Page 68 of Dark Knight

He runs his hands to his hair, breathing hard, before groaning. "Listen. I'm glad, I am. I'm glad I can do that for you. But dammit, you know that this is wrong as well as I do. I told you, we will not cross that line again."

"Says the guy who poked me in the ass with his erection."

"Which you tried to take advantage of!"

"Give me a fucking break!" I scream, and the sound is only louder and more deafening, thanks to where we are. But I'm glad for that. I want him to hear me. I want to fill the space with my rage. "You think this is all about you? Get a fucking clue! Yes, I need help and you've been there for me, but my every waking thought isn't about you, Romero. What can I do to scheme my way into your pants? Are you really that fucking full of yourself, you asshole? Oh, but I forgot. Everything's been about you since the day you showed up at my house."

"What?"

"You heard me. And yeah, you reminded me of it the night you got drunk." I love hurling that in his face, knowing how upset it makes him. Good. He deserves it. "From the very beginning, all you wanted was to be the golden boy. To make my father proud of you. It's like he practically forgot I existed. And pretend all you want like you didn't notice it, but it's true. He got the son he wanted. And you got the dad you —" It's my turn to close my mouth in shame. That's beneath me.

"Go ahead," he mutters. He's not even blinking, staring at me with an intensity that makes me wish I hadn't said a word. "Say it. Get it off your chest."

"No," I whisper, shaking my head. "I won't."

"Doesn't matter. I know what you meant." He paces, and there's nothing I can do but stand here and watch. "Listen. I'm glad you're feeling better. I really am. That's all I want for you – I don't care if you believe that. It's true. All I want to do is help you find your confidence again, and not because I want to score points with your dad or whatever you think. There are people in your life who miss the old you."

"How would you know?"

"I just know."

"But how?"

"Don't be a child." He's so cold. So cruel and dismissive. In other words, he's the Romero I've always known.

"Don't be a coward. Answer the question."

"I won't let you goad me into this, so you might as well save your breath. "He stops and stands still, shoulders thrown back, his chin lifted. "That's the end of the lesson for now. I'm getting in the shower."

And all I can do is lean against the wall and fight back angry, disappointed tears.

CHAPTER23

ROMERO

"Don't! Romero, don't!"

I wake trembling in a pool of ice cold sweat with that scream echoing in my head. Fuck, it's so vivid. When I look around the bedroom, I almost expect to find my old Harley posters on the wall. I'm sixteen again, and there's a lifetime worth of rage built up in me, and it has to go somewhere. Because I've snapped. There's no going back.

And she's begging me to stop, and I can't. I won't.

At least it's not the middle of the night. There's nothing like waking up from a vivid dream that's more of a memory than finding yourself alone in the dark. In the dark, your mind can paint ugly pictures. It's easier to breathe, easier to remember what's real when daylight leaks through the slats in the blinds. That was then, this is now, all that sort of stuff.

I sit up, glad to peel my bare back away from the clammy sheets that will have to be changed now. At least it's something to do, a reason to get my ass out of bed. I strip it quickly, tossing the damp cotton in the corner before heading out to the bathroom. A hot shower washes away the last of those lingering screams. They get louder all the time. Clearer.

The front room is still closed and quiet when I step into the hall, with steam billowing out behind me. I don't expect her to wake up this early, but she's made it a point to avoid me since that disaster of a self-defense lesson. She could be wide awake and waiting for me to head downstairs.

It's easier this way. The less we see each other, the lower the chance of one or both of us making a mistake. The way I came damn close to giving her what she was begging for. She'll never understand the temptation. She's not the only one who wants to forget the past for even a brief, fleeting moment.

I'm quiet as I pull a fitted sheet and pillowcases from the shelf between our rooms. Making the bed is only a distraction from what I'd rather do. It would be so easy to open that door at the end of the hall and indulge myself in her. I can see her wide, shocked eyes and know the shock would turn to blazing desire in the time it would take to cross the room. She'd lie back and part her legs for me—welcoming, demanding. Her touch would light up everything in me I thought was dead and gone, like it always does. I could forget everything but her and what she does to me.

There's no forgetting. There's only distraction, which is what she is. There are other, safer distractions that won't end up getting me killed by an enraged father.

It's only a few minutes before the bed's made, and I'm dressed and heading downstairs for some much-needed coffee. The espresso machine Tatum insisted on ordering was a good idea in the end. A double shot with steamed milk is one of the comforts I've come to depend on. There I was, thinking I hadn't softened up too much over the years. Boy, was I wrong.

It's quiet enough that a soft sound from the backyard rings out loud and clear. I step up to the window over the sink and find three kids like the ones Tatum described a while back. "Little shits," I whisper, watching as two of them provide cover for the third as he tries to pick the padlock on the door.

Instinct makes me react before I can think. There's a gun in the drawer, closest to the back door — I withdraw it without looking, eyes fixed on the window, waiting to see what happens next.

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