Page 72 of Sin of Love
“Granted, I didn’t tell a joke or anything. But that was funny. Whew. So funny.”
Another pause.
“Huh. Hold up.I guess it was you who was the funny one. Oh well. I’m still funny. And by the way, Herbert’s sandworms are cool. We’ll have to watch the movie—the original one from the eighties. It’s a classic.”
I’m stunned frozen, my mouth opening and closing, until the last ridiculous word. Then I’m unlocking the door and yanking it open. Gideon almost falls into the cavity, but catches himself on the doorframe.
I stare up at him, so livid I can’t think.
“Cat got your tongue?”
Mother. Fucker.
“That never happened,” I grind out. “I never peed my pants, Gideon.”
One tawny eyebrow cocks. “I distinctly remember being the victim of a golden shower. Careful, it looks like your eyes are going to pop out of your head.”
“Well, you still have stupid fucking hair!” I scream in his face.
He gasps with mock horror and clutches his chest. “Mon bijou, how could you? You don’t like the beard?”
“You look like a circus reject!”
“Ha!” Grinning, he tugs at the red/brown disaster growing on his face. “Wanna shave it for me?”
I scowl. “There’s something legitimately wrong with you.”
He peers into the bedroom behind me. “I wouldn’t be pointing fingers if I were you.”
Groaning, I shuffle backward and slump onto the bare mattress. Blankets, sheets, and pillows lie torn and tangled on the floor.
The fire inside me flickers low, having consumed all it can for the time being. There’s new space inside me, a wasteland of bitter truth.
“I’m happy they’re dead.”
I brace for his horror, for his disgust as he finally realizes I’m as much a monster as they are, but he only meets my stare unflinchingly.
“When you were unconscious, after we left the resort and before the plane, I told Liam to make a call to his contact in the Sinaloa Cartel.”
My skin prickles at his grave tone. “What kind of call?”
He shakes his head, haunted eyes lowering. “I knew if she lived, she would have never stopped. She would have hurt Nate and everyone from your life in Los Angeles. She hated you, Deirdre. She thought you… you—”
Took Julep from her.
“It’s okay, Gideon. I understand.”
I wish I could go to him. Hold him. Assure him that everything’s going to be fine and he’s forgiven and there’s no stain on his soul. But I can’t, because I am the stain.
“Why would Liam cash in on a favor like that?” I ask, frowning at the floor.
“Honestly? I don’t know. I asked, he said yes, and it was done. I’m sorry, Deirdre. I wanted you to know the truth, and if it means you can’t—”
“I’m not.”
“What?”
“I’m not sorry Maggie’s dead, I’m only sorry you feel guilty about it.” Wincing, I shake my head. “That sounds harsh, I know.”
“I get it. She wasn’t a good person.”
“No, she wasn’t.” My voice cracks, betraying the deeper, more complex truth. A truth that isn’t easy, or black and white, or even something that can be fully defined.
“I understand,” murmurs Gideon, and I think he actually does.
I hated them.
But I still grieve.
