Page 74 of Devil's Riches

I turned to look at him again, wishing my heart would stop beating so fast. “What?”

“I think I know you pretty well by now,” he said, tentatively resting a hand on my thigh again. “And you’re the strongest person I’ve ever met. But I think that strength can be a double-edged sword.”

I frowned. “How so?”

“Because you want to keep it up all the time. You can’t stand the thought of being seen as weak or dependent on anyone else, and you rarely ask for help because of that. It’s your biggest vulnerability.”

He was right, of course. I couldn’t stand the thought of being seen as weak. It never occurred to me that it could leave me vulnerable, though.

“What are you trying to say?” I asked in a low voice, wishing he couldn’t see straight through me.

He lifted a palm. “I’m not saying that I think the only reason you’re refusing to forgive me is because you don’t want me to perceive you as weak,” he said, even though he’d be partially right if he thought that. “I’m just saying it as a general thing that I’ve noticed about you.”

“Why?”

“Because I want you to know this.” He squared his jaw and looked at me. “I won’t hurt you ever again, but with everything that’s going on right now, I’m worried someone else will. Like what happened when Greg took you. So I just want you to know… you don’t always have to be strong and independent. If you need help or support, I’m here. For anything. That’s not going away.”

“I’m staying here, if that’s what you’re worried about,” I replied. “Going home right now would be a mistake.”

He went quiet for a moment. Then he nodded again. “Okay. Good.”

Suddenly emotion was rising thickly in my throat, constricting my breath. I thought I could swallow it, but a sob convulsed me.

“What’s wrong?” Nate asked, brows drawing together as he looked at me.

“Just a cold shiver,” I mumbled. “Anyway, I really need to use the bathroom, so…”

I let my voice trail off as another sob rose in my chest. Nate nodded. “Right. Yeah.”

He unlocked the door and let me out of the car. Once the house was open, I practically ran to the nearest bathroom on the first floor.

I locked the door behind me and sank to the tiled floor. I was shaking now, tears rolling down my cheeks. I wasn’t even sure why I was crying, but I couldn’t stop it. My mind kept spinning and spinning, and the sobs kept bubbling up in my throat.

I finally managed to pull myself together for long enough to splash my face with water from the sink. The shock of the cold made me suck in a deep breath, and with that, I was able to calm myself down.

I wiped the mascara stains from my cheeks, took another deep breath, and exited the bathroom. A heavenly scent was wafting through the mansion, and I followed it until I reached the kitchen. Nate was in there, dishing some sort of French casserole into a plastic container.

If he knew I’d been crying, he didn’t let on. He simply motioned toward a drawer. “Could you grab some forks?”

I did as he said. “What’s that?” I asked, eyes lingering on the container.

“Something Colette made. I found it in the freezer,” he said. “I figured the better the food smells, the more desperate Greg and Mom will be to get their hands on it.”

I nodded slowly. “Hopefully it’ll make them talk.”

“Yeah. We have the twelve family names, but it’s not enough.”

I nodded again. He was right. Getting the twelve names on our own was a major coup for us, but it still wasn’t enough to take the Golden Circle down. We had no idea about the structure of the organization or who the most culpable family members were, and we didn’t have any solid evidence either, aside from the mausoleum tapes which only implicated Greg Lockwood.

If we couldn’t get him or Annalise to talk, our plan would become hopelessly lodged on the rocks.

In silence, we went outside and traipsed through the woods until we reached the bunker. Nate unlocked the hatch and lifted it up. Then he stepped down into the passage. I stayed a few feet behind him at his request, just in case Annalise and Greg tried anything.

We didn’t need to worry. The two of them were curled up on the ground, pale and listless. Annalise had untied herself, but she was far too weak to move after so many days without food.

When she saw us, she pushed herself up onto her elbows and leaned her back against the wall. “Please,” she rasped out. “Don’t do this to me anymore.”

I knew exactly how she felt right now. Her empty stomach would be painfully clenching and unclenching every few seconds, and the feral hunger would have overwhelmed every thought in her head.

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