But until I know otherwise, I’m keeping my faith in her.
Worrying about her fate combined with the guilt and anger over the deaths has left me with bone-deep exhaustion and weariness no amount of sleep will cure. I need this to be over.
For the first time in my life, I can see happiness on the horizon. I never thought it was in the cards for me. Whenever I would look into the future, all I could see was revenge and death.
My death, specifically. Determined as I have been since I was eleven years old to one day end my father, I never truly believed I would make it out of the encounter alive. I always envisioned the two of us going up in flames together, my sacrifice necessary to ensure his death. Evil has a way of winning, of surviving. It’s the good ones that die young, mourned by family and friends. But the cruel ones? They live longer than they should, wielding their money and power until the very end, perhaps aided by Satan himself, after selling their souls to him.
But now, I can see a glimpse of gold where there was once only darkness. Cruz has managed to do what no one else could; fill my jagged pieces with ones of his own, making me whole once more. Before him, I didn’t know I was merely existing, living one day after the other, my only goal to take down my father.
Cruz, along with Susannah, Tessa, and Rebecca, opened my eyes to a whole new world I had barely known existed. Yes, I’ve seen friendships, watched enough movies where the word love is bandied around as if it is something easily obtained, something everyone else but me had.
I couldn’t understand it, wasn’t able to see myself that way. I thought it was a weakness, something that could be used against me. Like my mother was.
My feet move me over to the windows, and I gracelessly sit on the floor, crossing my legs in front of me. Although I don’t like to think it, they still are a weakness, and when it comes to the women, I find that I’m still holding back a small part of myself. Afraid Vincenzo will take them from me too, adding layer upon layer of guilt and distress to my already overburdened soul.
I feel the same about Cruz, although I’m no longer holding myself back from him. I sometimes feel a little lost. I don’t know how to form healthy relationships, it’s not as if I had any examples to model from my childhood. The woman that went from having never had anything more than a one-night stand to a live-in boyfriend practically overnight is a little overwhelming, to say the least.
I do love him, although I have only just finally admitted it to myself. I haven’t worked up the courage to tell him yet, but if I were honest with myself, I’ve known all along. Since I first saw that composite sketch and had that shiver of déjà vu. I knew he would bring unfathomable changes to my life. I knew that meeting him would be both the end and the beginning of everything.
Cruz calls to the darkest parts of me. He is sin personified. He doesn’t judge, doesn’t hold back. He’s like the Pied Piper, encouraging the darkness to come forth, calling mine to come out and dance with his. If I ever fully lost myself to it, Cruz would jump in with me, and together we could destroy this world while painting it in violent shades of red. He consumes me in a way that almost frightens me with its intensity, yet at the same time, I yearn to burn with him.
He has become the air I breathe and the food I eat, the touch I crave and the acceptance I seek. I get on my knees for no one but would die on mine to give him life.
So now that I can see hope, even in the distance, I’m no longer ready to die. I need more time with Cruz. I want to learn all his secrets, wake up in the morning to his touch, have adventures during the day, and go to bed at night in his arms. I want to taste everything this world has to offer with him by my side to experience it with me.
My hand comes up to cover my chest as it tightens enough to steal my breath. I need more of him, more time with him. My brain chooses this precise moment to parade images before me. Cruz covered in blood, my father standing over him laughing. Cruz strapped to one of the surgical tables, his back arched as terrible screams rip from him. Me prostrate on the ground, his grave yawning above me.
Tears prick my eyes as I swallow down the terror. I may have an army at my back, but I’ve also opened myself up to unimaginable pain. If my father gets a hold of him, hurts him in any way …
Shoving the thoughts aside, I pull myself to my feet. Stepping over to the windows, I press my hands against the cool glass, staring in the direction of my father’s house.
“I’m coming for you, you bastard. And this time I won’t fail.”
It’s been hours and Cruz hasn’t come back to the apartment yet, and I don’t know where he is. He’s not answering his phone, and my fingers tap against my hip as I flounder against all the feelings. This is why I kept my heart locked away, kept it safe. I don’t know how to deal with this. The pain etches across my chest, and I stumble back into the wall, letting it hold me up when my knees threaten to buckle.
Those fucked up pictures are still running through my mind. My blood feels like electrical currents are running through it, loud and buzzing, making my heart beat faster.
I need Cruz. Now. I need his arms around me, the assurance that he’s alive and breathing. That Vincenzo hasn’t somehow found his way into the building and is even now torturing him.
My breath catches in my throat. I want to claw at it, open it wide, let the blood and darkness pour out of me so that I might breathe again.
I can’t do this. I can’t lose him or my friends. The edges of my vision turn black as I gasp for air, convinced I’m dying. The visions my brain keeps showing me get steadily worse, and I want to scream, but there’s no air.
The door opens as my knees buckle under the weight of my panic.
“Dutch!” Cruz shouts, dropping the bags he’s carrying. He races toward me just as all goes dark.
Chapter 49
Cruz
“I’msofuckingembarrassed,”Dutch whines, sitting in my lap.
Brushing her hair to the side, I plant a kiss on the base of her neck. “Why?”
She leans back and raises a brow at me. “I’m an FBI agent. I’ve seen a lot of shit. I’ve been locked in a cage, seen my mother killed in front of me, been kidnapped twice, killed a fuck ton of people. And a fucking panic attack is what takes me out? Me? Fuck’s sake.” She pokes me in the chest. “See what you’ve done to me?”
Arching a brow back, I settle her more firmly on my lap. Ignoring her question, I ask, “What set it off?” She clams up, head dropping as she stares at her feet, which suddenly hold much interest to her. Lifting her head to meet my eyes, I wait patiently. I’m not letting her get away without talking to me. Dutch is one of the strongest people I’ve met but even the most capable can buckle under stress. If something is bothering her so much to make her pass out, then we need to deal with it. I’m not going to let her feel like something is wrong with her or allow her to stick her head in the sand and pretend it didn’t happen.
