Page 9 of Cast Stones
Eyes are the window to the soul. Lips can tell lies, but the eyes can’t hide the truth. Sin reveals itself through a silent stare, not a roaring confession.
I watch her closely, intrigued by her reaction. She’s rattled, and rightly so. I’d be offended otherwise. She assumed I died that night she escaped, and in a way I did. Ten years without her was the worst kind of hell to be in.
Her pure heart bleeds all over her pretty white shirt as her tight grip on the metal chair slowly eases. Second by second, that blissful weakness disappears as her shields come crashing back down.
I watch her glance up at the security camera, but there’s no audio.
Client confidentiality.
“Hair,cara mia?”
“Don’t call me that,” she cries, then blushes as if outbursts are an uncommon occurrence with her.
Another change.
When we first met on that sidewalk, she wanted to live, and I wanted to die. She fought like a hellcat. She resisted until her limbs ached and her breath ran ragged.ThatMadigan had fucking welcomed outbursts like a summer shower.
My case file is waiting on the table for her.She forces a tight smile as she pulls out the chair opposite me, brushing that damn hair out of her face again.
It’s a professional smile.
It’s a bullshit smile.
That’s another thing lips can do: tell a thousand lies without a single word being uttered.
“Haircuts are what people do when they don’t want to be found, Mr.Vincent,” she clips, but the shaky cadence betrays her newfound composure. “Yet, here we are.”
The shackles around my wrists rattle as I clench my hands. I want nothing more than to snap them in half and push that red away. I need to see those goddamn eyes.
Look at me when you say it, cara mia. Then I’ll believe you.
I need to see if she still remembers.
Instead, she glances at the security camera again. “So, why am I here, Lu—” She stops herself just in time. “I mean, Mr. Vincent,” she clarifies, aiming her gaze just shy of my face. “And please do tell me how you think Iowe you.”
Her movements are stiff and distant, but she forgets how well I know her. How I’ve memorized every inch of her skin. How every smile, every touch, every breath is branded into my flesh.
I fucking know her.
That’s why instead of answering, I sit back and watch her.
Watch her lick her lips.
Watch her hook her thumbs in between her index and middle fingers.
Watch her open the file and shuffle the same stack of papers six times.
All with her eyes lowered.
Never hide your eyes from me, cara mia. I’ll know you’re lying. And there’s so much sin to lie about.
I see right through that crisp black pantsuit she wears like a coat of armor. She’s playing a role. She’s drawing a mask across those delicate features every morning in order to fight her own demons. I did my research. I know what her colleagues call her. Her climb to the top of a male-dominated mountain isn’t because her ego needs glory; it’s because her soul craves power.
The same power I took from her at sixteen.
Power I’m here to take again.
“Interesting career choice,” I say, nodding to her professional-looking blazer.
