Page 55 of Hemlock

I stand so straight before reaching for the lock that it makes my back ache and my stitches scream in pain, but the sting in my side is a reminder of how dangerous things can be around me, and I never want her to suffer something like I've suffered. The whole reason we weren't supposed to make such connections is to keep people safe, to not have any way for them to twist and turn us. Loyalty to others is dangerous. It's better for everyone involved when we have nothing to lose.

She pops up from the bed, looking as exhausted as I feel, when I open the door. I don't bother closing it behind me again like I did the first time I stepped in here.

"You're free to go," I say, holding out her purse in front of me. "I've been assured that your car keys, watch, and cell phone are in here."

Instead of wavering like a tiny piece of my heart thought would happen, she rushes to me and rips her purse from my grip.

"I'd advise you to keep your experiences to yourself."

She narrows her eyes, and I realize, although I didn't mean it that way, my tone makes it sound like a threat.

"You haven't answered any of my questions."

"And I'm not going to. Use the stairs to get to the main level and you can find your way out from there."

She doesn't argue, doesn't lock her feet in place until I give in to her demands, and she doesn't look back as she walks out of the room with her head held high.

Ihate myself a little more today than I think I ever have, and that's saying something. Normally I live with my hatred like it's a tangible thing that grows inside of me.

The second she's gone, my heart rate kicks up, and it's like my body knows that she's gone forever. There should be a sense of ease inside of me, but there isn't. I know there never will be again. Even feeding that part of me like I've done in the past won't help. My world is forever changed because of her.

I lift my head to walk from the room, but there she is, standing in front of me, and my heart kicks in my chest for a completely different reason, one I don't have the chance to explain before she's right in front of me.

Her chin wobbles some, but I see in her eyes how hard she's fighting to gain control of her emotions.

I don't deserve her. I'll never be able to give her the type of life she deserves. Even her forgiveness for what I got her into is unmerited, but it's a gift I'll readily take.

She lifts her hand as if she's going to cup my cheek and tell me I'm worthy of what she feels for me, she slaps my face instead, hitting me so hard my head turns to the side.

If I were a different man, it might affect me differently, but I don't chase after her. I don't seek retribution.

I stand there in the basement losing track of time and wishing I were a different man.

Chapter 28

Zara

I don't have a clue what I'm going to do.

I drove straight home from that cabin and haven't come into contact with anyone since. Short of sending a text to Tommy about quitting my job at the bar, I haven't even reached out to anyone else. I know I'm going to have to move. Working at the bar was part of the condition of getting this house at such a low-rent cost, but that didn't keep me from blocking Tommy's number after I sent that text. I've also blocked every damn number that has called me since, wondering each time if it was Owen or Hemlock or whatever his damn name is that’s trying to call me.

I can’t let my head get wrapped in what could’ve been because everything I felt was based on lies. It was all fake, all something he wanted me to see or feel so he could manipulate me.

I’ve worked on packing my things which makes me even more depressed because a lot of the stuff I packed and brought from Kentucky was still in boxes. It’s like my subconscious knew I wouldn’t be staying here long and didn’t let me waste time and energy on making this house into a home.

I blow a strand of hair out of my eyes, wondering all the while if shaving my entire head wouldn't be a good choice, but I know better. I know that the urge to change who I am is more about the man who exploited my emotions is the problem not that frustrating strand of hair that refuses to stay pulled back in my hair tie.

The knock does more than startle me. I'm frightened as I stand from my crouched position by the television. I grab my gun, the one I had to reload after—shit I don't even want to think his name—he expertly unloaded the damn thing.

It wasn't the first red flag that he waved right in front of my face, but like I've always done, I've avoided thinking or worrying about them where he was concerned until it was too late. Until I was locked in a basement, not knowing if I'd survive the trip downstairs.

With as steady of a hand as I can manage, I hold the gun up and open the door, only it isn't a stranger sent to kill me or even the man I feel disappointed isn't standing there.

"Seriously?" Tommy asks, using the tip of one finger to lower the gun so it's not right in his face. "Do you even know how to use that thing?"

I don't answer him because honestly, loading it, which was shown to me by the guy at the gun store, is the only thing I know. I hadn't made time to go to the gun range to even practice with the thing. Keeping my finger off the trigger unless I plan to shoot is the extent of my gunslinging skills.

Tommy walks inside my house, and I know I should stop him, but he also owns the place, so I'm not exactly sure where my rights stand, and I hate that he's just one more man in my life who thinks he can dictate what I do.

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