Page 10 of ’Til You Break

Every instinct tells me to stop this now. Shut it down before she says something we’ll both regret.

Instead, I answer. “Okay.”

“I smelled blood on you last night,” she says.

“Blood?” Heat creeps up my neck at her mention of blood.

That’s my fault for getting too close. I wasn’t in the right frame of mind. The meeting had ended in failure. My target had pointed me in the right direction, but I still hadn’t crossed the first name off my list. One of three names. A task that has been decades in the making.

Hannah’s sudden return to my life was always going to complicate things, but making two mistakes in one night is unacceptable.

I should have made the rules clearer.

If I could go back, I’d make sure she understood that her role wasn’t to ask questions. It was to see nothing, say nothing, and forget everything. My life is private by design. Success has never interested me for its own sake. It simply funds what I do after dark.

I round the counter and close the distance between us. She’s so close now that her anxious breath brushes my chin.

This is how I should have greeted her last night. I trap her between the wall and the counter.

I keep her there.

Uncertain.

Off-balance.

Her eyes dart to mine, then lower again as she struggles to stay composed.

Hannah’s curiosity could destroy everything I’ve built. She needs to learn that now. Whether she stays here or walks away, there is a line she cannot cross.

“How did you know it was blood?” I ask, though I already know the answer. I enjoy watching her squirm.

I enjoy seeing her trembling lip and the confusion in her eyes. It amuses me.

This, right now, simply satisfies a different part of me. The part that craves control. The power-hungry fiend I’ve become over the years finds her fear thrilling.

“I’m a nurse,” she says, lifting her hands to her chest. “I’d know that smell anywhere.”

It’s exactly the answer I expected.

I study her face for any sign of deception before easing back a fraction.

Fear exposes lies. I’ve seen it too many times to mistake the truth for anything else.

Hannah isn’t lying. She’s frightened, but she’s telling me exactly what happened.

I decide I’ll let it go.

For now...

“I cut my hand on a prototype in my workshop,” I say at last, answering her original question. At the same time, I hold up my hand. A self-inflicted cut runs across my palm, wrapped in gauze and stained red in places.

These things happen in the heat of the moment. When my mind empties and the darkness takes over. I don’t remember doing them. That’s what happened with this wound. How it came about is a blank. Maybe it happened during the fight with the old British prick.

Either way, my answer seems to satisfy her.

“Oh, God, are you okay?” she asks, reaching for my hand.

I pull it away a fraction too late and her fingers brush mine.