Stolen Life (Beauty in the Stolen 2)

A picture of his childhood starts to form in my mind. “What about your parents? Weren’t they worried when you disappeared?”

“Don’t know.” He says it like he doesn’t care. “My dad was a coward and a drunk who channeled his frustration into violence that he took out on us and my mom.”

I reach out to touch him, but pull back my hand. Ian won’t want pity. “I’m sorry it was like that for you and your mom.”

He remains silent. Just when I think he’s not going to reply, he says, “My mom wasn’t much better.”

The statement surprises me for two reasons. Firstly, that he’s telling me something so personal and obviously painful, and secondly, because I had a great mom, and I can’t imagine living with a shitty one. Why is he telling me this? Is he letting me in? He doesn’t strike me as the overly sharing type. Why would he make an effort for me? Because we’re on a road of no return, and he’s trying to make the best of it? Whatever his motivations, letting someone in is tough. It takes great risk on his part. I’m not going to throw it back into his face.

“How did you survive?” I ask.

“At first, on the streets.”

My heart squeezes. “That must’ve been tough.”

He fixes his gaze on the sunset again. “The apartment we lived in was a dump. Any place was better than there.”

My gaze is drawn to his chest and middle where the tattoos are hidden under his T-shirt. Survival, love, and humility, but he chose love first, even above survival. “What about your siblings?”

“Damian and Zoe were ten and five years old when I left. Leon and I could earn our own way, but I couldn’t drag a ten and five-year-old along with us. Anyway, Damian has always been a tough little bastard. He was like a cork. No matter how deep you pushed him under, he always came out on top.”

“What about your sister?”

“Zoe was just Zoe.” He smiles. “Such a dreamer. She knew how to cope by hiding in her head.”

“Do you keep tabs on them?”

“Yeah.” He straightens. “In their own ways, they’ve both made their riches, but it hasn’t always been like that.”

“Didn’t you ever consider giving them money?”

“Zoe will never take stolen money. My little brother was in jail. I set up an account for him, but when he got out he didn’t need my money.”

He doesn’t elaborate and I don’t ask how his youngest brother made his own money. I understand why he didn’t keep in touch. He wanted to remain invisible. He didn’t want his family to be implicated in his crimes, but what about now that the cops know his identity?

“The cops are going to interrogate your family,” I say carefully.

“Zoe is abroad, and Damian has come into his own power. He can take care of himself. Besides, I don’t think Wolfe is going to spill the beans just yet. He’s still hoping he’ll find you and turn you into his trump card. I’m guessing by now he knows how cleverly you tricked him with the bracelet.”

I bite my lip, considering my fate as I stare into my drink.

“You shouldn’t have run from me,” he says in a dark tone.

When I look up, he’s staring at me like the lion had looked at the lioness, like he wanted to dig his teeth into her shoulder and hold her in place while planting another litter of cubs in her belly.

“Shouldn’t have kicked me in the balls either,” he continues.

“You didn’t give me a choice.”

“Although, I have to say, the punch on the shoulder was a low blow.”

I swallow, my gaze involuntarily dipping to his injured shoulder. “I thought you were going to kill me.” I don’t need to make excuses for my actions, quite the contrary, but I can’t help from asking, “How’s the wound?”

“You tore open the stitches, but I’ll survive.”

I wince. He’s not smiling, so I don’t know if he’s still angry about that or just messing with me again.

“What were you going to do anyway?” he asks. “How did you imagine you’d get away?”

“It’s not important.”

He takes the glass from my hand and puts it with his on the ground. Placing a hand on either side of my body on the hood, he says, “Like hell it’s not. What were you scheming in that pretty little head of yours?”

“Nothing.”

He wraps a hand around my neck, brushing a thumb down the arch to my shoulder. “A clever girl like you? You had a plan.” His voice turns soft, husky. “Tell me, baby doll.”

The air becomes charged. My body takes notice of the change in the atmosphere. The hair on my arms stand erect as he continues to brush his thumb over the curve of my neck.

“Don’t make me wait, Cas.”