Page 60 of The Villains We Make

“He’s paying you off to walk away,” I say, understanding.

He nods. “A good sum, too. Guilt, I guess. Failed the daughter who could do no wrong.” He drinks his whiskey down and stands. “Au revoir, dear Ophelia,” he says, taking my hand and I think he’s going to kiss it, so I tug it free. He grins. “Don’t you wonder what it was, though?”

“What?”

“I mean, did your father go to prison simply to keep you from your ailing and very wealthy grandfather? Seems strange, doesn’t it? I mean, what could the old man do?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Just wondering if there’s more to the story. Don’t you wonder, Ophelia?”

I shudder.

“People do curious things, don’t they?”

I get up. “Excuse me,” I say, but when I try to walk around him, he grabs my arm. I look at his hand, then up at him. “Let go of me.”

“Don’t you want to hear my side of the story?”

“No. I don’t. I’m done here. I was done the minute I first laid eyes on you. Let go of me, and don’t ever come near me again.”

His hand tightens, grip like a vise as his face contorts, turns ugly in its cruelty, his malevolence toward me a visceral, tangible thing.

He won’t hurt me, I tell myself. He can’t. Not here. Not with so many people around.

I open my mouth to tell him once more to let me go but before I say a word, a hand falls heavy on Chandler’s shoulder. We both look up at the same moment, Chandler craning his neck, me tilting my head up because there, tall and powerful and furious, is Silas Cruz. Here to rescue me again. Always coming for me.

21

OPHELIA

“Get your hands off my wife.”

Chandler is surprised, caught, scared even. He didn’t expect Silas. Me though, had he expected to see me here? How?

He does exactly as Silas says and lets me go and as soon as he does, I slip away, hurrying to the bathroom because Silas lied to me, and I had to learn about his lie from Ethan. He lied when he told me he would always tell me the truth and that is harder to bear than Chandler’s malice.

I stand at the counter and stare at my reflection. I look much like I did the last time I was here. Tired. Sad. Although a little less lost, I guess. But am I? Am I still trusting men I shouldn’t trust? The thought of Silas going behind my back hurts. What reason would he have? And why lie to me so quickly after he promised he was different from the others? Promised he’d prove it to me?

A toilet flushes and I clear my throat, switch on the water. A woman comes out of a stall, very clearly tipsy, and washes her hands at the sink next to mine. She makes some comment about the men at the bar but before I have to speak, the bathroom door slams against the wall and we both turn to find Silas standing there.

I’m not surprised, am I? This is what we do. How we work. He comes for me whether I want him to or not.

I should have left the restaurant when I could. Should have just taken my coat and walked out. But where would I go?

“I think you have the wrong room,” the woman says flirtatiously. “Not that I mind a tall, dark and handsome stranger?—”

“Out,” Silas barks at her, never taking his eyes off me.

The woman is clearly taken aback. I hear her short burst of breath. “Well?—”

He shifts his gaze to her. “Get. Out.”

She glances at me, then hurries past him, and I swallow as he locks the door then turns back to me. He eats the space between us. I face him, setting my jaw and glaring. Because I’m angry too. I’m furious.

“Nice stunt,” he says, a palpable, violent energy in his words.

“Stunt?”

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