Page 112 of The Complete Truth Duet
It hadn’t even been two weeks since Marcos and Dante died. But there was something inherently addictive about not having to monitor your every move.
I didn’t think before I spoke.
I cried without fear of it being used against me.
And I didn’t wake up four times a night to make sure the doors were locked.
Penn had given up his life to make me free. Thomas didn’t get to take that away.
But what other choice did I have?
“I need to make a call,” I told Drew as I started scrolling through my phone.
He sat across from me on the bed. “Catalina?”
My gaze jumped to his. I could have lied. I could have protected her. I could have kept up the façade that I was just as clueless as everyone else when it came to where she had gone. But damn, I was tired of hiding.
“Yeah,” I whispered. “Please don’t ask any questions.”
He gave my knee a reassuring squeeze. “How about I head down to the hotel bar for a little while. Give you some time alone. You can call me if you need anything though. Okay?”
I nodded. “Thanks, Drew.”
“Any time, Cora. Any time.”
I stared at my phone until the door clicked behind him. After that, I scrolled through until I found the number I’d programmed in as Delilah’s Bakery and hit call.
She answered on the first ring.
“I need you to come back, Cat.”
“Have you lost your freaking mind?”
“No. I’ve lost my daughter.”
The line went silent—along with my heart.
Penn
“Please, Penn!” Cora screamed.
I’d climbed out of her window and was staring up at the flames, which if everything were going as planned, were finishing off Marcos and Dante forever.
But she wasn’t supposed to be there.
She was supposed to be at the hotel.
She was…
As she banged on the windowpanes, her blue eyes filled with terror, fire licking at her back, smoke all around her. “Please, Penn!” Her voice tore through me with the velocity of a bullet, knocking the wind out of my lungs before piercing through my heart.
“Cora!” I yelled, lurching toward the building, ready to claw my way up to her, but my legs wouldn’t move any more than her name carried any sound.
I couldn’t move.
I couldn’t breathe.
All I could do was watch her die.
Such was my curse in life.
I came awake with a loud roar shredding my throat. Bolting upright, I panted and frantically tried to differentiate my nightmare from reality.
It wasn’t the first nightmare I’d had about her. She was my subconscious’s favorite obsession as of late.
She was always dying.
I was always watching.
And I could never get to her.
With a shaking hand, I scrubbed my face, desperately trying to wipe away the mental image of her standing at that window. In the dark, I patted the bed beside me as if she would suddenly appear.
What I would have given for her to be there with me, physically reassuring me while my mind took the longer path to keep up.
My pulse slowed as I closed my eyes and imagined her there.
She would have purred as I rolled her over, stretching like a cat before circling her arms around my neck. Her heart beating. Air in her lungs. Safe at my side.
Her messy, blond hair would have cascaded over her face, barely revealing a sleepy smile as she murmured, “You ’kay, baby?”
When I would have told her no, that I needed her, her eyes would have opened, the blue sparkling even in the darkness, healing me as she whispered, “I’m right here, Penn.”
And then she would have kissed me, slow and soft, with a reverence that made it seem like maybe I was healing her too.
As it always did with us, it wouldn’t have taken long before it became heated. Her hands roaming over my back, and as mine drifted to her ass, the nightmare would fade as desire overwhelmed us both.
She would have opened her legs, inviting me in.
And I would have slid in, more desperate than ever to bury myself inside her warmth.
Alone, in my bedroom, I could almost feel her fingertips gliding over my shoulder as our bodies rolled together, and as I fell back against the pillows, the sound of her moans playing in my ears, I absolutely felt my hand slide into my sweats and wrap around my thickening cock.
“Fucking hell. What are you doing?” a man growled.
My entire body came awake for a second time as I flew out of bed, the gun under my pillow coming up with me, my finger poised.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa! It’s me! Shane, stop!” he yelled.
The jarring familiarity was the only thing that stopped me from pulling the trigger, but I still couldn’t process who he was or why he was there.
“Who the fuck are you!” I boomed, lifting the gun higher, stepping toward his indistinguishable silhouette.
“It’s me. Drew. Shit, man. It’s me! Put the gun down!”
