Beauty in Deception

“Go,” I say, grinding my teeth. “Get the fuck out of my sight before I change my mind about cracking your skull open with the butt-end of this gun.”

“I’m not going back to Mr. Warren,” he says, stubbornly standing his ground. “You can tell him you killed me.”

“Then where the fuck do you want to go?”

“Let me look after her. She’ll need protection.”

He doesn’t say it again, but the unspoken words hang like a sentence in the air. She’ll need protection if I give her the freedom she deserves.

I scrub a hand over my face. My palm smells like cigarette smoke. It tears me apart, but I say it. I commit to the only thing I can, the right thing. “If anything happens to her…”

“You can say she’s dead.”

I nod, not wanting to.

“I know a man,” he continues. “I can get her and her sister new identities.”

“I’ll take care of it,” I say, pushing to my feet, feeling too heavy.

“It’s best she moves away from Johannesburg. Somewhere to the coast, maybe.”

“Money won’t be an issue.”

“I’ll have to move my family, too.”

“Do what you have to do, but if a hair is harmed on her head, I’ll hold you responsible.”

“I’m a soldier. The way I’ve been trained, when someone gives his life for you, you owe him yours.”

“Do you know where her sister lives?”

“Yes.”

“Go there. I’ll send my men with you. Wait in a safe place. I’ll send word.”

He stands at attention. “Yes, sir.”

Taking my phone, I dial Andrew.

He answers with, “Do I need to call the cleanup team?”

“Get your ass over here.”

He arrives promptly.

“This is Tom,” I say, waving the gun at the man still standing like a soldier in front of me. “Untie him. He’s leaving. Send him with five of our men.”

Andrew’s eyes flare. “What’s going down?”

“Not a fight,” I say. “I’ll tell you everything later. Now get the fuck out of my sight.”

Andrew takes Tom’s arm and leads him away.

I go around the bar and take a bottle of scotch. I need to be sober, but not for this. For this, I drink, numbing the guilt. I drown the part I played in Christina’s fate in scotch because Tom was right about one thing. We’re all guilty. The only innocent person in this war is the hostage we’ve taken prisoner—first Warren, then me.

By the time half of the bottle is gone, the world blurs around me. The lines are fuzzy, but the pain is sharper.

I climb the stairs as the good doctor comes down.

“I gave her a saline infusion. She’s stable, but she needs to rest.” Continuing on his way, he says from over his shoulder, “You need to get sober.”

I let the rebuke slide. He was one of my father’s closest friends. He’s loyal. Plus, he’s right.

Pushing open the door of my bedroom, I lean in the frame.

Christina is sitting up in my bed, her blond hair messy around her face. I look closer. Where her hair has parted, the roots are darker. She must be a brunette.

“How are you feeling?” I ask.

It’s a fucking stupid question, but I don’t know how to bridge the distance I forced between us. How ironic that I’ve been closer to her than any woman. Less than an hour ago, I was inside her. Now we’re miles instead of a few meters apart.

She stares at her hands. “I’m good.”

“Tom told me.” I saunter into the room, realizing I’m still clutching the bottle in one hand and the gun in the other. “I know everything.”

Turning her face away, she looks at the window. She doesn’t want to talk about it. I get that.

“Tom is going to take care of you,” I say. “He’s on his way to your sister.”

She looks at me quickly.

“I’ll let Warren know I killed him. Both of you.” I take a swig from the bottle. “If you want to leave, you’ll never have to worry about money.” My chest constricts, vulnerability making me weak. “If you want to stay, you’ll have my protection.”

She gets off the bed. She’s no longer naked. She’s wearing a sweater and yoga pants. The doctor must’ve fetched her some clothes from her room.

I watch her as she crosses the floor, waiting. Hoping. Burning.

She stops in front of me.

There’s a fuck-ton of things I could say, starting with sorry, but I wait, laying myself at her feet, letting her choose.

Going on tiptoes, she kisses my cheek.

My stomach bottoms out.

Making her choice, she squeezes past me and leaves.

CHAPTER 17

Christina

* * *

The winter sun is brilliant in the cloudless sky. The rays bounce of the blue glass skyscrapers in Sandton. Drumming my nails on the windowsill, I watch the square from the window of the hotel room where Eden and I are staying. When Tom crosses by the fountain, I let out the breath I’m holding.