Page 73 of Devil's Riches

I chewed on the inside of my cheek as I mulled it over. Part of me couldn’t blame him for thinking I was a killer for so long. After all, I was the daughter of an alleged mass-murderer, and the evidence stacked against me was extremely damning.

Another part of me—a much bigger part—wanted to leap over to the driver’s seat and claw at Nate’s face. I told you so, I’d scream as I did it. I fucking told you so!

Nate cleared his throat, breaking the fraught silence between us. “I’m sorry, Lexie. And I’m sorry I didn’t say it sooner,” he said, eyes meeting mine.

“Thanks,” I murmured. I wasn’t quite sure what else to say.

“I know you said you feel safer here at the estate with all the shit that’s going on, but I want you to know you’re free to leave if you change your mind,” he went on. “You can go home, if that’s what you feel like doing. You can go back to your classes. You can do whatever you want. You can even turn me in. I can’t say I’d blame you after all the shit I’ve done.”

I went silent for a while, staring out at the stars in the sky. “I’m not going to turn you in,” I finally said, looking back at Nate.

His brows lifted. “Why?”

I could’ve sworn there was a hopeful flicker in his eyes as he spoke, but it was gone before I could be certain.

Because a delusional little part of my brain is convinced it loves you, despite all the shit you did to me, and I can’t send you to prison as long as that part of me still exists,I wanted to say.

“Because I need your help with all of this Golden Circle stuff,” I said instead.

“Right.” He straightened his shoulders and turned his head back to the dashboard. “That makes sense.”

Even though he’d just agreed with me, I got the distinct impression that I hadn’t given him the answer he wanted to hear. The expression on his face was one of frustration and disappointment, and it made my heart compress, like someone was squeezing it with a fist.

He turned back to look at me a moment later. “I think I already know the answer to this question, but I need to ask it anyway,” he said.

I tilted my chin upward. “What is it?”

He rubbed his jaw and dropped his gaze. “Would you ever forgive me?” he asked, voice low and filled with trepidation.

Somehow, I knew that question was coming before he said it, but it shocked me anyway.

With a pounding heart, I turned my head away and bit the inside of my cheek. There were two sides of me, silently warring in my mind.

It was a misunderstanding,one side insisted.

Yeah, a cataclysmic misunderstanding,the other side replied. One that led to you being tortured for weeks and permanently scarred, mentally and physically.

It’s not entirely his fault,the first side shot back. The world he grew up in made him like this. Look at his family. His childhood.

I teetered on the edge of saying yes, I could consider forgiveness, but suddenly a single word flashed in my mind. It came from somewhere deep inside me; from a well of grief, anger, and outrage.

No.

I knew then that that was the only answer I could give to Nate, even if part of me didn’t agree with it.

What kind of person forgave something so despicable? And what kind of woman would I be if I told Nate that not only did I forgive him, I was also semi-convinced that I had some sort of feelings for him? Would I ever be able to respect myself again, knowing that I ran right back into my abuser’s arms even though I’d been given a chance to leave? Would I even be able to look at myself in the mirror?

Also, if Nate returned my feelings, what kind of life would I be setting myself up for?

I could just imagine the stories I’d have to tell my future children. Your daddy accused me of murder, and he was sure he was right, so he took me, held me in a cell, starved me, beat me, electrocuted me, and cut me until I proved my innocence. Then we got together and lived happily ever after!

As those dark thoughts filtered through my mind, the words were out before I could stop them. “No. I can’t.”

Nate nodded slowly. “It’s okay. If I were you, I wouldn’t want to forgive me either.”

His words stabbed at my heart. I closed my eyes and rubbed at the middle of my forehead, trying to dispel the sudden ache there. “We should go inside,” I said.

“Wait. One more thing.”

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