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“Okay?”

“Somehow, the police department is under the impression that you’re to blame for the death of Alain Robicheaux. They want to bring you in, interview you. Likely charge you with the crime and lock you away.”

I sit there, silent, because what can I say? I shot the man, and he died. He deserved much, much worse.

“The officer… he’s dirty. Been paid for years from Alain’s accounts, and now, obviously, his paycheck is threatened.”

“He c-came to the house. After.” If it’s him, the same cop, he won’t stop. He’ll never stop. He’ll hunt me down and cut me again, hurt me over and over again until he gets what he wants.

This nightmare is never going to end. I don’t know what I did to deserve this hell, but I got it. I would love to unsubscribe to this part of my life, but I don’t think I can. I think this is all I’m going to know for the rest of my life.

Fear.

Panic.

Darkness. That darkness is closing in again.

Soothing sounds sift through my haze, bringing me back again.

“Shh, don’t let it win. You’re stronger than you know, and I promise you’re safe. I won’t let him take you, hummingbird? That’s why I brought you here, so Des can’t get to you.”

Despite his assurances, the tears come, streaming down my cheeks and dripping from my chin.

Teague releases my hand and wraps his arms around me, pulling me into his lap. He cradles my head to his chest, and I let the tears flow. Soaking his sweater and probably the shirt beneath.

I lose myself to my tears, to the fear of being at Desmond’s mercy again. I can’t do it.

Soothing hands stroke down my back, my arms, grounding me. Keeping me from losing myself completely.

Murmured assurances and the way they rumble beneath my cheek lull me to sleep.

Hours later, I wake, hot and disoriented. I turn my head into the pillow and wipe the drool from my lips.

“Mm. Thought maybe you’d plant a kiss over my heart, not drool all over it again.” Teague’s voice is low and laced with gravel. “Though I don’t think I’ll complain about be being drooled over.”

He sifts his fingers through my hair, pushing it back from my face as embarrassment wraps her prickly fingers around the back of my neck.

“What woke you, darlin’? It’s still the middle of the night.”

I feel dry, wrung out from crying. “Where are we?”

“In bed. You cried yourself out and fell asleep in front of the fire. When my ass fell asleep, I carried you up.” He presses his head into the pillow to better meet my gaze. “You wouldn’t let go. Clung to me, actually.”

That tracks since I’m currently sprawled across his chest, hands fisted in his sweater. I loosen my grasp, one hand and then the other, placing my palms flat on his chest. I should move. Slide off of him and give him space, but his hand is firm on my lower back, holding me in place.

The dark room is lit only by the full moon glowing brightly above the trees. Washed in a photographic negative, Teague is a contrast of light and shadow. Silver and smoke. The sharp lines of his cheekbones, the bump on the bridge of his nose, his eyes—all brought into stark relief with the play of light.

His lips look ripe and soft. Luscious and right there for the taking.

I’ve spent a lot of time staring at that mouth, memorizing the shape of those lips, dreaming of what they taste like, wondering if they’re kind or if the teeth they cover are full of venom.

I do know they’re capable of making me forget.

“Truie, darlin’, you tryin’ to kill me?”

Chapter 13

Contradiction