Page 117 of Freeing Denver

“I’m sorry. Two years of work … and it’s over.”

His expression becomes almost tortured. “I did all I could in the time I could. And if I hadn’t have gotten you out, I might have died in that house, too.”

I nod. “I wish I could hug you.”

He gives me a small smile. “Can’t be seen fraternizing with criminals, anyway.”

I hated him for so long. Opening my bedroom door every morning and waiting for his approval felt like another cage I’d been shoved into. If only I’d known how he was protecting me, I could have been grateful earlier.

I take his hands in mine, push myself onto my tiptoes, and kiss his cheek.

“Thank you,” I say quietly. “For everything.”

When I drop back down to my height, his cheeks are flushed and he clears his throat. “You’re welcome, Denver.”

When I step back, Colt extends his hand. Kitrick looks less than enthusiastic but takes it.

“If you’re ever sick of crappy pay?—”

I tut and swat his arm. “Colt.”

He gives me a cheeky grin. “What? I’m networking. And I doubt Kitrick expects any less.” He shakes Kitrick’s hand. “Thank you for looking after her. I owe you.”

“A favor from Ghost. Consider that never being cashed in,” Kitrick says.

After he leaves, both Colt and I waving at a less-than-amused Quinn as she waits in her car, we head upstairs.

It’s mid-afternoon, but we get into bed, and Wesson stretches out between us, his nose firmly nestled in my neck. I run my hand down his fur, weaving my fingers through it.

“So,” I say. “King of torture.”

Colt rolls onto his back and sighs. “We’re talking about this?”

“We are.”

He tucks his hand behind his head and stares at the ceiling but doesn’t speak. I can feel the waves of pain coming from him, a steady thrum of regret.

“Colt,” I say, and he looks at me. “Whatever it is, we’ll deal with it together.”

His nod is slow. “Thirty-six.” The number has me holding my breath, but I don’t look away. “Twenty died quickly. The others …” He lowers his gaze. “It was them or you. I chose you.”

I swallow. “Who?”

“People who had in some way taken cash from Spider or other sources they wouldn’t give up. I always had a reason. And I always made it hurt.” He closes his eyes. “I’m not proud of it, but I’d have killed a hundred more people if it meant getting you back. I can live a life of regret if I’m living that life with you.”

He keeps his eyes closed, as if shielding himself from my reaction, as if he could tell me anything that would make me love him less.

“I’m not a killer,” I say, and now he looks at me, a sapphire blue I’ve looked into a hundred times. “Even after Wyatt, I knew I wasn’t built to take a life. Remember what you said to me in that elevator last year? It sits with you.” I run my hand across Wesson’s head. “But I know without a doubt that if you had been taken from me, I’d have burned through every person who triedto keep us apart. If taking a life stains your soul, mine would be beyond recognition by the time I got you back.” He rests his hand on top of mine and squeezes my fingers gently. “So please don’t live a life of regret with me. You did what you had to, and you found me. You saved me. And I’ll love you forever, tainted soul and all.”

At some pointin the night, Wesson abandoned us—no doubt in favor of Lewis’s room. Colt wrapped his arms around me, and he fell asleep, but I didn’t rest for long. After carefully climbing out of bed, I sat in the window seat, hugging my knees to my chest and watching the world beyond the window.

There’s no snow. No people. A midnight city, a place we’ll soon leave behind.

But the person who dreamed of leaving isn’t who I am anymore.

I wish I could say I’m strong enough to not let these last few months break me. I wish I’d remained standing and not begged on my knees for freedom. I wish I’d fought harder, run faster, done more than wait.

A tear rolls down my cheek, and I wipe it away.