Page 68 of Inside the Wicked

I don’t realize I haven’t moved, still staring at the door and the ghost of him, until Rhett’s arms snake around me. I melt into him—the only sure, warm, and safe thing I know right now.

“What are we going to do?” I whisper against his chest.

“One day at a time,” he says, kissing my head. “We’ll figure it out.”

“He’ll never see you as anything but a criminal.”

“I am nothing but a criminal.”

I pull my head back to peer up with a frown, but the sight of his small smile is such a relief.

“I killed someone,” I say. It’s the first time I truly understand the tarnish on my soul. I don’t think Micah could have survived the half-pencil in his neck. “So I guess I’m one too.”

A muscle in Rhett’s jaw shifts, and he searches my eyes, likely looking for the sign I’m going to break down because of what I did.

“Do you need to talk to someone, Ana?”

He only uses my name when he’s worried.

“I’m talking to you.”

“To someone who isn’t to blame for what happened to you and what you were forced to do.”

“No one forced me. I went with Alistair by choice. I knew what I was doing, as do I now. The only thing I need is you.”

His eyes close as if this hurts him to hear. He can’t back away now.

Rhett’s arms drop from me, and he turns away.

“Don’t leave me,” I say. It slips out in a panic. “Don’t come to some bullshit conclusion that I’d be better off without you after all this.”

He shakes his head. “You don’t know what I’ve done.”

“I don’t care.”

“You should,” he snaps. I flinch, and his face turns desolate. “You should,” he repeats in a gentler tone, as if my reaction is all the proof he needs.

“What did he do to you?” I ask again, carefully.

I’m only wearing short pajamas, and suddenly I’m too cold, rubbing my arms.

Rhett wordlessly reaches for the throw on the couch and comes close enough to drape it over me. When he tries to step away again, I grasp the front of his shirt.

“You don’t get to push me away now. I went through fucking hell to find you, and you were captive there, waiting for me. Don’t say you weren’t. That you didn’t want to get back to me.”

“I watched you train, and you were fucking exquisite in doing so. I watched you learn chess with your brilliant mind at work. I watched you pick up a gun and learn to shoot without fear. I watched you in his office, and that was what tormented me the most. Because every time you sat in that chair, I could only see myself. I knew you didn’t want to be there, but you felt like you had to be. I watched you every day.”

I’m trying to figure out why.Whywould Alistair have made him watch? He always has a motive.

“What did he make you do?” I ask carefully.

“I can’t,” he says, and I ache at his pain. “I need a while longer to have you look at me like nothing’s changed.”

“Nothing has changed. Not my feelings for you.”

“Stop. Please.”

I can see him struggling against shutting me out. I can be patient for him, but I can’t stand there being any walls between us.

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