Stolen Love (Beauty in the Stolen 3)

“Just because it’s in the past doesn’t mean it never happened.”

“I’m not going to lie to you.” He locks his fingers around my wrist and rubs a thumb over my pulse. “I don’t regret it. I’d do it again. What I’d never do is harm you.”

I let those words sink in. So much has happened. Too much. The worst he doesn’t even know yet.

Catching his gaze, I warn, “I’m not the person I used to be.” On more than just an emotional level.

He lets go of my hand, caution creeping into his tone. “Don’t you dare say it.”

Yes, the truth is ugly. “I might not have died physically that day in the river, but something inside me did.”

His nostrils flare. “Don’t.”

And sometimes, the truth hurts. “Whatever we were, Ian, is gone. It’s over.”

Chapter 7

Ian

If she’d pulled the trigger of the gun she’d pointed at me, it would’ve been more merciful. She’s killing me, not with a quick bullet, but with the worst kind of torture, the kind that kills your soul.

I watch her face as she sits there and deals this blow that brings me to my knees. Scrubbed clean of the thick make-up and with her own long, platinum-blond hair, she’s every bit the Cas I stole.

She’s still mine.

Her lust and love belong to me. I stole them first, but she damn well gave them to me. Then I went and stole her life. Even if Ruben pulled the trigger, the blame is mine. It was my fault for not getting rid of him like I should’ve. It was my fault for not seeing what was brewing under my nose.

I failed her, but by some miracle she’s been given back to me. I won’t let her get away again. If I have to steal her all over, so be it. Damian’s words ring in my head, that keeping a woman prisoner never ends well. I’d just have to be cleverer about it this time. Instead of drugging and kidnapping her, I’ll convince her it was her idea.

I study her beautiful features as she gives me silence. I know what a person with issues look like. It takes one to know one. She’s locked them so deep in her heart, there’d be a Freudian eruption the day she lets everything out. That’s all right. The day that happens, I’ll be there for her. I don’t care if she never loves me back again. Having her alive is enough.

“When I’m out of this bed,” she says with a warning in her voice, “I’m walking away from this. Forever.”

Over my dead fucking body will she ever walk away from me. I want to growl it like a dog warning the pack away from its bone, but I manage in a voice so normal it deserves an award. “Where are you planning on going?”

“I’ll figure it out.”

Like hell. I nod as if I agree. I even paste understanding on my face. “There’s one thing you forgot however.”

She lifts a brow.

“Wolfe is still after you.” I wait until it sinks in before I deal my following card, making it seem like a conversation unfolding naturally, one logical thought leading to the next, and not a premeditated plan. “And after me.”

She frowns. “I told him if anything happens to me, the evidence would go to his superior. He took a risk shooting me, but now he knows I bluffed.”

Good. She’s catching on nicely. “Yeah. Like me, he thought you were dead. Unlike me, discovering you alive must’ve come as a nasty shock to him. You know he’s guilty of murder. In his mind, there’s only one way he can sleep easily again.”

“When I’m dead.”

“When both of us are dead. It’s safe to assume he knows you told me that he framed me. He knows I’ll come after him. He’ll want to get to me first.”

“We’ll get the evidence and give it to his superior.”

“He’d be arrested, if they manage to catch him when he goes on the run, but that won’t stop him from sending someone else after us. This is personal. To frame me for murder tells you just how personal.” It pains me to add, “Now you’re personal to him too.”

“Unless we get to him first,” she says.

“We can pull it off if we work together.”

“How?”

I pull the noose tighter around her, reeling her closer. “By setting a trap for him.”

She chews her lip.

“I won’t risk you, Cas. You have nothing to fear.”

“You want to dangle me like a worm on a hook? To be nothing but a piece of bait?”

“When the fish bites, I’ll deal with him.”

“No.” She crosses her arms. “He shot Nick. He’s mine.”

Her attitude makes me hard, not that I’d ever consider letting her soil her hands. That’s me. I’m the dirty one.

Taking my silence for agreement, she asks, “How do we do it?”