Rake (Wolfes of Manhattan 4)

It was an odd feeling—considering someone else’s needs.

It disturbed me a little, though I supposed it shouldn’t.

Was I more like my father than I wanted to admit? Not the rape, incest, and murder part, of course, but the “I’ll have what I want at all costs” attitude.

For the first time, I wanted to go slowly with a woman.

Unfortunately, time was not in my favor at the moment. Slowly really wasn’t an option. My family needed Zee. I needed Zee.

But she had needs as well, and they might not align with ours.

She didn’t reply to my statement. Just stared down at our dessert.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I tend to say what’s on my mind.”

She paused a moment. Then, “I’d be lying if that thought hadn’t occurred to me as well.”

My heart jumped. Funny. Normally I’d be all over this, but now? “You seem like you’re not ready to go there, and I want you to know that’s okay. I’ll never push you into anything.”

Damn it all. I meant every word I said.

If she was never ready to go to the police with her story, I’d live with that. I’d find some other way to exonerate my siblings and myself.

“I believe you,” she said.

She was right to. I wasn’t lying.

Then, “About the shoes.”

“That was presumptuous on my part,” I said. “I don’t blame you for returning them.”

Man, I was being so unlike Reid Wolfe. And it felt… Good?

Yeah, it felt good. Considering someone else’s needs felt damned good, especially someone I cared about.

I liked Zee. I really did. And though I knew I wasn’t responsible for my father’s actions, I felt guilt for what he’d put her through. I wanted to make up for it.

“Listen,” I said, “if you need anything—I mean anything—I’m here for you. I know you’ve been through hell at my father’s hands, and if I could erase it all, I would. I wish I could.”

“I’m the lucky one,” she said softly. “I never forget that. There were other women there. Other women who didn’t escape.”

Wow.

Like literally, the word “wow” was audible in my head. All she’d suffered, and her thoughts were with the others who hadn’t made it out of my father’s twisted maze.

Wow.

Without thinking, I covered her hand with mine. “I know. I’m going to make sure they all get justice.”

“How can you? Your father’s dead.”

“But the other guy isn’t. I’m going to see that he pays for what he did to you and those countless others.”

“The other…” She gasped softly. “He’s still…”

“Yes. And there may have been others as well. Do you remember anyone other than those two that you signed the non-disclosure agreement with?”

“It’s hard to say. Those two were always together, but I think… I think there might have been others.”

“If you can remember what they looked like, or whether anyone called them by a name…”

She shook her head. “I’d help you if I could. I’d love to see all of them go down.”

“Does this mean you’ll tell your story?”

She paused another instant. “I didn’t know the priest was still around.”

“He is.”

“Then, I… I really should, shouldn’t I?”

I squeezed her hand slightly—only slightly, so as not to frighten her. Yes, I wanted her to tell her story. But I ultimately wanted what was best for her, even if it didn’t align with what was best for me. Surprising, but no less true.

“It’s up to you, Zee. As I told you, I won’t push.”

17

Zee

He seemed so sincere.

And God, he was so gorgeous!

Sitting here next to him stirred up emotion in me that I’d thought was gone forever.

Then…about my story… I hadn’t thought of the priest. Derek Wolfe was always the leader of the hunt, but the other one… Father James, who’d given me my first communion. Did he remember me? When he looked at me, did he see that eight-year-old girl in a white lace dress? He signed the document I signed. The settlement covered both of them.

He was still around, according to Reid.

He could be caught. Tried. Convicted.

If—and only if—I told my story.

How easy it would be to tell Reid I’d cooperate. Then to let him kiss me if it was what he truly wanted. It certainly was what I wanted.

I hadn’t wanted to kiss a man since long before…

His hand on mine felt good. Like the comfort of a warm blanket on a cold afternoon. As if it were a barrier to the stormy weather.

As if he would protect me.

Part of me wanted to look into his beautiful eyes and tell him I was there for him. That I’d tell my story.

And part of me—that part between my legs—wanted to tell him to kiss me. Yes, please kiss me, and then take me home with you.

I wasn’t ready for the second part, no matter how much my body pleaded with me.

But the first part?