Page 121 of Only for Him

“You’re sure? How do you know? You have proof?”

I want to believe he’s wrong. I want justice, but if I wait long enough, maybe my rational mind will return and I’ll be able to settle for a courtroom.

“He ran the safehouse where she was kept before the auction. He took payment for the transport. He signed the paperwork.”

My brain boils in my skull. Kinetic energy sparks at my joints. I want to lunge across the universe to get to this bastard, rip him apart and sew him back together so I can do it again.

And again. And again.

How did Roman figure out he was involved with Serena?

What if he’s wrong?

“Proof, Roman. I need proof. I’m doing things your way, but I can’t live with it if you got the wrong man.”

I’m not stalling, it’s the truth. I promise myself I’m notthatfar gone. I will be ruthless, but I won’t take cheap shots into the void just to rid myself of this rage.

“You’re right, little viper.” His eyes darken. “Which is why you’re going to be the one to peel the truth from him.”

My blood freezes.

I remember the bodies Roman has left for me: MacDougal, Ivan, the pianist, the day trader, the restauranteur. The ways he tortured them.

He wants me to do that to this one.

But I’m a fucking cop!

Not anymore you’re not. You stopped being a cop the moment you got a pair of severed hands on your doorstep and kept it to yourself.

The moment you first lied for him.

Roman knows what I feel about the men who hurt my sister. He’s seen it in me since the very beginning.

He thinks—maybeknows—I can do this.

Just like he knew I’d be willing to stay here, knew I’d lie for him, knew I’d come for him.

It’s time to find out if he’s right about this, too.

“Show him to me,” I say, and he smiles. Not triumphant or smug, thank God, but certain.

There’s no coming back from this Giselle. You do this, and you’re never going to feel the same.

But I haven’t felt the same, have I? Not since he showed up.

And I don’twantto feel the same.

The same is shitty.

The same is pain.

I used to feel so lonely in my rage and grief. I don’t feel lonely anymore. And I want to know what else I can feel with him.

Maybe, finally,alive.

Roman takes my arm and steers me out of the room. The rest of the house is silent. My heart starts pounding, but my feet are steady as I follow him to the basement stairs.

He unlocks the door and lets it drift open. The smell is musty and cold. I can see the edge of the concrete landing, the single bulb dangling on a wire. I hesitate.