Page 8 of ’Til You Break

I know because I checked on her.

Perhaps that was careless of me. I don’t always think clearly after experiencing a failure. My inviting Hannah to stay here meant accepting that my routine would change, so I have no one to blame but myself for what happened last night.

If I’d known she would see me in the laundry, I’d have put her in the east wing. Far away from me. The thought still has its appeal, although it would be unnecessarily cruel.

I guess I could construct a kitchen in one of the spare bedrooms and a living room in another. Turn her quarters into a little apartment of her own, and we’d never face another incident like last night. But there is one tremendous fault in this plan that I can’t get past. And it isn’t the smell of bacon and eggs cooking in the frying pan.

It’s that I wouldn’t see her anymore. Not in those sleep shorts hugging her firm, round ass. Not in the teddy-bear t-shirt stretched across her breasts.

I could get used to this.

It may be our first morning together, but the view hooks me. Banishes any notion of shunning her.

“Good morning, Hannah,” I say, entering the kitchen.

I won’t apologize for the state she found me in last night. I’m not ashamed of my body, or of the way her cheeks flushed at seeing it. What does unsettle me is how I treated her. I let my impulses run wild enough to reach out and touch her. Stepsiblinghood aside, that was a mistake. Letting anyone get too close to who I am—what I am—could have dire consequences.

“Mornin’.” She smiles over her shoulder. Breakfast is almost ready, so she keeps her attention on the stove.

“Feeling better today?” Her question catches me off guard.

For a moment, I wonder how much she heard last night.

“Excuse me?” My eyes narrow.

“You sounded upset last night,” she says, sliding the bacon around the cast-iron pan with a rubber spatula. “I heard you rattling around when I came out.”

Hmm.

I’ll have to keep my temper under control from now on.

Easier said than done when it’s stretched so thin.

“Bad day.” I brush the subject aside.

It’s more of a lie than the truth. My meeting with the man from the surveillance footage didn’t go as planned. He eventually gave up his secrets, though. I spilled his blood to get them.

It’s almost funny when you think about it. How strong and menacing people act until they realize their time is up. He held his tongue for hours, enduring beatings that would break most men. Hope is a powerful motivator. As long as people believe there’s light at the end of the tunnel, they’ll endure almost anything.

But the moment that light disappears for good, they’ll tell you everything. They’ll scream out their deepest secrets as they fight for one more breath. As visions of everything they’ll never have again flash behind their eyes.

I thrive inside that nightmare scenario.

Not this domesticated bullshit.

“I guess that’s why you rushed out?” she asks, and my blood runs cold. “Did the meeting not go well?”

I grip the edge of the kitchen counter until my knuckles turn white. How does she know about my meeting?

For one dangerous moment, I wonder if she’s been snooping through my things. Was she just waiting for me to leave so she could pry into my private affairs?

And then I remember. A wash of something that almost feels like relief rushes over me. I told her I was meeting investors.

I swallow the growl that’s building in my throat.

“Exactly,” I reply more calmly than I feel. Don’t make the lie bigger than it already is. One word will have to do.

“Well, I bet today’s going to go much better.” She smiles, before plating our breakfast and setting it on the kitchen island. Orange juice and coffee are already waiting.