Page 33 of Written with Regret (The Regret Duet 1)
“Open it!” she screamed. “Please just open it.”
But there was nothing else I could do.
He’d won.
He’d finally won.
“You stupid son of a bitch,” he snarled.
Any remaining hope I had left vanished at the sound of his voice.
I turned, guiding the girl behind me.
She pressed her trembling front against me, her hands fisting at the back of my shirt. He was going to kill her no matter what, but maybe if he took us both out with one bullet, he wouldn’t have the opportunity to torture her.
I lifted my shaking hands in surrender, nervously flashing my eyes around the kitchen. All hope had been lost, but my racing mind and will to live were still desperate to find a way out. “Just wait. Please. Listen. You don’t have to do this.”
He grinned, his blue eyes that matched my own crinkling with pure joy at the corners. “You know I do.”
I was only able to get two more words out before he pulled the trigger. “Dad, no!”HADLEYMy heart broke as the color drained from his face. I hated hurting him. But I knew he, of all people, would understand if I could just make him listen. My involvement in Rosalee’s life hung in the balance of this one conversation.
Beth had lost her mind when I’d asked for his phone number. I’d listened to her bitch for over an hour about why reaching out to him was the worst possible thing I could do before a custody battle. It would only give him fuel to use against me. And maybe she was right.
But I didn’t want a custody battle.
So I had to at least try.
There was no way he hadn’t been ruined after that day at the mall. Forty-eight people had lost their lives at the hands of his father. If I could convince him to put his anger aside and step into my shoes—even if for only one conversation—he’d get it.
He needed the facts about Hadley Banks. Not the woman he’d created as the villain in his head.
“Don’t fucking call me that.” He glanced around the diner before putting his elbows on the table and leaning in close. “How do you know about that?”
I swallowed hard. “Because your father killed my parents.”
His lips got tight and his dark brows drew together, absolute horror slashing through his handsome face.
Caven oozed pure masculinity. He had this weird aura about him that straddled the gap between guy-next-door and GQ. He was wearing a faded gray long-sleeved T-shirt and a pair of tattered jeans—not the kind that cost five hundred dollars to look tattered. They looked like a normal guy’s clothes.
But with his chiseled jaw, the scruff trimmed to perfection, and his short, brown hair meticulously styled, he appeared every bit the millionaire I knew he was.
Except right then, as he flashed his gaze around the diner, looking anywhere but at me, he looked like a guilty little boy.
His nostrils flared, and the hinges of his jaw ticked. Maybe with unshed emotion. Maybe with mounting anger. I couldn’t be sure.
His voice gave nothing away as he asked, “And you think I’m responsible for that? Is that what you brought me here to say?”
“No,” I said firmly, sliding my hand across the table to cover his. I didn’t think before I did it. I didn’t consider how he might interpret it or how it might make him feel.
I was just trying to offer comfort to a man in pain. Unfortunately, it only seemed to snap him out of his guilt-driven trance and slam him back into the reality where Caven Hunt was sitting across from Hadley the Terrible.
He snatched his hand away as if I’d set it on fire. Leaning back in his seat, he held my gaze. “Don’t fucking touch me. Don’t you ever fucking touch me again.”
The ache in my chest grew. “I’m sorry. I’m just trying to—”
“You were just trying to what? Please. Fucking enlighten me here. Is this the part where you ask for money? Try to blackmail me to keep quiet? Because I really hate to break it to you, but this little payday secret you think you know about me is public fucking knowledge if you dig deep enough.”
My whole body turned to stone. “I would never—”
“Okay, then. Fine.” He leaned to the side, fishing the phone out of his pocket before pressing at the screen and resting it on the table between us. “How much will it cost me for you to disappear? A million? Ten? Name your price and I’ll have it wired over first thing in the morning.”
The light on his phone caught my attention, and when I looked down at it, there was a red, circular record button showing on it. It was off. Probably to cover his attempted bribe.
“Were you recording me?”
“What’s it going to cost me?” he growled, rising to his feet.
