Page 75 of Jessica, Not Her Real Name
“If you want me to say I’m sorry for that,” he bit out, “I ain’t.”
Her breath hitched.
“I’d do the exact same thing again to any other man who laid a hand on you.”
Instinctively, she flinched.
Weck’s voice whispered in her mind.Volatile. Possessive. Dangerous.
No,she shot back.Not possessive. Protective.
Please, let there be a difference.
Her throat tightened. She forced herself to ask the question she had been dreading. “Why did you come to my house that first time?”
The anger in his eyes wavered, replaced by something raw, something unguarded.
He exhaled sharply. Looked away. Shook his head.
“The first time,” he admitted, voice hoarse, “I went there to scare you. To make sure you didn’t go to the cops.”
Julia shut her eyes. Nodded. She had already known the truth, but hearing it still stung.
“Why didn’t you?” she asked.
His voice was quieter now, almost a whisper. “Because as soon as I saw you again, I knew I could never hurt you.”
For the first time since she’d sat down, warmth flickered in her chest. A sliver of hope.
But then, just as quickly, the light dimmed. His jaw worked, and that same fire flared behind his eyes. “I just wish that went in reverse.”
The words struck like a blade between her ribs.
She inhaled sharply. “Daniel, please. Take the deal. If not for yourself, then for Sebastián. They said they’d help him, too.”
His voice turned to a snarl. “Jesus fucking Christ, you don’t get it, do you? They ain’t gonna help him. They fucking shot him.”
He ran a hand down his face, exhaling harshly. When he resurfaced, his expression had hardened. The cold glint in his eyes sent a shiver down her spine.
“You told them everything, didn’t you?” he asked. “Everything I told you. About the heroin. The pipeline. InterTruck.”
She swallowed something sharp. Nodded.
His lips curled into a humorless smile. “Well, I ain’t no snitch. If they kill me, they kill me. But at least I’ll die knowing that.”
Her grip on the phone tightened. She could feel something unraveling, something slipping through her fingers.
Hope.
Tears burned in her eyes. She thought of the way he had looked at her when she’d said yes to his proposal. Like she had just lit a fire in a world that had been nothing but dark.
That was the man she loved.
Or had, anyway.
When she met his gaze again, his expression was desolate.
And in that instant, she saw him—really saw him. The eight-year-old who had declared his love to his babysitter. The eleven-year-old learning to drive his dad’s old Chevy. The teenager who had been forced to survive in a world that never gave him a chance.
