Page 89 of Wicked Truths
“How did he betray you?” she whispers.
I lean closer, my face inches from hers. I’m so close to her I can smell her minty breath. I can see every freckle scattered across her nose. And the bruises that mean I will kill again.
I want to tell her everything—how Caleb’s brother is a detective and how he’s been using her and almost got her killed. But I can’t. Not yet.
“That’s not something you need to worry about right now.”
“But it was your voice. It was you arguing with him in the hospital.”
I clench my jaw. “Yes, I was arguing with Caleb.”
“Was it about me?” she breathes.
“Yes, it was about you.”
The gentle lapping of the pool water and distant calls of seabirds create a peaceful soundtrack to the thundering sound my blood is making in my ears.
“Oh.”
I turn and watch Amara’s eyelids grow heavy. We’ve sat in comfortable silence for an hour now. I waited for her to ask more about Caleb, but first she needs to know more about herself.
Her breathing slows, becomes deeper, and soon her head lolls to the side as she falls asleep on the lounge bed. Her face is peaceful, free from the confused frown she’s worn since waking in the hospital.
I stand quietly, moving toward her with careful, light steps and slide one arm beneath her knees and the other around her shoulders. When I lift her against my chest, her head nestles naturally into the crook of my neck.
“Dom,” she murmurs, her breath warm against my skin sends shivers down my spine.
“Shh,” I whisper. “I’ve got you.”
I carry her through the house to her bedroom, nudging the door open with my foot. The room is cool and dim with the curtains drawn. I lay her gently on the bed, careful not to jostle her injured ribs.
She stirs as her head touches the pillow, eyes fluttering open to look at me.
“Rest,” I tell her, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “You’ll recover quicker if you rest more.”
She blinks sleepily up at me. “You can’t have wanted to kill me,” she murmurs, “if you want my memory to come back.”
I freeze, my hand still cupping her cheek. “Why would I want to kill you, piccola?” I ask, my voice rougher than intended. “You’re the only good thing in my life.”
“I am?”
“You are.”
She smiles and her eyes close again, satisfied with my answer or simply too tired to question me further.
Within moments, her breathing evens out again. I stay there, watching her sleep, fighting the urge to climb in beside her, and hold her safe against me.
My phone vibrates in my pocket. I quickly answer it with a hushed, “Yes,” as I leave the room, pulling the door closed behind me.
“I’m moving back into the house,” Helena announces without introduction. As always, her voice grates on my nerves like sandpaper.
“No, you’re not,” I reply flatly, walking down the hallway to put distance between me and Amara’s room.
“She’s my daughter, Dominic. I need to look after her.”
“Stepmother...”
“I brought her up.”
