Page 120 of My Solemn Vow
“Get my phone.” Antonella pleads. “You can read any message on it. But I’ve told her nothing. We talk about recipes, the children in my class, the overbearing, protective parents, and the television show we’re watching.”
“And what is encoded in those messages?” I ask, wheels turning.
If it were an encoded message, then it would be Royal with the information, not Neil.
The clock is ticking.
I approach her with a razor-sharp knife I pulled from the cupboard.
“Nothing is encoded in those messages.” She keeps her eyes on me and writhes against her restraints, pulling her feet up into the chair like she’ll mule kick me.
I set the knife on the table and close the distance to the chair. Grabbing her legs so she can’t kick me, I lock them into place. Her calves locked together keep her knees closed. “I can’t lie for you. I can’t make a plea for your life. Not unless you tell me what you did.”
“You wouldn’t have to lie for me if you’d listen to me. Yesterday, you told me you trusted me.”
Antonella knows which buttons to push. She’s spent weeks learning them, and that thought sets my stomach on a spin cycle again.
“And it was misplaced.” I push myself away from her, disgusted.
But the more I ask, the more and more it feels like she’s telling the truth.
My chest tightens, and I feel hopeless, like maybe I’m doing the wrong thing.
I dig the heels of my palms into my eye sockets.
Have we been wrong before?No. But, Christ, there’s a first time for everything.
Maybe I’m making a mistake. Minutes pass like seconds, narrowing the window to get the information and formulate a lie before they get here.I need to make a judgment call. Whose side am I on? Who is right and who is wrong?
My orders are to secure her and hold her, so my job is done until they arrive.
We’re stuck staring at each other. The overhead lights, the obnoxious fluorescent lighting, washes her out and makes her look less like the strong woman I married. The woman my daughter loves. The woman I love.I love her.
We love her. She’s our mate. Protect her.My wolf urges me.
“Antonella, this isn’t me trying to trick you. I can’t save you if I don’t know how.” I approach her with the knife.
“Stop.” She shakes her head. “Don’t do this.”
Stop.That one word from last night.
My wolf howls at the loss of that tender moment.
“You’re not giving me a choice.” I barely get those words out above a whisper. They’re practically drowned out by my wolf howling in my head.
“No,” she whines as I slide up the skirt along her legs, the tip of my knife slicing into her skin at the same depth as a papercut.
I’m not trying to inflict damage. But I need her scared enough to tell me. I need her afraid enough to say something I can do to help her.
She doesn’t say anything. My actions don’t bring any words or confessions, and as I run the blade up the other leg, I study her features. She closes her eyes. Tears escape the corners and run down her face. Hands clenched in fists, she pulls against the restraints, probably the instinct to wipe those tears away.
This isn’t the way I like to watch the tears stream down her cheeks. I only want to see her tears when my hand is on her assor my cock is in her mouth. I don’t want to see her in pain, not like this.
My actions can’t be helped as I remove the knife from her flesh and point it away from her to wipe the tears off her face with my thumb. She flinches away from me like I slapped her.
“What did you do?” I whisper, hoping maybe she’ll answer me this time. That maybe she’ll tell me everything, and I’ll find a way to spin it. To fix this. To keep her, even though I shouldn’t. “What did you tell someone, even if it seemed benign? What did you say that they could have used? Did Berto reach out to you?”
“No. Fuck. Why would I talk to Berto?” Her chest heaves as she fights back sobs. “Whatever they tell you I’ve done will be false.”
