Page 110 of Diamond In The Rough

“Right. And I’ll admit I didn’t believe you.”

“But you do now, right?” Run away, Tiia. Get some space and run. “It’s been a while since you thought that stuff.”

“I believe you now.” He brings us to a stop, dropping his hands to my elbows and turning so we stand toe-to-toe. He searches my eyes, finally tender again, finally genuine. But a structure spears up in my peripherals. A little house. A hut of some sort. With stone walls and a narrow chimney protruding from the roof. “I’m sorry I ever treated you like the enemy, Grá. You’ve been nothing but honest with me all along, and I was just…” He pauses and shrugs. “I was an asshole.”

I peek to my left at the cute little cabin in the woods and imagine smoke billowing from the chimney. Maybe rocking chairs out front. A little table to hold icy glasses of soda.

But then I blink and look again.

Instead of the place being whimsical and cute, I notice bars on the windows. A steel door, instead of wood, which completely messes with the aesthetics of what surrounds it.

I peer up at the thick canopy of trees overhead, noticing only now that the sun no longer penetrates and warms the top of my scalp.

In fact, it’s verging on cool out here. The humidity no longer taking my breath away. The heat, no longer hurting my skin.

“Tiia?” Placing his hand beneath my chin, Micah draws my focus back around. “Did you hear me? I’m trying to apologize for my behavior.”

“Um…” I gulp, the sound surely audible to him and every woodland animal within a hundred-mile radius. “I-it’s okay. We already forgave, right?”

“Is there anything you would like to say sorry for? Anything you’ve said? Or done. A lie you’ve told, or an action you’ve committed?”

“I mean…” I peer at the house again. To the steel frames on the windows. The bars that won’t let anyone in who isn’t already in, and won’t let anyone out, if they’re not meant to be out. Then I bring my focus back to Micah and remember a day from forever ago, sitting in a boardroom when my boss tossed a file on the table and barked out a formidable brief that left my heart scrambling.

Micah Malone is the Malone family enforcer. He’ll kill for his brother, on Felix’s command, or to protect Felix. He’ll torture a man to get intel, and then he’ll make that man disappear, never again to be seen. Micah is quiet and deadly. He doesn’t take part in the fanfare the way Felix does. If Micah wants you dead, he’ll do so without announcing it. And he’ll do it slowly, so in the end, you’ll beg for lights out.

“I’m trying to give you a chance here, Grá.” His voice crackles, aching and sad. But all I hear is a threat. A promise. “Own up to your shit, babe. Apologize.”

He knows.

My eyes flare wide, my heart throbbing in my chest until the thud-thud-thud stings.

Oh god, he knows.

Panicked, I spin on my heels, dirt and moss scraping beneath my shoes, and drop my head in preparation to run. But an arm wraps around my stomach before I can take more than a single step, squeezing until my lungs empty and a scream bursts free of my throat.

Then he lifts.

“I gave you a fuckin’ chance.” He turns us around, unphased as I kick my legs out and scrape my nails against his arm. “You could have told me the truth.”

“Let me go!” I slam my feet down and connect my heels with his shins, bruising. Hurting. “Micah! Let me go.”

He stomps toward the little house, his hand digging in to my hip and his heart thudding against my back. “It was all a fuckin’ act. The, I’m in the street, acting the damsel to get your attention.”

“Micah!”

“Then when I call you out on it, you switch it up to the hyper-independent, I can take care of my own shit bullshit.”

“Micah!” I cry out when he shoves the hut door open, the steel panel slamming against the wall inside and echoing back at us. The place is empty. Oh god! It’s empty except for a concrete floor and a single chair, bolted down. “Micah! You need to stop.”

“You’re a fucking Fed!” He charges to the chair and throws me down, slamming my back and legs to the wood and slapping a leather strap around my wrist to keep me still. I spasm under his touch, kicking out. Screaming. Searching for freedom. And all along, Micah works with quiet determination. His face is stony. Terrifying. And his hands are sure. Strong. Emotionally destructive as his injury strains white as he works. He fastens one buckle and quickly goes to work on the second. “A fucking Fed,” he repeats, quieter this time. “A spy.”

“Micah…” My voice cracks and aches. “Please stop. We can make this better.”

“You walked into my world and swore you were decent.” He finishes the second cuff and moves down to trap my legs. “Made me out to be the asshole for not believing your act.” He slams my right foot against the wooden chair leg and wraps the leather cuff around my ankle. “You made me out to be the monster!”

Tears stream over my cheeks, unbridled and without permission. “We can talk about this.”

“But you fuckin’ nailed it,” he chuckles, the sound cold and distant and filled with hatred. “Your job was to infiltrate my life. My home. My family.” He finishes my final cuff and looks into my eyes. Devastation completely and totally destroying us both. “Do you get a bonus for going to bed with me? Extra cash? Maybe a medal and award ceremony for your bravery?”

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