Page 20 of The Wrong Man

And then I’m going to have to figure out how to fix everything I’ve broken.

I lie there in the darkness, holding the man I tortured, and try to imagine what comes next.

I can’t let him go. He’s witnessed too much, knows too much. Releasing him would be a death sentence for both of us. Me, because he could identify me to the authorities. Him, because the family doesn’t leave loose ends.

But I can’t keep hurting him either. The thought of causing him any more pain makes something in my chest twist into knots.

Which leaves what? Keeping him here? Making him comfortable? Trying to somehow make amends for the unforgivable things I’ve done?

It sounds insane. It probably is insane.

But as I feel his body slowly warming against mine, as I listen to his breathing even out into something that might be sleep, I know one thing with absolute certainty.

I’m going to try.

Chapter seven

Dylan

Warm.

I’m warm.

The thought drifts through my consciousness. For what feels like the first time in forever, I’m not freezing. Not shivering. Not lanced through with a cold that was leeching the life out of my soul.

Instead, I’m warm and comfortable and wrapped in something soft that smells like cedar and sandalwood. A big bed. A really big bed with sheets that feel expensive against my bare skin.

Bare skin?

My brain is sluggish, still swimming up from the depths of wherever it retreated to. But certain facts are starting to register. I’m naked. I’m in a luxurious bed. And there’s something pressed against my back.

Someone.

A broad, muscular chest radiating heat like a furnace. Strong arms wrapped around my waist, holding me close. Legs tangled with mine, keeping me anchored in place.

I’m being spooned. I’m the little spoon. The very little spoon, given the size difference between my body and the one curved around it.

Sweet Jesus.

Did Teagan and Sean finally convince me to go clubbing with them? They’ve been trying for months, insisting I need to get out more, meet people, stop being such a hermit. Did I actually give in? Did I get drunk and pull someone? Is that what this is?

A smile tugs at my lips. Good for me. It’s been far too long since I’ve woken up in someone’s arms. Far too long since I’ve felt this safe and warm and held.

The arms around me tighten slightly, pulling me closer, and I feel a contented sigh against the back of my neck. This is nice. This is really nice. Maybe I should go clubbing more often if this is the result.

And then reality comes crashing back.

The memories hit me like a freight train. The concrete walls. The chair. The camera with its blinking red light. The man tied up across from me, screaming and begging and calling me Declan. The sounds. Oh God, the sounds. Pleading that turned to screaming that turned to wet, terrible noises that I will never, ever be able to unhear. The blood. So much blood. And then the cold. The freezing shower and the cold of my wet clothes that went on and on until I couldn’t feel my own body anymore. Until I couldn’t feel anything at all.

The monster who did all of that now has me naked in his bed.

I flail. Thrash. Try to scramble away from the body pressed against mine. But the arms around me just tighten, holding me in place with terrifying ease.

“Stay still.” A deep voice growls in my ear.

Something inside me shatters.

“Please don’t,” I sob, the words tearing out of my throat. “Please. Please, I’ll do anything. Please don’t do this. Please don’t... please...”