Page 106 of Touch of Hate
His face falls—not that I didn’t already know I was asking the impossible, but a tiny hope flickered in the back of my mind.
Like maybe if he saw what this was doing to me, I might be able to get through. Whatever veil is over his eyes would lift so he could see the truth of how his actions affect me. Hurt me.
And him. How it’s changing him.
I’m afraid to say it. I don’t want him to take it as an attack. It would mean losing the ground I’ve managed to gain. I could end up back in the bedroom, locked away like a child who talked back one time too many.
“It’s hurting me,” I finally settle on whispering. “I’m sorry. I’m trying as hard as I can to follow your lead and trust this will all be okay, but the way you describe the people you’re after… they’re monsters.”
“Monsters who deserve to die.”
“Monsters who could be capable of anything.” I force myself to hold his gaze rather than back down. I don’t want to back down anymore. He’s too important. My love for him is more important than my fear. “I can’t lose you. It would kill me. I’d want to die, too.”
It’s like my words have the power to break through whatever was holding him in place. Even though I tense, wanting to hold myself back, he gathers me in his arms. I can’t pretend it doesn’t feel good, that my heart doesn’t cry out in relief at his touch. That burying my face against his chest and breathing in his familiar scent isn’t a balm on my troubled soul.
“Please, don’t say that.” His lips graze the top of my head, my ear, my cheek. “I can’t handle the thought of you dying, but especially not because of me.”
“Then please, please, rethink this.” With his T-shirt gathered in my fists, damp from the tears I can’t contain, I look up at him. “Please. For me. Protect yourself for me.”
He searches my face, his eyes troubled, muscles twitching. I want so much to take this away from him, all of it. I would give anything to spare him even a moment’s heartache.
But I can’t. Not this time. I can’t make this right for him.
He’s got to make it right for himself.
I know it. But I don’t have to like it.
His eyes slowly close, his head hanging low until our foreheads touch. “Scarlet. My angel. I wish I could. I really do.”
“But?” My lip trembles.
“But this isn’t about me alone. If it was, I might consider it.” He strokes my cheeks with his thumbs, his touch gentle and loving. “I wish I had the luxury of thinking about myself alone. But if they’re out there, doing the same shit they were before, countless other lives are at risk, and I can’t forget them.”
He lifts his head with a groan. “Like in Reno. Kids are going missing, runaways and street kids who’ve suddenly vanished after being seen with a guy who looks a lot like the son of the couple who founded Safe Haven. Those kids, their families… I can’t sit back, knowing what Rebecca is capable of, and not do anything about it.”
Dammit. Damn every last bit of it.
Because now, I’m looking at not only the dark, avenging angel.
I’m looking at a hero who leaves my heart swelling with pride and my love deepening beyond what I thought was possible. That’s what he is, no matter how well I know he’d tell me to get real if I so much as breathed the word. He’s as noble as I always imagined—no, more.
He wants to protect those kids.
Considering how his experience in the cult shaped his life—how it haunts him—who am I to stop him from doing what needs to be done?
“Hey.” He pulls my face close; the intense blue of his eyes mesmerizes, so much so that I nearly get lost in them. “You’re still with me, right? You’re not walking away. Are you?”
“Ren—”
“Are you?” he demands through clenched teeth. What would he do or say if I did? “Are you going back on your word?”
“No. No, I’m not. That’s not what I’m saying at all.”
I pause, drawing a deep breath, giving what comes next the weight it deserves. “I’m never walking away from you. I’m never going back on my word. I’m with you, all the way.”
“No matter what?”
The hope in his voice almost makes him sound like a little boy. The way it radiates from his face. I can almost imagine him as the little kid caught up in the twisted games those people played. He didn’t stand a chance, the poor thing.