Page 171 of The Curse Trilogy

“He has a lot he’s working on,” he murmurs awkwardly.

“I’m a United official. I should be clued in on all investigations requiring our services. It’s protocol in case I run across something in my interrogations that could help. Why are you leaving me out?”

He sighs out, and then he sips on his glass of wine as though it’s his stalling ale.

“It’s not professional, it’s personal.”

“Then he lied. He told me it was an old investigation,” I murmur suspiciously, and my right eyebrow cocks up to emphasize my aroused suspicion.

“It’s his business, not mine, and not yours. If he wants to tell you he can. If he doesn’t, then it’s his own cross to bear,” Clay snaps.

“If you’re getting this worked up, then I think it’s something I should hear about. You don’t lose your cool very often.”

He takes a deep breath, and then he cracks his neck from side to side.

“I think you should talk to him. Don’t fight with him… talk to him.”

He walks away before I can use my interrogation skills anymore, and then Angelica returns with a glass of a fizzy, non-alcoholic beverage that smells like straight syrup. My nose wrinkles up as she turns the drink up, and then Grayson returns to us.

“Hale said he’s done,” he growls.

I laugh under my breath, and Angelica lets a small smile escape. She seems so worried about something, but I have no idea what. Perhaps they had a fight and Grayson is too stupid to realize it.

Grayson tosses the guns in a bucket with little concern for proper treatment of the weapons, and he just walks off with Angelica at his side. Hale walks over huffing and puffing, and I stifle my laughter.

“He’s going to be more than you can handle,” he gripes, and I can’t hold back my laughter anymore.

“He’s young. He’ll mature in time,” I say with a playful defensiveness.

“I sure as fuck hope so,” he mumbles, and then he sits down beside me while burying his head in his hands.

“Can we talk?” I ask curiously.

“Not if you’re going to interrogate me about something,” he mumbles through his hands.

“I just want to know where we stand. I’m confused as fuck right now, and I want you to tell me how you feel.”

His shoulders drop, and he finally removes his hands from his face to look at me. His exhaled breath carries the scent of deceit, and I anxiously await his response.

“You said we were done, and I took that as we were done. Just leave it at that for now. Maybe this isn’t our time,” he murmurs vaguely.

“That’s not enough, Hale. You don’t kiss someone and then punch a wall. You don’t tell someone you love them while begging them to marry you, and then go ice cold. You’ve always been capricious, but never this extreme. I’ve always felt like you still wanted me, but you didn’t know how to just trust me. Now, I don’t feel like you even like being in the same room with me,” I whimper out, and I quickly wipe the tears away.

“I can’t do this,” he says in a strained tone, and it sounds as if he’s holding back his own emotion.

“You have to sometime, Hale. I can’t just leave things unfinished.”

“Then consider them finished,” he mumbles, and my tears gush free as I hold back the howling noise I know will escape if I open my mouth.

I look away, and then I watch the tinted sky fog over as the night rushes in to fill the air. I’ve slept a total of six hours in four days, and I’m exhausted. I’m just ready to curl up and sleep, but I have to find out if Grayson passes or fails. I hope Clay pulls through because Grayson sure as hell can’t do it on his own.

Hale isn’t going to tell me anything. He’s never stopped chasing me until now, and I don’t know why I’m fucking chasing him when Brazen is waiting. I just want this all to be over. I just wish I knew why he stopped loving me. Is that so much to ask?

The dripping sound of a leaky pipe echoes through the empty room which holds me to a wall. My strength is depleted, my faith has deserted me, and hope barely hangs onto a thread in front of me - careful to evade my grasp.

Hollow footsteps splash into the puddles that have formed, and the foggy haze of my vision only allows me to see a blurred, hooded face as the whip strikes me across the stomach. I want to scream out when I feel the first lash, but my lips crack instead of moving. My trembling body refuses to go invincible, and I’m too weak to even try to flinch.

“Just give in, bitch,” his hissing tone taunts, and tears try to drip out only to be stung by the convulsing waves of electricity.