She looks at the food like she doesn’t trust it, then back up at me. “I’m not.”
“Good.” I nudge my chin at the plate.
She sighs. Takes a small bite, chews slow.
I grab my own plate, and we eat in silence. I’m not happy that once again she leaves more than half her plate untouched but, whatever, I’m not wasting good venison. I grab it and polish it off.
Then I set the dirty dishes aside and lean forward.
“Now you’re going to tell me everything.”
Her lashes lower, hands tight on the crust. “I told you?—”
“Not enough,” I snap. “Not even close. Why the hell are you running? And if it’s true someone’s after you, then tell me who’s chasing you.”
Her eyes flash, stubborn as ever. “It’s true! I’m not a liar.”
I can’t help my snort. Or ignore the hurt that chases across her face, but I harden my gut against it. She’s already shown me she possesses enough wiles to down a water buffalo just by fucking breathing.
She stares off to the side for a long minute, until my growl brings her gaze slamming into mine. “I…I’m running from my ex. I don’t know what he’ll do if I don’t go home.”
Every muscle in my body locks.He.
Jealousy slams through me so fast I almost bare my teeth.
I plant my forearms on the table, lean across the plate, crowding her space. “Start at the beginning.”
Her throat works. She sets the mug down with shaking fingers. “We met three years ago when he came to my market stall to order some flowers. We started seeing each other, and I grew the stall into a flower delivery and venue-decorating business. I handled the decorations, arrangements,deliveries. He managed the money, the marketing. But he…he got controlling. Said things…did things.”
“Did he fucking hurt you?” My voice is a deadly whisper. A promise of carnage I haven’t heard since I left the ring. But while that was all for show, this is very much real. Just like the last time I used it. On my manager. And the ex I caught in his bed.
Lily’s head bows, and I see red.
I have to breathe in and out a dozen times before I can reach out, cup her chin, and raise her head. “You don’t fucking bow your head when you talk about him, you hear me? You raise your chin high, face the bastard head-on.”
Her eyes widen, but after a tense moment she nods.
“Good. Go on.”
Her face pales. She nods. “Two weeks ago I found a ring. Hidden in the closet. I knew he was going to propose.”
Something feral growls low in my chest. “So he wanted to go from abusive boyfriend to piece of shit husband?” I grind out, already hating the word.
She flinches, then keeps going, words tumbling fast, like if she stops, she’ll never start again. “I told him maybe we should go to counseling first. That I wasn’t ready to take the next step. That we needed help.”
Her voice cracks. “He flipped. Said something was wrong with me. That I didn’t want him because I was broken. That no one else would ever want me either because…because I grew up…alone.”
I slam my fist down on the table. The jars rattle, water sloshing. Her eyes fly wide.
“Son of a fucking bitch,” I snarl.
Her lip trembles. “I know you think I’m hiding things, but that’s the truth.”
My chest heaves. Every instinct I’ve buried for years screams to find the bastard, drag him up this mountain, and bury himalive. Somewhere close by so I can take a piss on his grave every day.
I force my hands flat, breathing hard. “What else?”
She hesitates. Her fingers twist in her lap. “He made me believe I was useless. That I had no one else. That I’d be nothing without him. So I left.”
