Free Anything He Wants: The Betrayal (#5) by Sara Fawkes Page A

rational, voicing arguments I’d used on myself when the L -word first popped into my head, and part of me still agreed with him. But with every word he uttered, the cracks in my heart grew wider, expanding and multiplying and going deep to the quick. “I’m not asking you to say the same,” I finally managed, but the words tore at my soul.
    “Maybe not,” he replied, “but…” He cupped my face, and I flinched. “Why ruin what we have with platitudes like this?”
    Pain blossomed, but I kept my face steady. I’d learned from the best, after all. When I reached out to touch him he stood, perhaps a bit too quickly, and retreated back. Grabbing his phone, he added, “Now that you’ve been cleared in the preliminary investigation, you’re free to leave the grounds for anything. With the police presence being what it is, I think we’re safe from any more attacks for now. One of the guards can drive and escort you anywhere you want; just stay in contact as to your whereabouts.”
    A dull ache spread through me as he walked across the room to the door. There he paused, staring at the brass door handle. I thought for a moment he’d turn around and address me again, maybe explain himself further, but he merely turned the knob and left. The latch closed with a finality that was shattering, had numbness not taken over my heart.
    Dimly, I felt myself climb out of the bed and go through the motions of dressing myself in clothes still strewn about the room. Cleaning myself up in the bathroom was almost an afterthought, a delaying tactic to keep from showing myself to the world, but when I finally stepped out of the bedroom into the rest of the house, only silence greeted me. From the day I’d arrived at the mansion estate, the house and grounds had been teeming with people, usually the guards or other staff. Now that the danger was past for the time being, they had been moved to their regular assignments, and the sudden famine of souls in the house echoed the painful emptiness within me.
    I made my way down the stairs, bypassing the kitchen completely. Food didn’t sound good right then; in fact very little sounded good at that moment, so I walked to the front door and peered outside. The air was chill, almost bitterly so. The milder weather we’d had for a while had taken a wintery turn. Snow flurries dotted the ground, but I didn’t care that my nose immediately began to sting from the frosty wind. A black limousine sat right in front of the large doors, exhaust a billowing cloud of steam in the icy air. I couldn’t imagine it belonged to Jeremiah. Surely he would have already left; it had been several minutes since he walked out. He’d suggested before that I could leave the grounds. Did he call this for me?
    I’d stayed away from public places, keeping to the house and not leaving the estate even after the kidnapping attempt. I remained mindful that there was still somebody out there gunning for us, who was willing to use others to do his dirty work. At that moment, however, staring at the limo, I no longer cared—being shot through the heart couldn’t hurt any more than this. I left the house and moved to the car, opening the door and sliding inside. The interior was warm, a marked difference from the outside air, and up near the front I saw the dark head of the driver. “Where to, Ms. Delacourt?” he asked.
    “Away from here,” I mumbled absently. Realizing the distance sound had to travel, I readied to repeat my answer louder but the car lurched forward, heading for the gates. I didn’t bother looking out the windows; instead I just stared at my hands, deep in thought.
    What if Jeremiah was right? What if my feelings were premature, too soon to be considered genuine? It was reasonable that Jeremiah would hold off on sabotaging a relationship by acting too soon; there were still too many unknown variables in the equation. At least, that was how the rational side of my brain saw it—a man like Jeremiah