I lean back and run my hand over my hair, shoving it back out of my face. “You don’t believe her,” I state, but his tone leaves no room for uncertainty.
“She planned to use Xane to draw your father out. Nothing fuels these men like killing each other,” Mallard says with an exasperated sigh.
“But why did she call him Lance? And that one guy that worked for my dad called him Lima.”
Mallard smirks. “Xane wanted Darius to feel like he was being hunted by a ghost. So, he used his brother’s name and code name. November thought she hit the jackpot with Xane and kept his secret. The guy you mentioned was Sierra or Scott. He worked with Xane until your dad convinced him to flip teams.”
Murderers and monsters. Death and more death. “When does it end?” I’m so exhausted from just one night of this, but to have been going through it for years? One killing after another? The question I’ve beenignoring gnaws at my bones, and I can’t take it anymore. “I was his plan to get to Dad, wasn’t I?”
Mallard doesn’t meet my gaze. He pushes up from the stool, and I lean into the countertop.
“Yes,” a hoarse voice says from behind me, and I spin, nearly falling off the stool.
Xane—Mr. Collins—X, fuck, I don’t know what to call him anymore, looks at me with stony, unreadable features. Roxy licks at his fingers, then comes over to do the same to me.
“I used you, Tess. And you should hate me for it.”
He’s right. I should hate him. My blood should boil, and I should hate the sight of him. But as he stands there, his boxers hugging his toned muscles and bandages wrapping around his torso and shoulder, I don’t. He drops his chin and stumbles to the couch; Mallard hands him tea. I step off the stool to move toward him, but I freeze with the back of the couch separating us.
“I’ll give you whatever answers you need. Then, as soon as I’m strong enough, I’ll take you to get a new I.D. and to a safe house. You can start a new life and put this all behind you.”
Mallard glances at me over the rim of his glasses and gives me a solemn look before placing his fingers on the inside of his wrist and listening through a stethoscope. He checks the bandages, and Mr. Collins swats his hand away.
He’s sending me away. As soon as he is strong enough, he’s going to make me disappear. Like all of this was a wild dream. He got what he wanted, and now he doesn’t need me. He never wanted me. Out of all the questions I could ask, things about my mom and Ryan’s dad—did Ryan even know?
None of those trump my own selfish needs. “Was any of it real?” I ask, my voice thick with emotion, and I don’t even try to hide the single tear that slides down my cheek.
Mr. Collins sighs as Mallard steps back and places the stethoscope around his neck. “He needs rest, Tess. Maybe this conversation can wait until later.”
I swallow the thick lump in my throat, and Roxy licks at my hand. “Right, okay. I’m just going to take Roxy out.”
I won’t put Mr. Collins through the trouble of taking care of me any longer. Frankly, I can’t handle another look from him with his cold eyes.
I’ve lived my whole life unwanted and tossed to the side, nothing more than a second thought.
Now, the one person who wanted me, chose me, and refused to leave me behind is dead.
In the end, even Ryan couldn’t stay. I’m left here, wanting, more than anything, to talk to my best friend and let him tell me how we will fix all of this because my problems were always his problems. He never let me tackle anything alone.
I breathe in the evening air. This place reminds me of the lake house: secluded, quiet, and far from everything that happened the last couple of days.
I’m an idiot for staying here the past two days, waiting for a man to wake up that doesn’t even want me. As I look out over the gently rolling green fields surrounded by wooded forests, who I am clicks into place.
I’m not the girl who let the darkness shove her into a hole while she waited around for life to happen. I’m not drowning myself in booze and living in a smoky haze.
I’ve changed.
And it’s time I show the world just who they’re fucking with.
Thirty-Nine - X
“Enough of your tea,Doc. I need whiskey.” I brace my elbows on my knees and run a tired hand over my face. What I really need is a shower to wash the stench of death off my skin.
“No, you need to heal, and this will help.” He ignores me and shoves a cup of his tepid liquid at me. I scrunch my nose as the smell hits my nostrils and turn my head away. “Doctor’s orders,” he states.
I toss the contents back like it’s the burning amber drink I really want and empty the cup. “Satisfied?” I grumble, setting it on the coffee table.
Doc smirks as he sits on the cushioned chair adjacent to me. “You’ve done some insane stuff in the past, but I think this is the most insane yet.”
