Page 62 of Deep (Chicago Underground 8)
There was a faint sound from far away, and I pictured Adrian leaving.
It was just the two of us now.
“Will he be okay?” I asked softly, unable to bear the silence any longer.
Philip’s voice was raw. “Do you expect me to care?”
He did care, but he would never admit it. And maybe it didn’t matter. It wasn’t the kind of love that Adrian had always longed for.
“Do you know why I let him live?” he asked softly.
I shook my head, almost afraid of the answer.
Dark eyes met mine, and behind them I saw a perfect storm of emotions—fury and grief and burning desire that seared me. “Because I know what it is to long for someone you can’t have. I know how stupid it can make a man.”
And with that he left me standing in Adrian’s cold, empty bedroom to find my way back upstairs alone.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
PHILIP REFUSED TO speak to me. He also refused to sleep. I left him with his slacks on and shirt still missing, a glass of scotch in his hand and a scowl on his face.
I couldn’t condemn Adrian for what he’d done, even knowing the horrible consequences. I had spent my entire life seeking connection, family—love. And I had only ended up more alone, caught in the net of people who would hurt me, use me. Sometimes we don’t know which things will hurt us until we’re hurt. We don’t know the devil until we speak his name.
Adrian had lived too long in Philip’s shadow, looking at what he couldn’t touch. He’d sought a moment of solace, and it had ruined him.
Eventually I found a restless, dreamless sleep curled up on the striped sofa where Philip had once pounded into me so hard I still felt his imprint.
I forced myself to get up in the morning, to take a shower, even though the house felt eerily empty. Adrian was quiet—when he wasn’t in a conversation with you—but without him the whole place had turned into a museum.
The strident ring of a doorbell startled me so much I dropped the jeans I was holding. I grabbed them and slung them on, hopping across the bedroom in my haste.
The doorbell had rung three more times before I could make it downstairs and to the door.
No sign of Philip.
Was he still drinking scotch in his study? He wouldn’t be used to answering the door. That was Adrian’s door. Still, it was impossible to miss this doorbell. He must have decided not to answer.
I peered through the peephole, expecting to see Adrian returning to plead his case. Or maybe even the cops. What I didn’t expect was Colin, Philip’s younger brother. Younger, but still hard and rough. He looked more like a construction worker than the restaurateur and devoted family man I knew him to be.
There were three locks, but at least they all opened easily from inside.
Colin didn’t look surprised to see me. “Are you okay?” he asked without preamble.
“Of course,” I said, too surprised by the question to answer with anything but the truth.
“And Philip?”
My heart sank, remembering the veiled devastation on his face. He wasn’t a man who trusted easily—and he had trusted Adrian. “Not okay.”
He nodded. “May I come in?”
“Oh. Yes.” I took a step back and gave an embarrassed laugh. Colin had as much right to be here as I did. More actually. “This isn’t my house.”
Grim amusement crossed his face. “Philip might not agree. He wouldn’t let just anyone answer his door. Where is the bastard?”
I suspected that had more to do with his current mental state than any permissiveness on his part. “I’m not sure. Maybe his study. The one behind the—”
Colin was already heading in that direction, clearly familiar with the layout of this safe house.
