Page 55 of Fool's Gold

He’d said it himself. I belong to him. And with every rough, possessive thrust, he made me believe it.

“You belong to me, so it’s in my right to let you go. I’m bad for you in every single way, Empire.” He whispers into my hair, smoothing the strands, reluctant to release me and all the while telling me he has to.

I don’t understand.

Except, I do.

It’s the same thing he’s said for as long as I can remember. My heart sinks a little more every time he says something out loud, and it’s impossible to ignore the way he hesitates tonight.

The way his touch feels apologetic instead of adoring.

“We can’t be together.”

I shake my head, disbelieving. “No.” Anything but that. I refuse to believe him.

Until he grabs my face and forces me to look at him. Nothing but hard resolve sharpens every plane of his cheekbones, the squareness of his jaw covered in a day’s worth of stubble. His eyes are black and shuttered.

A tremor zips through me.

“We can’t be together. The sooner you realize it, the better it will be for you. I’ll keep you safe, but I’m never fucking you again.”

EIGHTEEN

The light dies in her eyes.

An integral part of what makes Empire so arousing, so vital, is her joy. Even in the worst experiences, she perseveres, and she smiles.

Which made her depression after her parents death so hard to handle. She’d buried herself in her room under her blankets and traded in her smile for a permanent frown.

Over the last few weeks, things have changed again.

And I’d been happy.

She was happy.

I have no business holding her. I have no business kissing her while breaking her heart.

“So that’s it, then? You say we’re together, so we are. You change your mind, and it’s done? I don’t get a say in it?” She’s frozen and trembling beside me.

“Yes.”

“Stop it.” It’s a relief to see her heartache shift into anger, and feel the bite of her nails in my skin when her fingers curve into claws. “Stop it right now.”

“Why do you think I’ve been keeping my distance?” I push her away and stalk over to the bottle of liquor I left on the kitchen island.

Grabbing it, I choke the neck, wrench off the cap, and chug. Waiting for her to launch herself at me and attack the way I deserve.

She’s not alone in her pain.

There are too many sharp objects in the kitchen if this takes a turn for the worst. I might deserve a knife in the gut, but I don’t want to feel the sting tonight.

Rather than wait for her to realize it, too, I stride down the hall toward the living room. The rustle of clothing marks how swiftly she follows me.

“Tell me what changed, Marcus.”

Her demand slides through my skin like a well-thrown spear.

A part of me dies, but I’ve got to tell her. It’s the only altruistic thing I’ve ever done, and it slices me open, causing me to bleed out on the floor. No matter how badly it hurts me, it’s worse for Empire. Now.

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