Страница 143 из 349
He glares at me. There’s a wealth of hatred in those eyes, but maybe there’s the slightest bit of doubt, too.
He wants to believe me. I know he does.
“Please, Sebastian. You have to trust me. I never—”
He slams a palm down on the table. “Trust you? Are you kidding? I can barely bring myself to look at you.”
“You lied to me, too,” I say in a rush. “But I’m not the enemy here.”
“You’re not the victim either,” he snarls through gritted teeth.
He pushes away from the table and storms to the kitchen. He stands there for a moment, clutching the counter, silent and still.
I want to say something, anything to break him out of this anger, only the words form in disjointed sentences. I can’t think straight, not with the nuclear explosion of reality devastating my mind and the heartache taking over my chest.
“You know me.” I swallow to ease the taste of bile. “I know you.” I heave out a breath. I frown through the overwhelming confusion. If only I could focus so everything would make sense. “Sebastian, please explain all this to me. I don’t under—”
“Shut up.”
I balk at his continued vehemence. “I don’t know the real you, do I?” The realization comes with an icy cold chill.
The harsh reality I thought I’d been living in wasn’t reality at all. That existence was the fairytale. That life, full of deception and betrayal, was nothing in comparison to the truth.
He yanks open the duffle, his movements filled with livid rage as he pulls out a utility knife.
Oh, God.
He swings back around, lifting the blade while he walks toward me.
“No.” I shake my head. “Please, Sebastian, don’t do this. I promise I can prove I’m not involved. Just give me a chance.”
“How?”
How? Jesus. I don’t know. “Let me call Cole. Let me call Layla. Or my father.”
“What the fuck is a phone call going to do?” He keeps approaching, not stopping until he’s in my face. His livid rage steals away the gentle man I thought I knew.
He grabs my upper arm, drawing it high, making my wrist ache as it pulls against the plastic binding.
He’s going to stab me.
Kill me.
I thought at a time like this I’d fight like hell. All I want to do is get on my knees and beg. Not only for my life. I want to plead for forgiveness for not recognizing my family’s sins. I need to pray for absolution.
I should’ve known.
I should’ve paid more attention.
“I don’t know how to make you believe me. Tell me what to do. Tell me how to make this right.”
He lowers the blade to my wrist as horror fills my veins. I can’t watch the metal penetrate. I refuse to witness the start of my own death. So I stare at him instead. I focus on his dark eyes, the deep pull of his brows, those tight lips that still seem entirely beautiful despite the tight line they’re now clamped in.
He’s going to slice my wrists. I’m going to bleed out.
“You’re not this man, Sebastian. I know you’re not. And you should know I don’t deserve this. I shouldn’t be punished for the crimes of someone else.”
He narrows his gaze on me, his lip curled in a snarl. “The only thing I know is that I’m fucking sick of you playing the victim.”
He starts wiggling the blade, and I hold my breath, waiting for the pain to breach my panic.
“All those women your family stole are the victims.” The knife stops moving, and my arm falls free. “My fucking sister is the victim.”
I hear static after those defining words—my fucking sister.
I don’t pay attention as he releases my other arm. I don’t feel fear or hysteria or disgust. I’m hollow. Empty.
That’s why he’s doing this? His sister is the reason he became a traitor to the most dangerous family in the state?
I stare up at him, a million questions waiting on immovable lips. I can’t speak. I barely breathe.
He flings my other arm away and turns, heading back to the kitchen. He snatches the duffle, his gun, and his can of beer before stalking to the back door.
“Don’t bother ru