly, the blackness comforting. She tried not to think about this, tried not to ever remember, but if he’d had the courage to tell her what he’d done, then she could do no less. “So that night, when I went to bed, I took one of the kitchen knives and hid it under my pillow. I tried hard to stay awake, really, really hard, but I was so tired. Thalia was gone, and I’d spent a lot of that day crying and I just didn’t have the energy to stay awake. The next thing I knew there was a hand over my mouth and Dad was.… trying to get my nightgown up.” Nausea rose inside her, thick and hot, but she swallowed it down. She needed to say this. Had to. “I was groggy with sleep and I tried to shove him off, tried to scream, but he was so heavy. He just held me down. He … had his hand over my nose too, and I couldn’t breathe … And that’s when I remembered the knife. I think it was just instinct that had me reaching for it. I don’t even remember much about what happened, I just remember grabbing it and putting it … somewhere. Anywhere to get him off me.” There had been nothing but blackness, nothing but panic. “And then I shoved him and he just slipped off the bed, and when I turned on the light…” Her voice had gotten hoarse now, thick with the horror of it. “There was blood everywhere, and he wasn’t moving.”
Jericho’s hands were suddenly over hers where they rested on his stomach, large and warm and comforting. But he didn’t say anything.
“I killed him,” she whispered, the words muffled against his back. “I killed Dad.”
“He would have suffocated you. He would have abused you.” His voice was a deep vibration rumbling through her, full of certainty and anger. “You did what you had to do. Just like I did.”
But it wasn’t the same, she knew that deep in her heart. “No, not like you. You were trying to fix things. I didn’t fix anything. I went off and killed people for money, because it was easy, just so easy—”
He turned suddenly, so quickly she had no time to move or step away. One moment she had her forehead pressed to his strong back, the next he was cupping her face between his hands, the lights of the club outlining the exquisite planes and angles of his forehead, nose, and cheekbones. Intensity burned in his eyes, a deep, gold flame.
“You survived,” he said softly, fiercely. “You survived to find Thalia. And you did what you had to do to find her. No, those things you did can’t be erased, and, no, you can’t change them. But you didn’t do them because you took pleasure in them or because they turned you on. And no matter what you think, you didn’t do them for money either. You did them because you wanted to find your sister. Because she protected you. Because you loved her.” His thumbs swept over her skin in a gentle caress. �
��That’s all there is, Temple. That’s all the reason there needs to be.”
Her eyes were full of tears, and she didn’t know why. “But I must have done something. I must have said something or … I don’t know what. There had to have been something about me that made him do it. That made him want me. And afterwards … I didn’t have to take those contracts, there were other things I could have done. I was just so…”
“Angry,” he finished gently, the understanding in his voice nearly breaking her apart. “You were just so goddamn angry.”
Despite her best efforts to stop them, a tear escaped and slid down her cheek. “Yes.” The word was as cracked and brittle as old plastic. “Yes, I was.”
His thumb brushed the tear away. “And you still are.”
Of course he knew. Because the same bitter, frustrated anger gleamed in his eyes too. She turned her cheek into his palm. “There’s nothing I can do about it. Nothing that can make it better. Sure, I did it to find Thalia, but that doesn’t excuse murder. I keep thinking that perhaps … Perhaps there’s something wrong with me. Perhaps I’m just a cold-blooded killer at heart. Perhaps that’s why—”
“No.” The word was flat and sure. “There’s nothing wrong with you, kitten. Nothing at all. You had a shitty childhood that left you scarred at a young age, that left you having to protect yourself. What you did was survival, nothing more.” He believed it. He believed every word, she could see it in his eyes. “You’re beautiful and you’re brave. You’re so fucking strong and you’re so fucking loyal. You’re not a killer, Temple.”
“But I—”
“I’ve seen evil, kitten. And I know what a killer looks like, believe me. Christ, I’ve seen so much of that kind of shit, I barely even notice it anymore. But you’re not one of those people. You’re not evil and you’re not cold-blooded. There’s a light in you, a brightness … God, you can’t know what it felt like to see that in someone. After years of being around people who are dead inside.”
She tried to blink the tears away, but they refused to stop. And this time, they weren’t for her memories or for the sense of wrongness she’d always felt inside herself, but for him. For the shadows in his eyes as he looked at her. For the life he must have led if he’d seen brightness in someone like her.
“If I’m not a killer then you’re not a monster, Theo.” And she said his name fiercely, claiming it for herself.
He shook his head slowly, that terrible sadness in his gaze again. “You did what you had to do for love. For self-defense. For survival. I didn’t. I built that fucking empire because I liked business. Because it was fascinating. Because I refused to see what was happening all around me—”
“Because you were brainwashed,” she cut him off harshly, her hands coming up to grip his wrists, holding onto him. “That’s what happens in cults.”
“But I’m not brainwashed now. I know what I’m doing.” His mouth curved in a bitter smile. “I’ve done it before after all.”
“No.” She gripped his wrists tighter, digging in, as if pressure alone would make him understand. “Your father did what he did for power. For greed. But you’re not. You’re doing it to fix things. To help people.”
“But the end is still the same.” His voice was gentle, so horribly, terribly gentle. Explaining things as if she was a child. “Don’t you see? I’ve become exactly who my father raised me to be.”
