Page 93 of Hunted to Be Mine
Saying it felt like slipping back into an old skin.
I kept going, voice hollow. “I remember being proud of my reputation. Of what people would pay.” I stared at the wall. “That’s who I was, Selina. That’s who I am.”
The words came out clipped. “They didn’t need to create a killer. They just needed to control one. Or more accurately, Dresner did.”
A memory shoved in: an expensive suit, cold eyes measuring me like I was a product. I bit down against it.
“You remember Dresner? From before?” she asked.
“A meeting.” I gave her nothing extra. “He made threats. I refused. He probably had me kidnapped soon after.”
She waited. I let the silence sit, then broke it because I couldn’t stand it anymore.
I stood, needing space from her steadiness, from the pull of it. The glass drew me forward. I eased the curtain backand watched dawn lay pale grays and washed-out yellow over Zagreb.
I spoke as if distance could help. “Wolfe Lennox was a monster by choice. Specter was engineered. Neither deserves saving.”
Behind me, her tone went clinical. “What you’re describing is a trauma response. Identity fragmentation after severe psychological manipulation. And the neurological impact of your seizure…”
I gave the smallest nods, eyes on the empty street below. A cat slipped between parked cars. No surveillance vans. No pedestrians.
She kept going. “The memories aren’t complete. You’re getting fragments, worst moments first. That’s how trauma recall works.”
I let the words go by. “It’s enough to know what I was.”
“Remember what you did at St. Elisabeth’s.” Her voice softened but held. “You chose to save those children. That wasn’t Specter’s programming. That was you.”
My grip on the curtain loosened. I met her eyes for a second. Small bodies pressed to me. The choice that almost broke me.
I closed it off. “One decent act doesn’t erase a lifetime of blood.”
She pushed to her feet, tension tightening her shoulders. “What’s happening right now? Why are you shutting down on me?”
The direct hit knocked my retreat off balance. I kept my eyes on the glass. My molars ground. Last night rose up again: me warning her to get away when I lost control, her refusal. I knew what I had to do.
“After everything we’ve been through, you don’t get to just check out. Not like this.” Raw edges in her voice scraped at my control. She reached for my arm, ignoring everything I’d already telegraphed.
Her fingers brushed my sleeve and I jerked away. Sharp. Too fast. We both felt the shock of it. Her hand hung there, then she withdrew. The hurt showed before she masked it. The rejection sat between us, plain, the opposite of last night when I’d held on to her through the worst of it.
“We need to move.” My voice came out flat, automatic. “Contact SENTINEL. Get to a safer place.”
Her expression shifted from shock to hurt to professional distance. She straightened and stepped back. “I see.” The tone matched mine. Not the woman who’d slapped me and then kissed me back into myself.
“Fine. Contact Damon. I’ll grab coffee from the machine in the lobby.” Her voice stayed controlled, though it wasn’t steady underneath. No argument. No plea.
At the door, she paused. Hand on the handle. Half-turned. For a second, I thought she’d say more, challenge me again, remind me she hadn’t left me alone in it. The words didn’t come. What we didn’t say sat between us, weighted with what we’d shared and what I was breaking.
The moment passed. Her face shut down and she slipped out. The latch clicked, small and final in the quiet. Not like last night, when she’d clung to me and said we’d find a way.
As the door closed, my shoulders dropped. I braced a hand on the window frame.
I stared at the door. Before her footsteps faded, I took one step toward it without thinking. I lifted a hand, then stopped. I let it fall.
I turned back, jaw set against the urge to say her name. If there was anything decent left in me after all of it, it was knowing when to let her go. I picked up the phone to call Damon, but my eyes stayed on the door. She’d promised we’d figure it out together, and I was breaking that for both of us.
“This is the only decent thing Wolfe Lennox has ever done.” The empty room took it. Using my name left a dull ache. For now, I needed to keep her alive. Everything else could wait.
Chapter 22
