Page 57 of Wicked Sinner
The casual way he says it, like he's discussing the weather, sends a chill down my spine. Because I can hear the truth in his words. He could do all of those things. He has the power, the resources, the connections. And until this moment, I wasn't entirely sure he wouldn't. I was beginning to feel hopeless.Like the future he just described was the future I’d unwittingly doomed myself to—and my baby.
"But I won't," he continues, finally looking up at me again. "I won't do that to you, and I won't do that to our child. You deserve better than that. Our baby deserves better than that. And that’s not the kind of man I am. I never could have done that to you. I truly… I thought you would change your mind. But I understand now that you won’t."
That defeat is in his voice again, a tired sound that makes my chest ache despite myself. I want to stay angry. I want to hold onto the fury that's been sustaining me through these weeks of captivity, the righteous indignation that's kept me fighting when everything else felt hopeless. But looking at him now, seeing something that might actually be genuine regret in his eyes, I find my anger wavering.
Not disappearing. I'm still furious with him, still hurt and betrayed and traumatized by what he's put me through. But underneath all of that, there's something else. Something that feels dangerously like relief.
"So what happens now?" I ask. "You just… let me walk out of here? Go back to my life like none of this ever happened?"
He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a sleek black phone, holding it out to me. "My number's programmed in there. If you need anything—money above and beyond what we’ll discuss later, protection, medical care—you call me. No questions asked, no strings attached."
I stare at the phone like it might bite me. "And if I don't call? If I just disappear and you never hear from me again?"
Pain flashes across his face, quick and sharp, before he schools his expression back to neutral. "Then I'll respect that choice. I'll have my lawyers draw up papers giving up any claim to the child, if that's what you want. You'll never have to see me again." He pauses. “I’ll have someone send settlement papers toyour house. You should stay there long enough for that, at least. We’ll come to terms on an amount that will take care of you and the baby. You’ll have to relinquish their claim to anything I have, but I assume you’ll be fine with that, given your stance on… everything.”
Every word he says sounds like it’s being dragged out of his mouth by force, but they should make me happy. This is everything I've been fighting for, everything I've wanted since the moment he dragged me out of my garage. Freedom. The chance to raise my baby in peace, away from the violence and danger of his world. So why do I feel like crying?
“Okay,” I say finally. “So, what? I leave now?”
“When you’re ready.” Caesar runs a hand through his hair. “You can take anything you want that I got for you. It’s all yours anyway—I’ll throw it out if you don’t take it. Marco and Bryce will drive you home. They'll stay close enough for a few days to make sure you're safe, but they won't interfere unless you're in danger."
"Bodyguards," I say flatly.
"Protection," he corrects. "There are people in my world who might try to use you to get to me, especially now that you’ll be on your own again. I wasn’t lying about that, Bridget, and the threat is real. I can't just send you back to your life without making sure you're safe."
I want to argue, to tell him I don't need his protection, but the truth is that I am a little scared. I never gave any thought to the mafia or any kind of criminal underworld before, but my eyes have been opened over the past weeks. My stubborn nature makes me not want to agree with him about anything, but if there really are people out there who might hurt me to get to Caesar, then maybe having protection isn't the worst thing.
"Fine," I agree reluctantly. "But they stay outside. I don't want them in my house, and I don't want them following me everywhere I go."
“Like I said, you won’t even notice them.”
“Then I guess…” I pause. “I guess I’ll pack.”
Caesar hesitates, as if he wants to say something else, but he just nods after a moment. “I’ll bring up a suitcase for you,” he says, and then he’s striding to the door, walking out without a word.
For the first time, he doesn’t lock it behind him. And that’s the moment that I really, truly believe he’s telling the truth. If he’s letting me go, there’s no need for me to run. And if there’s no need for me to run, then he doesn’t need to lock the door.
I look around the room as he leaves, wondering if I should take anything with me. Do I want any of it? I look at the expensive clothing, knowing I’d never be able to explain any of it if Jenny looked in my closet. But then again, I have something else that I’m going to have to explain.
I touch my stomach. There’s a lot of explaining to do.
By the time Caesar brings the suitcase up, I’ve decided what I want. I take the books that I was actually interested in—there’s at least a hundred and fifty dollars worth of books, and that’s money I never have extra of to spend—and some of the clothing. I leave the evening dresses in the closet at first, thinking I’ll never wear them again, and just pack the nice lounge and sleep clothes, and some of the outfits that I liked. Eventually, however, the practical side takes over.
I take the dresses off their hangers, including the one I wore out to that dinner with Caesar, and pack them along with the shoes and jewelry. He can think that I’m taking them to remember him by or whatever, but I’m taking them because if I ever do need money again—not that I probably ever will after this settlement—they’re worth a lot.
And who knows? Caesar is convinced that the baby is a boy, but it could be a girl. Maybe she’d want some of these things, one day.
Caesar comes up thirty minutes later. “They’ll be bringing the car around in ten minutes,” he says, reaching for my bag, and I let out a sharp breath.
Ten minutes. In ten minutes, after all of this, I’ll be free.
It feels hard to believe.
Caesar looks at me as if there’s something more he wants to say, but nothing comes out. This is likely the last time I’m ever going to see him, I realize, and I try to tear my eyes away, but I can’t stop looking at him.
I hate that I'm attracted to him. I hate that even now, even after everything he's done, some part of me responds to his presence, to how unfairly gorgeous he is. I hate that there were moments, brief flashes during our time together, when I remembered that night, when I wanted him, when I thought of how it could have been different if he’d…
If he’d what?I look away, my pulse beating too quickly. Caesar did what he did because of who he is. He made me an offensive offer, and then he kidnapped me. It was never going to be different. And no matter how much he might regret his actions now, it doesn't change what he did to me. It doesn't erase the fear and helplessness, and rage of these past weeks.