She could feel the beat of his pulse beneath her fingers. It was steady as a rock. He wasn’t angry or upset about this. He was … resigned. And for some reason, that frightened her. “You’re not,” she said insistently. “You’re not.”
“People died. People were abused. It doesn’t matter what my intentions were, I let it happen. I made it happen.”
She was crying and she couldn’t stop. “But you can’t excuse what I did, then pile all the blame on yourself. That doesn’t make any sense.”
He brushed her tears away, ignoring her fingers digging into his wrists, a strange expression on his face that looked like tenderness and yet surely couldn’t be. “It makes perfect sense. There’s hope for you, Temple. But there’s no hope for me. This is what I am. This is what I was born to be.”
She didn’t understand why she was protesting so vehemently, especially when it was exactly this kind of admission of guilt that would make everything so much easier. All she knew was that she hated the sound of acceptance in his voice, the resignation. As if he’d long known that was the truth and had made his peace with it.
“So why not just go with it?” she demanded, anger rising up against the grief. “If you’re so goddamn accepting, why not say ‘fuck it’ and keep the whole operation going? You’ve got all the power you want, all the money you could ever need. If you’re exactly like your father, why get rid of your empire at all?”
He smiled and this time there was no bitterness in it, only sadness. “Because I promised myself I’d do this for Violet. For that young girl I left behind in the Lucky Seven. And I always keep my promises. Always.”
But that didn’t make it any better. In fact, it just made her angrier. Because she had a horrible feeling that there was another promise he’d made to himself. “You want to know what happened at Elijah’s?” Her voice was thick with anger and pain, but she didn’t bother to hide it. “Zac Rutherford and Eva King were there. They were the ones who hired me to kill you.”
He said nothing, his thumbs sweeping backward and forward over her tear-slick skin, his gaze unreadable.
Why the fuck are you telling him all this?
She had no idea. He just had to know, and she couldn’t stand lying to him anymore.
“They’re in it with Elijah too. They’re giving you the alliance not because they trust you, but to see what you’ll do. And they want me to finish it if you don’t.” She took a breath. “Zac wants me to fulfill my contract, Theo. After all this is over, you’re a loose end he wants me to tie up. And … I said yes. I said that I would do it. I said that I would kill you.”
An expression shifted in his eyes, a ripple of something she couldn’t interpret. “I know,” he said quietly.
Then before she could reply, he bent his head and covered her mouth with his.
* * *
Jericho knew he should never have brought her here tonight. He should have done what he normally did and ignored his own needs, left her back at the house.
But he hadn’t. And now he was desperate. To have her and to stop her from talking. Stop her from saying things that he didn’t want to hear.
It didn’t change things that Rutherford and his friends were involved. It didn’t change things that she’d agreed to put a bullet through his brain. He’d suspected something along those lines anyway.
All he wanted to do, all he’d ever intended, was to survive long enough to destroy the web he’d created. And after that? Well, if that was death then he’d welcome it. Because he was tired, just so fucking tired. Of the isolation more than anything else. The sheer loneliness of it. Of not being able to confide in anyone, of not being able to even be himself, if he even knew who that was in the first place. Of not being able to hold anyone. Of not being held in return. Of not having anyone, not one single person, he could turn to.
He’d always thought he didn’t want that. Always thought he didn’t need it. Until Temple had come into his life and showed him just how badly he did need it. Did want it. How much he hated walking around every day not feeling a thing because if he did, he’d never survive. And when those feelings did manage to leak through somehow, how badly he wanted them to be something other than guilt or pain or regret.
She’d given him a taste of those other feelings. She’d shown him that he was still alive, deep down inside. But he knew it wasn’t something he could ever keep hold of. He was too far gone, too far down the path. He wasn’t the hero. He was the villain. And just as in any good story, there was only one ending for the villain.
But that was okay. He was tired. He wanted it to be over. He
wanted to rest.
Yet first, before any of that, he just wanted her. Take what he could get without talk of hope or redemption or monsters. Live a little in the flame once more.
Her mouth was so warm, and there was salt against his lips from her tears, but it felt like years since he’d tasted her so he didn’t stop. She made a little noise in the back of her throat, a soft groan. Her hands slipped from his wrists, her palms coming to rest on his chest, her head tilting back. And she began to kiss him back, and this time it wasn’t tears he tasted, but desperation.
Christ, they always seemed to be desperate for each other, always seemed to be hungry. But then that made sense since the time they had with each other was so very limited. And soon it would be more limited still.
He let his hands trail down the smooth, silky skin of her throat, just letting his fingers rest across her collarbones. The apparent fragility of her astounded him. She was so small, so slender, and yet … There was so much strength in her, so much heat.
“I don’t want to kill you, Theo,” she whispered against his mouth. “I don’t.”
“It’s okay, kitten,” he murmured, because it was. “Everything’s going to be okay.” And he pushed her back against the glass wall of his office, with the flashing lights of the club behind her, the dancers whirling beneath them.
He slid his hands down the fabric of the slinky black dress she’d put on that night. The cut was deceivingly modest, the neckline straight and high at the front, while dipping right down to the small of her back behind. And it had a slit right up nearly to her hip on one side. Librarian stripper, she’d called it when she’d come down the stairs that evening, shiny black platform Mary Janes on her feet.
He didn’t care what it was. She looked like an ice cream on a blisteringly hot day, and he wanted to lick her right up.
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