Page 69 of Tortured Hearts
I open my mouth, ready to tick off his deceptions, only nothing comes out. Instead, thinly veiled warnings flash through my mind.
“I’m no hero, Becca. If you believe nothing else about me, believe that.”
“So don’t paint me as some fucking shiny hero with a kink in his cape.”
He may have skirted around the truth. He may have stretched so many holes it became unrecognizable. But in the end, no, Gianni Marchesi never lied to me.
“I hate you,” I murmur.
“No, you don’t. You hate the fact youwantto hate me but can’t. Know why?”
“Does it matter? You’ll tell me, regardless.”
“Because you’ve realized that truth and honesty are idealistic fallacies only demanded by liars.” The twin flames in his eyes ignite, and I lose my breath.It’s back.Thathooded dominance. The uncaged, rawness that’s thinned every line I’ve ever drawn. “Because that clear-cut line between love and hate no longer exists,” he continues, his voice dropping another octave. “I claimed your body, your soul, and your mind, then freed them through darkness. You can’t hate me, Becca, because youareme.”
It feels as if he’s reached into the deepest, vilest part of me and pulled it inside out.
“You’re wrong.”
“Am I? You’re the psychiatrist, here. Weren’t you the one always insisting the mind is the greatest manipulator of all?” Crooking his index finger, he skims it from my chin down the length of my neck. “Turn that mirror around, Dr. Brennan. Do you feel how your pulse races when I touch you? That’s not morality,cara mia. So ask yourself… Are you vilifying me because of who I am or how I make you feel?”
In all my years as a psychiatrist, I’ve never had someone steal my weapons only to fire them back at me. Shaken, I bat his hand away. “Let me go.”
I speak the words firmly, but as usual, he sees through them to the scared little girl who desperately wants to be saved. “You know I can’t do that.”
“Then take me out of here yourself,” I plead, my heart sinking. “You keep telling me the Devil never leaves, but does that vow last forever or until my last breath?”
“Becca—”
“I want to hate you,” I choke out. “Not for who or what you are, but because even after all you’ve put me through this still bleeds your name.” I clutch at the fabric covering my heart. “It still aches for you. It still lo…” My breath shudders as I inhale that forbidden word.
His arctic expression turns molten. “It still…what?”
He’s right; truthisan uglyreflection.
“It still longs to trust you,” I say instead, “and that’s a bridge riddled with so many cracks it should’ve already collapsed.” I shake my head, unshed tears burning my eyes. “So if you want me to believe in you—if you truly care about me like you claim to—you need to set me free.”
“You still don’t see it, do you?” The muscles in his jaw tic as he stalks toward me. I stumble backward, but it’s useless. There’s nowhere to go. My back is literally against the wall. “My beautiful butterfly, what did I warn you I’d do once I caught you?”
“Tear off my wings.” It’s a threat I always knew would someday come to fruition. “So that’s what you want? Me, broken and helpless?”
“No, strong and transformed.” He slides his hand through my hair, the low tone of his natural Jersey drawl sparking a dangerously familiar melody. “What does a wingless creature have to do to rise from the ashes?”
I’m about to launch a sarcastic counterstrike when his question sinks its roots deep inside my mind, ripping through my pride to reveal a truth that’s been there all along.
One he made clear in our final moments in that hospital room.
“Tomorrow will never come without putting an end to today.”
“It has to ignite into flames,” I whisper, tipping my head back in a silent offering.
“The moment you surrendered to me, youbecameme, Becca.” His grip tightens, the delicious hint of pain diluting my fear as he brushes his lips down the side of my neck. “You’re not a helpless butterfly anymore. You’re a fucking phoenix.”
“Fire.” I breathe the word like a prayer. “It always comes back to fire.”
The thought consumes me as his mouth crashes against mine. “Fire is death.”Kiss.“Fire is rebirth.”Kiss.“Fire isours.”
The words sear into me as our passion explodes, and I melt against him, inhaling the scent of destruction. I’m done trying to convince myself we’re shards of broken glass instead of missing pieces from the same puzzle.
