Page 99 of The Prodigal

“Did you eat tonight?” I snap. “I didn’t hear the delivery driver deliver food to your door.”

The fucker actually grins. “Why? Are you offering to let me finish my lunch?”

He’s not talking about real food. He’s talking about finishing his pussy platter from earlier.

“Sure,” I clip. “Right after I stab you.”

I throw myself down into the other plastic chair at my door and ignore his laughter.

“You’re in a feisty mood tonight,” he observes. “It’s getting me hard.”

Of course, it is.

Because he freaking likes me.

I open the bag and pass him a container of fries. “Eat. I’ll feel guilty if I stab a hungry man.”

He plucks out a fry, holding it up like it’s some kind of fond memory. “Are you planning to give me a running start before you try stabbing me, or do you prefer me naked, taking it like a man?”

The fact that I find him incredibly charming right now is concerning. This man has kept secrets from me. I shouldn’t trust him.

“I want you to tell me something,” I blurt out angrily.

He takes a bite of his fry, chewing slowly. “All right.”

“If I wasn’t Albrecht’s daughter and you didn’t want revenge against him, would we have been friends?”

He picks up another fry and puts it to his lips. “No.”

My heart sinks, and tears sting my eyes.

“I don’t have friends.” He continues explaining as he blows out a breath and looks to the sky. “But even if I did,” he admits softly, “you wouldn’t have been one of them.”

Something in my chest feels like it shatters, broken shards of glass filtering down through my veins. Every inch of me hurts.

“You would have been so muchmorethan a friend.”

His jaw clenches steadily, enhancing the sharp edges of his face as those haunting brown eyes lock on to mine. “You would have been my Eve.”

My lips quiver at his admission, but it’s not until he finishes his declaration that I sob.

“And I would have been your Adam.”

I couldn’t sleep.

It wasn’t until my crime show ended that I decided to check on Remington. Something told me he didn’t go inside after I left in tears. I couldn’t face him, realizing that even though he did love me, it changed nothing. He was still getting revenge against Albrecht—against my birth father.

Everything is so fucked up that nothing makes sense, except the fact that Remington fell in love with the leverage he needed to blackmail the man who ruined his life.

I can understand his pain.

I even understand his betrayal.

I just don’t remember either of them stinging this bad.

Opening the door, I’m not surprised to find Remington in front of my room, asleep in his plastic chair, like a soldier standing—or sitting—guard. It’s hard to look at him, to see him so kind—so broken.

Leaning against the doorframe, I watch his chest rise and fall rapidly, like he’s fighting even in his sleep. Taking in his twitching hands, I notice the phone in his lap lighting up with text messages.

---