Page 22 of Ruined

"I don't understand why you thought you needed to do that alone," I said, while still trying to process everything. "We would have gone with you. You're the one who calls this a family, but you felt like you needed to do that by yourself?"

Her tongue darted over her lips. "I wanted to face him myself. I wanted to look him in the eye and know he was another piece of the past I was putting behind me."

"You could have done that with us there," I insisted. I ran through the conversation in my mind and sat back.

Realisation struck me like a hammer.

"I should have seen it," I said, trying to maintain my composure. "Now I think about it, it's fucking obvious. You were gone for five years. So was the Sparrow."

If realisation was a hammer, it hit right on the head of the nail. She didn't move. Didn't breathe.

"You didn't need to hire an assassin to kill Stefan Lowe," I concluded. "You are one. Or you were."

"I still am," she said softly.

I couldn't understand why the hell that was hot, but it fucking was. Mina DiMarco was the Sparrow. Of all people in the fucking world. She was right here, in Reuben's house, where I also lived. Lying on a bed wrapped in blankets, cracked but not broken.

No wonder she survived all those years. She would have learned a variety of techniques to control her emotions, all of which she would have used, possibly daily.

"You're the fucking Sparrow," I said. My brain spun. "You know Reuben has to know. Gianni too. We can't keep this from them. If you don't tell them, I will."

"Or I could kill you to keep you from saying anything, and make it look like an accident," she said. Her expression was so mild, I wondered what else she got away with.

She might be the best actor I ever met. Sweet on the outside, deadly on the inside.

The perfect woman. Fuck, apparently Reuben and Gianni weren't the only ones who were gone.

"You wouldn't do that," I said.

She cocked her head at me. "Wouldn't I?"

"No, you wouldn't," I said. "First of all, you would devastate Reuben and Gianni. Secondly, you still need me to find Kurt. Third, I know you have a thing for me. Just like you do for them."

She straightened her head and hummed, before replying to each point, one at a time. "They'd get over it. That's an assumption, and that's also an assumption."

I lowered my hands to my thighs and smirked. "No they wouldn't, and both of those are correct. Right now, you're thinking of kissing me."

I'd kiss her if I hadn't found her in a huddle of blankets. Those photos would set her back. Freaking her out would do even worse.

Fuck Kurt fucking Lasalle. And fuck Stefan Lowe for keeping that phone. And fuck him harder for taking that video in the first place. They were both sick. She was right, Stefan got what he deserved. I just wished I'd been there to see it.

"How do you fit that ego inside this house?" she asked.

"It's not ego, it's fact," I said. "I'm actually very humble."

She snorted softly. "You're full of shit."

"You wouldn't be the first to say that," I replied. "Probably not the last either. None of that means I'm wrong."

"You're right," she whispered. She wasn't talking about her attraction to me. "You would have gone with me. If you had, I wouldn't have seen those photos. Not if one of you found that phone first."

"No fucking way we'd let you look," I agreed. I wanted to bleach my eyeballs after seeing the video of Kurt. All of this must be a million times worse for her.

"He doesn't get to win," she said in a shaky voice. "I won't let him."

"We won't let him," I corrected. "Family, remember? Even if we are dysfunctional." That was an understatement.

"Right." She raised a hand tentatively and pressed the tips of her fingers against my lips.

---