“Maybe,” I reply coyly as I roll out of bed.
I give him my back as I redress, but I can feel the weight of his eyes on me until I walk out the door.
I feel fragile, like I could shatter at any moment.
But I keep my head held high and my shoulders back, not glancing back once so he’ll never know any different.CHAPTER 11SaintChrist… the woman is confusing. But I can’t say she’s doing it intentionally. I think she’s as fucking off-kilter about us coming back into each other’s lives as I am, but since she’d made the first move, I’m not sure if she has an ulterior motive.
I don’t trust her, that’s for sure. I’ve forgiven her… yes. Deep in my heart, I even believe she’d set me up because she cared. She hadn’t wanted Neal to kill me. While she’d made a poor choice, she’d done it because she had deep feelings for me.
Fuck it… let’s call it what it was.
We were in love.
But I can’t trust her now because she hadn’t trusted in me back then. She hadn’t thought I could handle the situation, nor had she acted like she believed we’d been partners in all ways. If she’d respected me as her other half, we would have solved the problem together. Hell, we hadn’t had to meet Neal that night. We could have driven off into the sunset—started our lives over elsewhere.
Regardless, she’s back in my life now. And I can’t say I’m handling it all that well. If she were still lying in this bed next to me, I’d fucking want to wrap her in my arms and press her tightly against my body. After holding her all night, I’d fuck her in the morning, then venture out to a cafe to drink espresso and eat pastries together.
I’d want everything we’d had in the past, but we can’t go back. I don’t think I can get past that breach of trust.
But the sex…
It was goddamn off the charts. Stellar, mind-blowing, have-to-do-it-again type of sex. Sin might not be curled up beside me right this moment, but she’ll be back in my bed again soon. Or I’ll be in hers.
One way or another.
My phone rings.
Not the smartphone I’d purchased for this trip to use with my fake alias, but my burner, which is in the top dresser drawer. It would have seemed odd to Sin had she’d been here. She’d want to know why I had a phone buried in a drawer. Because I’d never be able to lie smoothly enough to her—she knows me too well—I’d have to tell her.
Not even remotely ready to go there yet.
Because I don’t trust her.
I roll off the bed, pad across the thickly carpeted floor, and nab the phone from the drawer.
Kynan’s the only one with the number. Knowing it’s him, I hit the button to answer. “Bellinger.”
“Checking in,” he says curtly. I’ve been in Paris for over a week, and we’ve only talked once.
I crawl into the bed, then prop myself against the pillows. “Completed a heist for Mercier tonight. He called me after to tell me I was ‘in’. Whatever that means.”
“That’s good,” he replies, but he sounds distracted.
“What’s wrong?” I ask bluntly.
A gust of air whooshes through the phone. I can almost envision Kynan scrubbing his hand through his hair in frustration. My mind starts racing, thinking he might want to pull me from this job. If so, I can’t let that happen… I’ve only just reconnected with Sin.
Wait! What?
Dumbfounded, I shake my head. Sin becoming my dominant priority cannot be a factor in my life.
“Our team was ambushed in Syria,” Kynan murmurs, and any thought of Sin evaporates.
A chill runs up my spine, a thick knot of apprehension forming in my gut. “Come again?”
“They’d been doing surveillance for a few days—had a good plan going in. But they were somehow made and ambushed.”
“How bad is it?” I ask, not actually wanting to know. I’d like to forget this conversation ever happened before it even starts.
“Bad,” Kynan mutters. “Tank and Merritt made it out. Jimmy and Sal didn’t.”
“Didn’t as in…”
“They’re dead.” Kynan’s voice cracks, and I feel like I’m going to throw up. “Two Aussies were killed, too.”
“And Malik?” I ask, my voice function coming out in a croak. I hadn’t known these guys long, but they were my brothers in every sense of the word. I would’ve been over there with them had Kynan asked me to be.
“No one knows,” he replies, a low undercurrent of rage infusing his tone. “We’re assuming he’s been taken prisoner.”
“Fuck,” I mutter, scraping my hand along my jaw.
“Or…” he too quietly adds. “Or they just haven’t recovered his body.”
“Goddamn it,” I curse loudly, slamming my elbow backward into the headboard in a fit of fury. It hurts, but not as bad as the aching in my chest. Jimmy’s wife, Anna, flashes in my mind. They’d recently moved into the area, so looking forward to Jimmy’s future with Jameson and the birth of their first child. How is what happened even fair?