Page 63 of Cain
“You don’t trust people easily, right?” he asks.
I tense, my fingers tightening around my glass. “Should I?”
He exhales softly. “No. Not always. But I’ve found that trust isn’t about blind faith; it’s about knowing who’s worth the risk. And sometimes, you find those people in the most unexpected places.”
I don’t respond. I don’t know how to. But for the first time in a long while, I don’t feel the immediate need to run.
He clears his throat. “LA has a beautiful side as well,” he says, stroking his clean-shaven chin. “City of angels.”
“I have to disagree with that. I’ve met a few demons here.”
He chuckles and then pauses, lowering his green eyes to the ground. “You know, sometimes demons make things in your life more interesting.”
I can’t help but wonder … does he know?
Of course he knows; everyone in here knows I am a psycho’s puppet.
“Patience, Miss Ružicková.” He raises his eyes again on mine. “Rome wasn’t built in a day.”
I exhale slowly.Patience.As if I have a choice. As if freedom is something I can bargain with.
I need to change the topic and be straight with him. Maybe I’ll catch him off guard.
“Why does he keep me trapped here?”
“Cain always has a reason for what he does,” he states before even thinking about it, as if he doesn’t have to. As if he was waiting for my question.
I scoff, unable to believe what he says. “Do you excuse him?”
“I don’t. But I can understand him.”
“Can anyone actually understand him?”
“To me, he’s just a broken boy.”
“He’s not a boy,” I snap, my voice sharp with fury. “He’s a toxic man who kills and kidnaps without remorse.” My breath is uneven, my hands trembling. “There’s nothing broken about him. He’s the devil in the flesh!”
Grayson shows no reaction to my words. He watches me, calm and unshaken.
“The devil,” he repeats. “Perhaps. Or maybe he’s just something that was neglected for too long. People are like flowers, Miss Ružicková. If you leave them without care or light, they don’t just wither. They grow wild, tangled, desperate—until there’s nothing left but thorns.”
I shake my head, unwilling to entertain his perspective. “You’re excusing him.”
“I’m not. But I’ve seen what happens to things left in the dark too long.” His fingers tap against the counter. “They forget how to reach for the light.”
His eyes find mine, and for the first time, I don’t see pity or sympathy. There’s only a quiet, sharp understanding staring back at me.
It unsettles me. It evokes sympathy for my captor.
Because if he understands Cain, what does that say about Grayson?
And worse … what does it say about me? How can this happen?
“He is a boy shattered at the core,” he goes on, keeping his eyes on the ground as if contemplating.
I’m out of words. I stare at him, my chest tight. I tell myself it’s just frustration. But deep down, I’m afraid it’s something worse. Something close to doubt.
Cain doesn’t deserve understanding. He doesn’t deserve sympathy. He’s cruel. He takes what he wants. He has stolen my freedom, my safety. So why do Grayson’s words get under my skin? Why do they make me hesitate?
