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Chapter 22

Charlie had just sent Gabriel away when Sin opened the door to the apartment, coming in. She refused to acknowledge him, hanging up the clothes from her bag instead.

"The bastard Phinneas showed up," he said, setting the prints down on the coffee table and sitting down on the edge of an armchair.

She ignored him.

"Did you hear me, Charlotte?" he asked.

"I know," she said shortly. "I ran into him on my way out."

"I want you to stay away from him when I'm gone." He stood up and took the coat hanger from her hand, setting it down. "Are you listening?"

She turned on him. "Why?"

"Because I don't trust him, and I don't want you around him."

"You apparently don't trust me, either," she said, glaring at him.

"What's that supposed to mean?" His eyes narrowed slightly in question.

"If you trusted me, you'd let me make the exchange with Sokolov," she said. "As he asked."

"I don't want you anywhere near the bloody bastard," he said, exasperated. "It has nothing to do with trust."

"Well, you have no right to tell me what I can and cannot do," she said through clenched teeth. "Especially with Imogen's life in the balance."

"I have no right." His voice rose. "I have no right. This is my job and a dangerous one at that, and more importantly I'm your husband."

"Fake husband," she said bitterly.

"There was nothing fake about the vows we took. Forced maybe, but not fake," he said. "I meant every word."

"It still doesn't give you the right—" she started to say.

"It gives me every right." He took her by the shoulders, their faces inches from each other. "I am your husband, whether you like it or not, and I will always put your safety first. I will always put your wellbeing first." She felt the tears build behind her eyes. "When I think of that foul man undressing you, then torturing you, and God only knows what else he did to you." His gray eyes turned dark and as hard as granite. "No, I will never let you be in his presence again. I would be a fool to."

"What do you mean what else he did? He didn't do anything else," she said defensively, trying to squirm out of his grip.

"How would you know? You can't remember."

"Maybe I don't want to remember. Why the hell would I ever want to relive what was done to me? You can't even imagine the pain I was in," she yelled.

"So, you do remember," he said softly, loosening his grip. His tone changed instantly to one laced with remorse. He wiped his hand over his pained expression. "Tell me, Charlotte, so I can understand."

"Leave it," she said.

"Darling." He put his arms around her protectively as if he himself could save her from the rest of the world and the memories of Sokolov that haunted her.

She looked up at him, no longer holding her tears at bay. She let them flow down her face. "I can't."

"Then how do we move forward?" he asked, rubbing her back. "Tell me how we move forward."

"We save Imogen," she said. "Let me come with you."

"No. You'll stay here with Alex. That's an order."

"You can't order me to do anything,"