Page 44 of Second Goal

I don’t know why she’s protecting the asshole who did this. But I’m going to find out. I’ll hunt down the bastard myself if I have to, in order to make sure he never puts another finger on her, or anyone else.

But in order for that to happen, I need her to talk to me. And this time, I’m not backing down.

After five grueling hours in the ER, a CT scan, X-rays, and police reports, we’re finally back at my apartment.

And she still isn’t telling me a damn thing.

I’m a second away from going full Neanderthal on her. The only thing I’ve ever wanted to do is protect her. But how the hell am I supposed to do that when she keeps lying to me?

“Drink this,” I tell her, placing a cup of tea on the coffee table in front of her.

I can’t take the chance of touching her, because if I do, I know I’ll just pull her into my arms. And that won’t fix anything.

“Thank you,” she whispers.

I pace in front of her and pull at my hair until my scalp hurts. “Who was it?” I ask for the hundredth time, knowing even as I ask the question that she’s not going to tell me. “Was it the same guy I saw you with before? Is he the one who hurt you?”

She glances away.

“Goddamn it, Kiley,” I yell, finally losing my cool. Pax whimpers and Lady hides behind a chair. “I can’t keep doing this. I need you to tell me the truth or...” Or what? Can I really walk away from her?

“You should walk away,” she says as if reading my mind. She blinks up at me. Again, those two main emotions, fear and hope warring behind her eyes.

I exhale a frustrated breath, knowing that leaving isn’t a possibility. I crouch down in front of her and take her hand. “Just tell me who he is? Why did he hurt you? And why the fuck did you have a gun on you?”

“It wasn’t loaded.”

“You think that’s any better? Shit, I wish it was. You should have killed the asshole when he put his hands on you.”

She shakes her head violently. “You think it’s that easy? To just kill someone? It’s not.”

Something in her words has warning bells blasting in my head. The way she said it, was like she’s speaking from experience.

I lean forward and kiss her fingers. They’re ice cold. I close my eyes and ask again, “Tell me who did this. Why are you protecting him?”

“I’m not protecting him.”

“Then why wouldn’t you give the police his name?”

“It’s complicated.”

“Complicated,” I mutter, dragging a hand over my face and trying to stay calm. But my thoughts and fears run wild. “Was he... is he an ex-boyfriend?”

“No.”

“Then what? Tell me, Kiley. Because I don’t understand any of this. Just tell me the guy’s name.”

She sits back on the couch and wraps the blanket tighter around her shoulders. Her face is a mess of bruises, but it’s the haunted look in her eyes when she finally says his name that sends chills down my spine.

“Cruz Moreno.” She swallows.

“Okay,” I say carefully. It’s a step in the right direction. “Why...” I close my eyes briefly before asking the next question. “Why did he hurt you?”

“For the same reason all men like him hurt people. Because they can.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“He wanted money. More money than I had, and I told him I wouldn’t give him anymore.”

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