Page 77 of Guarded from Sabotage

Forget not crying.

My eyes go damp as I press my lips to hers. “I love you, Sarah. Thank you for hanging on for me.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

SARAH

I still can’t wrap my mind around it.

A woman I’ve never met orchestrated the sabotage of my life and plotted to kill me.

Not just plotted—she nearly did. Twice. If not for Dante, she might have succeeded.

And all of it because of a terrible lie.

Why couldn’t Blake have owned up to his crime? Why did he have to paint me as the villain? He had so many choices back then—going to a local college, getting a job, seeing a counselor, using the mandated community service as an opportunity instead of a punishment—but instead, he squandered all of them.

Blake didn’t just ruin his own life, he ended up taking his sister down with him.

It’s hard to hate Tamara, even after everything she’s done.

Do I wish she’d looked into my accusations instead of taking Blake at his word? Yes. A thousand times, yes.

But at the heart of it all, she was a sister grieving the loss of her beloved brother. Does that mean I forgive what she did? Ofcourse not. What Tamara did to me was beyond reprehensible. But I understand why she did it.

If I’d known back then how it would all turn out, would I have still turned him in?

I don’t know.

On one hand, Blake needed to be stopped before he could hurt another woman. Even now, I still feel guilty for not reporting the assault sooner.

Maybe if I were the only one affected, the answer would be easier. But I wasn’t. Dante nearly died in the car accident. Ivan spent weeks in jail for a crime he didn’t commit. And Blake… he hurt me. Traumatized me. But I never wanted him dead.

I guess it’s good I can’t go back, because I’m not sure what decision I’d make.

“Sarah.” Dante perches on the end of the couch and gently squeezes my foot. “Do you need a pain pill? It’s been six hours since your last one, so it’s safe to take another.”

“Not yet.” I push myself up from the mountain of pillows behind me, trying not to wince as a flare of pain shoots through my side.

“Let me help you.” Dante leans over, slipping his arm behind me, and carefully raises me to a seated position. Then he rearranges my pillows with the intensity of a surgeon before sitting back to look at me, his brow pinched and gaze dark with worry. “You need to be careful. Your ribs?—”

“I know.” There’s little likelihood of me forgetting about my two fractured ribs, given that they’re shrieking their disapproval every time I move. “I’m trying to be careful. But the doctor said I should sit up as much as possible.”

“Yes,” he concedes, “but with your shoulder, and all the bruises, and it just happened…” Dante trails off, his face crumpling. “I hate seeing you in so much pain, Sarah. I’d do anything to make it better.”

My heart twists in a knot. Poor Dante. I know he’s feeling guilty about me being hurt, even though it’s not remotely his fault. But I heard him talking to Niall in the hallway while I was being examined by the emergency room doctor, his tone low and agonized as he said, “If I’d just brought her to the interview, this wouldn’t have happened. Why did I go to Austin? It was too soon. I should have known something was wrong.”

How could he? If Tamara managed to trick the San Antonio police department and the FBI, how could Dante be expected to discover such an unlikely suspect?

But I know that’s an argument I’m not going to win, at least not when everything is so fresh. I’ve been home for twelve hours and Dante hasn’t left my side for more than a few minutes at a time—dashing into the kitchen to get me something to eat or taking a lightning-fast shower—and practically sprinting back to make sure I haven’t magically disappeared.

Although, as I was just abducted, I guess it’s not a completely unreasonable worry.

As I watch Dante struggle to control his emotions, my own pain shifts to the side. Reaching for him with my uninjured arm, I say, “Sit. Please.”

He eyeballs the couch, frowning. “There’s no room, Sarah. I don’t want to hurt you.”

I scooch my legs up and pat the empty cushion. “Here. I can put my legs on your lap this way. And—” My throat gets thick. “I need to feel you. Please?”

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