It’s hard to look at him. The purplish-black marks left by Leo’s violent beating stand out against his pale skin.
Seeing him like this stirs unwanted things inside me. I hate that he’s in pain, even after he caused me so much. It’s fucked up, this tenderness for a man who hurt me.
As I discreetly examine his swollen cheek, the anger I harbor wars with the instinct to reach out and comfort him.
I wish I could trust his reasons for helping me when I’ve clearly moved on.
But I can’t trust him.
He catches me staring, his eyes shadowed with guilt and something else. I quickly avert my gaze, not wanting him to see the conflict in my expression.
I don’t want him to think I’ve forgiven him, because I haven’t. But I can’t deny the empathy and old feelings that well up at the sight of him bruised and underweight.
“You should get those looked at.” I keep my distance, arms crossed defensively over my chest.
“You’re looking at them. That’s all I need.”
“Stop.”
“Stop what?”
“You know what.”
We stand there in awkward silence, the air oppressive. It’s confusing, frustrating, the lines between love and hate blurring beyond recognition.
Leo’s heavy boots thud against the ornate rugs, his suspicious nature propelling him into the main room with high painted ceilings and intricate moldings. Kody follows closely, pulling me along while observing every luxurious detail with a feral wariness.
They both pause when they recognize the couch.
The one I handpicked when Monty and I married.
The one Denver occupied when he made the video.
“No one will break in here again.” Monty’s eyes, like chips of glacial ice, assess us with unsettling intensity. His carved, clean-shaven jawline gives him a stern, intimidating allure that only heightens the air of authority that clings to him. “No one will step onto this island without me knowing about it.”
I believe him. But that doesn’t protect me if the danger is already here.
He strolls toward the couch, circling it, his body a study in controlled strength. Lean muscles flex beneath a tailored suit that hints at the boardroom and clandestine deals made in quieter, darker corners.
Rich, inky black hair rakes back stylishly from a forehead that’s too smooth for a forty-nine-year-old man.
Wait.
He had a birthday since I saw him last. We both did.
“You turned fifty.” I follow Leo and Kody around the room, watching them snoop through every nook and cranny. “How did you celebrate?”
“I was on my way out of Whittier after…” He straightens the cuffs of his sleeves with jerky movements as if trying to distract himself from a memory. “It was a long weekend of bad news. I wasn’t in the mood to celebrate.”
“Because you learned that Denver lived.”
“Yes.” His shoulders hunch, a subtle inward collapse of a man burdened by his own decisions. “That’s when I came to the horrifying realization he’d taken you.”
I’m sorry.
The apology sticks in my throat. I won’t say it because I’m not to blame. None of this is my fault.
“Did you celebrate your thirtieth birthday?” He cocks his head. “It wasn’t mentioned in your journal. You were with him.” His gaze settles on Kody, who releases a low growl.