Savage Burn (Savage Trilogy 2)

“But she didn’t?” I ask, my fist balling over my racing heart as if I might stop it from exploding from my chest.

“No. The minute I let her go, she went for him. I can’t even explain the exact way it happened. I don’t make miscalculations, but somehow I threw a blade, meant for her, and she grabbed him and used him as body armor.”

I gasp and my hand goes to my mouth. “Oh God.” I feel sick, but I drop my hand and grab the sink behind me. “What did you do?”

“I killed the bitch.”

“Good. Good, Rick. How does this make you a monster?”

“I was a part of an operation that targeted a small child, Candace. That’s going to hit you later.”

A thought stabs at me, and it’s painful, so damn painful. “Who directed that mission to Tag? Was it my father? Or Gabe?”

“I don’t know, baby. I told myself it wasn’t your father, but there are decisions made at high levels, things a soldier isn’t supposed to question.”

“You weren’t a soldier. You were a civilian. And my father—”

“Might be in trouble right now because he figured out that Gabe directed those kinds of missions. And that mission was on US soil—they were renting a vacation villa.”

“Which means that Gabe broke the law if the CIA commanded such a thing.”

“Exactly, but even if I find proof of that mission in the documents that I hid wherever the fuck I hid them, that does nothing to prove who directed that mission.”

I close the space between us and catch his waist. “How could you think I would blame you for that boy’s death, Rick?”

“It hasn’t sunk in yet.”

“Yes. It has. You are scarred with that memory for life.” A realization hits me. “And it all makes so much sense now. My father was still involved, so it was early in your days with Tag.”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“It’s why you felt unworthy to come home. Every time you looked in the mirror, you saw that boy. You see that boy. And you see my father. Maybe you see me.” I try to step back. “God, Rick—”

“No,” he says, catching my wrist. “No, baby. That’s a volcanic eruption of wrong—it’s so wrong. But yes. I see that boy. A boy who might have tried to change his country if we’d groomed him, adopted him. Done something other than kill him.”

“How do I know that?”

“You have to trust me. I need you to trust me.”

“You get what you give, Rick Savage. When are you going to trust me? Because you didn’t trust me with this for eight years.”

“I know. Believe me, baby. I know. I trust you. I told you and I really hate telling you that I had a reason other than that trust.”

A sense of foreboding clamps down on my chest. “What does that mean?”

“Wes is here and he was in the house tonight. He jacked off on the bed, which I know because he left a photo of himself doing so, along with a threat.”

I’m back to wanting to throw up. “Because you killed Lily.” And I know the rest of the story without him telling me. “And now he wants to kill me,” I say.

“Tag’s using him as a resource. Wes wants what Tag wants. For me to kill Gabe or he’ll kill you.”

I let out a breath of disbelief. “You mean he’ll kill me no matter what, just after you kill Gabe.”

“I handled it.”

“You killed him?” I ask, and it sickens me how hopeful I sound that a man might lose his life.

“I made sure Tag kills him.”

“And you really think he’ll do that?” I run a hand through my hair. “I feel like I should feel guilty for wanting him dead. I’ve never wanted someone dead. What is happening to me?”

“Me,” he says, his voice etched with shards of glass that seems to cut him with every word, cut him and me, as he adds, “I’m fucking happening to you.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

Candace

He’s going to leave. The scar on his face, and the pain it represents, drives that point straight to my bleeding heart before it settles into my punished soul. Those words: I’m fucking happening to you. No matter how much I love him, my love will never be enough to overcome the torment inside this man. And yet, I think I’m the only chance he has to survive that torment. He’s going to shred my heart, but I don’t care. I’m going to fight for him. I try to pull back, to put just enough space between us that I can look him in the eyes and claim control over this push and pull between us that is out of control.

Rick isn’t having it. He pulls me back, his big hand framing my waist. “Don’t do this,” he says, clearly reading my move as withdrawal. “I’m begging you.”