The Dark Elite (The Dark Elite 1)

I take a deep breath and step out of the bathroom. The carpet is scratchy underneath my feet, and Brian doesn’t seem to hear me as I flick off the bathroom fan and walk toward him. He’s sitting on the edge of the bed with his laptop on his lap, staring at the screen with his brows pulled tightly together.

What are you thinking about?

My feet still as I watch him. Wondering.

How are we going to get back to normal after this? Is he going to want to have sex with me tonight? Should I want to have sex with him tonight? Such simple yet loaded questions flood me, consume me. The hotel room is quiet, but my head is so loud, I feel like someone is screaming at me.

“My hands won’t stop shaking,” I murmur, and he looks up at me quickly.

The look in his eyes tells me that things aren’t going to be normal yet. I’m not sure what caused it, what he was thinking about that made him look so… conflicted, but I try to smile gently. Lifting my hands up, I show them to him.

He grasps them suddenly, pulling them to his chest. I’m forced to sit next to him, thigh against his thigh, skin against his skin.

“We’ll leave soon,” he tells me. “I’ll get everything sorted out. I don’t want to stay in Chicago any longer than we have to. We need to get you somewhere safe, away from here.”

“Okay.”

I turn away, unable to look him in the eye. He’s been patient with me up to this point, but I know he’s going to want the full story soon. The cop in him is going to demand it.

So before he has to press for answers, I begin speaking. In a low voice, I sketch out the ba

sic chain of events that began the day my dad and I left this city and ended with Brian finding me crouched beneath a bush in a wealthy Chicago neighborhood.

There are lots of things I gloss over, and several things I don’t tell him about at all. I will, but I need a night to collect myself first, to sort out the mess of emotions inside my heart.

And then I’ll throw myself at his feet and beg for fucking forgiveness. I’ll tell him everything, and if he still wants to make things work, I’ll do whatever it takes to fix things between us.

Brian listens silently while I speak, then begins to prod me with gentle questions. He asks why the men targeted my dad, and if the other group who attacked the church were mafia too. He asks if I have any idea what either group might want with me.

“No.” I shake my head. My throat is scratchy from speaking, even though I’ve kept my explanation as brief as possible. “All I know is that Hale blamed my dad for ratting out Landon Novak. They took me in his place after he died.”

“Did they hurt you, Grace?” Brian says suddenly, turning my chin to make me look at him. He gives me a penetrating stare, a deep frown on his face.

My lips feel dry, and I dart my tongue out to wet them before I answer. “No.”

It’s not entirely true. I’m an emotional fucking wreck. But they bandaged my wounds, stitched me up, and took care of me. They never dragged me into some dingy room and tortured me.

“Did they touch you?”

His voice is hard and a little dispassionate, as if he’s forcing himself to ask the question even though he doesn’t really want to hear the answer.

I don’t want to give it. But I can’t outright lie to him—not after everything he went through to rescue me. An omission is one thing, but a lie would break whatever fragile bond we have left. He deserves the truth, no matter how much it hurts both of us.

“Yes.”

My cheeks burn, and I can feel the flush creeping over my skin as dozens of memories flood my mind. Yes, they touched me. Each one of them, even Ciro.

And no matter how sick or insane it makes me, I craved every touch.

I sought every touch.

Needed every touch.

Hell, I initiated more than one of them. I could lie to myself and pretend it was all against my will, but the words ring false even in my head.

“Grace…” Brian’s expression changes as he watches my face, disbelief and something like hurt spreading over his features. “Do you… do you have feelings for any of them?”

Please don’t ask me that. Please.