Page 35 of Freeing Denver

“Yes. Like I said, she’s dangerous?—”

“She hid it because she couldn’t come to you, Alistair!” My raised voice does nothing to ease my head. “She is the woman I love, and you are my best fucking friend. It is your job to protect her. What if it had gone wrong? What if I’d woken up fromthis fucking coma and she was—” I run my hand down my face, the sun too bright, the shade no longer offering some kind of reprieve. “How can I trust you to run this family if I can’t even trust you with her?”

His lips part and he shakes his head, eyes wide. “Are you fucking serious right now? I have stood by your side for twenty years, Colt.”

“And you fucked up when I needed you most.”

I move him aside and leave.

I ignore the stares, the murmured conversation from people who either want my ear or the chance to talk about the brother they didn’t understand. They didn’t know him—not like I did.

I knew his pain.

I knew, and I punished him for it. I expected him to keep moving, to keep a lid on what he was going through. And why? Because sometimes … he was inconvenient.

And I never hid that I thought that. Not once.

Tears burn my eyes.

I can’t fucking do this.

I’m in the car and driving home before I can stop myself.

The house is quiet as I throw my keys down and go to the kitchen, but I’m not alone. Denver is leaning against the kitchen counter, texting. She lifts her head when she sees me and immediately puts her phone down.

“You’re home early. How did?—”

“You killed Vince Capelli.”

She goes still. “Yes.”

“Tell me everything you did from start to finish.”

Her shoulders rise and fall with each breath she takes, but she doesn’t wait long before speaking again. “Dante Capelli called and told me Vince was the one who planted the bombs. He also had reason to believe Vince was going to kill their grandfather. I agreed to kill Vince, if Dante agreed to make sureit wasn’t looked into too closely.” I watch as she speaks, her voice cold. “Vince called to express his sympathies over Finn. I let him believe I wanted his friendship, but it was clear he wanted more, so I leaned into that. I learned about his security and his routine, and when he invited me to his home, I accepted. He”—she wets her lips—“he kissed me. I let him. I undressed. He got on his knees. I slit his throat.”

I can feel my heartbeat in my head, a constant, quick drilling, and I don’t know how I feel. Emotions tumble over each other at the image of Vince touching her, but one thing claws to the surface of every other thought.

“You could have died.”

“But I didn’t.”

“That isn’t the point!”

Her jaw tenses. “Do not raise your voice at me, Colt Harland.”

“What if he knew your plan?” I ask, approaching her. “What if he’d killed you? Kept you? Tortured you?”

“And what if it rained fucking Gatorade? I’m not playing this game with you. He hurt you. He killed Finn. I was never going to let that go.”

I cup her face, rage and passion and desperation flooding me. “And what if I’d lost you? Do you have any idea what that would have done to me?”

Denver swallows, eyes wide, and God, I love her. I love her more than it makes sense to love another person, and just the idea that Vince could have hurt her is driving me to despair.

She rests her palm over my hand. “I’m okay, Colt. I wasn’t hurt. Lewis was with me the whole time.”

But I wasn’t. I was lying in a bed, unable to do a damn thing to help. My father died. My brother died. And I lay there?—

“What’s wrong?”