I’ve never uncovered that layer of the tragedy before. I focused on my body, my emotional and mental healing. And that was all right at the time.
I know that, but tonight Baldo found out someone interfered with our future. And yes, he got angry, but I needed more from him, so I didn’t let him express that anger fully.
I glance at the broken lamp and table. Shit. I should have forced him to talk to me. Tell me what it all unraveled.
But here I was, just taking and taking. Forcing him to keep his own reactions bottled up inside him.
Fuck. I turn to face him, ready to wake him up and make him talk.
His breath is even but not peaceful, and his face is in a frown like he’s having a bad dream.
The shy dawn casts light over his body. The man is gorgeous. My eyes trail over his chest, rising and falling, his chiseled abdomen and his arms.
I take a moment discovering his tattoos. The symbols look like Japanese characters. I lean closer, relishing the scent of the man. It’s a mixture of sweat, sex, and something earthy I vaguely remember.
I focus on his forearm. The symbols repeat. It looks like it might be one word on repeat in different size and type, but always the same.
Curiosity burns inside me, and I decide to let him sleep and force him to talk and let out what my confession caused in him in the morning.
My phone has been charging on the bedside table, and I grab it and take a picture of him and his tattoos.
The stupid camera clicks and Baldo stirs. I slide the phone under my pillow.
He mumbles something and lifts his arm to cover his face with his forearm. The move uncovers another tattoo I didn’t notice before.
My heart speeds up as I stare at the image inked into his skin, right on the side of his heart.
Not on display on his chest, but rather hidden—protected under his arm—is a map of Japan.
It’s just a simple outline of the cluster of islands that form the country. And in the middle of it, there is a heart where the capital city lies.
Tokyo.
Chapter25
Baldo
She’s sleeping peacefully. That’s good. That’s good.
I want her peaceful. The selfish bastard in me hopes I brought some of that peace to her.
The peace I don’t think I will ever find again.
For the longest time, I needed to know why she didn’t come, and now I know. And fuck it. It brought exactly zero comfort.
I had always thought finding out her reasons would bring me closure. Fucking hell. Now I know, and I burn with vengeance. With rage. With the need to destroy.
That man stole from me.
He stole from her more. I know that, but my mind still goes to what I lost.
He stole her from me.
He rewrote our story.
And I want to fucking kill him.
I have to find him.