Chapter 12

I’m still playingpool with Nathan when I hear voices drift through the open living room door. It sounds like they’re coming from the foyer, and my heart leaps into my throat.

I toss my cue stick down and flash Nathan an apologetic smile. “I should see if that’s Roman.”

Nathan nods in agreement. “No problem. Tell him if he needs anything, I’m here.”

Placing my cue stick back on the rack, I head to the foyer, but by the time I get there, it’s empty, so I climb the main staircase to Roman’s bedroom. As I approach the solid oak door, I pause. What am I going to find on the other side? Which Roman am I going to encounter? It’s so hard to know with him. Will he be angry? Sad? Dismissive? He’s so damn independent that getting him to open up to me is always a struggle. But I have to try. He needs to know he can talk to me about things.

Opening the door, I step inside the dark room. There’s a light on next to the bed, casting the room in a warm, amber glow. Roman is by the desk, and he turns to look at me as I walk in.

“Are you okay?” I ask gently.

When I found out Bree had died, he was here for me, taking care of me, and I intend to do the same for him. His brother didn’t die, thank goodness, but he attempted to hurt himself, and that’s got to be hard for Roman to deal with. He almost lost the big brother he looks up to so much…

Emptying his pockets onto the desk, he nods. “Just tired. It’s been a long day.”

I stand there awkwardly for a second, not really knowing what to do. How do you help someone who is as fiercely independent as Roman is?

There’s only one way I know how to distract Roman...

Stripping down to my underwear, I pad across the room in my bare feet and climb onto Roman’s huge bed. Sitting cross-cross on the comforter, I pat the spot next to me. “Come to bed.”

His eyes follow my every move, and he turns to lean against the desk, arms crossed over his broad chest. “I know what you’re doing.”

Straightening my legs, I spread them wide, and lean back on one palm, tilting my head to the side. “No idea what you mean.”

With a quirk of his lips, he steps forward and strips down. I watch intently as he pulls his shirt off, exposing his rippling abs, and tense biceps. Then he moves to his jeans and boxers. His cock springs free and I lick my bottom lip. Oh, yum.

If lusting after the devil is a sin, then I should buy a condo in hell, because that’s exactly where I’m headed.

He mounts the bed and prowls toward me, his pale eyes darkening. “You’re trying to distract me,” he says, amusement in his tone.

I sit up, and turn toward him, adjusting the pillows under my arm so they support me. “I’m shocked you’d think I would do something like that,” I say, feigning innocence. “I’m really not that kind of girl.”

He reaches up and brushes his thumb across my bottom lip. “You can’t fool me. I know exactly what kind of girl you are. It’s one of the things I like most about you.”

I lift a brow. “Just one of the things?” I ask with a smile. “What are the others? Just out of curiosity.”

He’s half sitting up, and I can’t resist reaching out and touching his rippled abs. I run my fingers over his soft skin, then up, up, up, to the dusting of dark hair sprinkled over his chest.

His gaze flicks over my face. “You’re smart, spicy. Sexy as fuck. What do you want me to tell you?”

I shrug one shoulder, watching my hand as I toy with the hair on his chest. “The truth. Why pick me, Roman? I’ve never really understood it.”

There’s a pause. Thirty seconds of complete silence, which feels like forever. Finally, he says, “I chose you because I needed you. I still do. But I kept you because you’re honest when others are too afraid to tell me the truth. Because you won’t take my shit. Because you’re too smart to fall at my feet. Because you’re too genuine to be deceitful.”

That last one makes me laugh. “So I’m a saint is what you’re saying. You don’t think I can be deceitful?”

“I’m sure you lie when you think it’s the right thing to do, but no, I can’t see you doing it maliciously.”

I shake my head because I’m sure I’ve lied maliciously at some point in my life. I’m not perfect. But, yeah, I don’t make it a habit.

Brushing my fingers over his tight nipple, I pull in a breath. “When I first met you at the Prefrence Ceremony, I swore you hated me. You looked at me with so much contempt. So you can imagine my shock when you chose me that night.”

He brushes my hair over my shoulder, his eyes fixed on the movement. “I didn’t know you then, but I saw something in you that I needed. I can’t really explain it any more than that.”

I lean back, surprised by that answer. Roman confessing that he needs anything, let alone me, is huge. Like, really huge. “I guess we both needed each other, on some level,” I admit.

He flashes me that sexy smile, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes, and I know it’s his brother’s situation that must be weighing on him.

“Tell me what happened today,” I say, delving into the difficult topic that neither one of us wants to confront. But if I’ve learned anything in the last year, it’s that bottling emotions up is toxic.

God, I’m such a hypocrite. Bottling up my emotions is exactly what I’m doing with Bree’s death. That’s different, though. I have every intention of dealing with the trauma of what’s happened…one day. But first, I have to get Bree a healthy dose of justice. Then I can cry all the tears, and do all the therapy.

“You know most of what happened already,” he says. “I got the call, then went down to the jail. They wouldn’t let me see him, but the doctor said he’s stable. They’ll let me visit him once he’s released from medical.”

“What happened, though?” Nathan said it was an injury that was self-inflicted, but I play dumb, so I don’t get him in trouble for telling me.

Roman is toying with the hem of the comforter, and his eyes are red like he’s fighting off emotion. “He fashioned a knife out of a piece of metal, and used it to cut himself.”

I swallow and nod, knowing I have to ask the difficult question. “Why do you think he did it?”

He glances away. Everything with Roman is about control and power. But right now, all I can see is the struggle inside him. The vulnerability. When he looks back at me, his eyes are glistening with emotion. “He left a note. He’s struggling mentally, and emotionally. Jail is a harsh place, and he’s just not made for that kind of environment.”

“I mean…I don’t think anyone is made for jail,” I say. “That’s kind of the point.”

“And what is the point, exactly? To torture? Or to rehabilitate?” He shakes his head. “They’re just going to throw him back into the general population as soon as he physically recovers. No counseling, nothing.”

Damn. “I’m sorry, Roman.”

He’s looking me straight in the eye, but his tone is calm and non-confrontational, despite his words. “You’ve put a man in jail yourself.”

“My situation is different, and you know that,” I say.

“I just can’t help but wonder how much jail can help a man like that,” he says. “Nine times out of ten, they come out of prison worse. There’s no help inside. No rehabilitation.”

I frown. “So, what, you’re saying I should have just let him get away with what he did?”

He shakes his head again. “I’m saying jail isn’t the answer.”

I pause, swallowing. “Okay, but if he’s not in jail, he’ll come after me again. I know it.”

It’s my worst possible fear, actually, and it took several months of therapy for the nightmares of my attacker to fade. My subconscious used to dream up all kinds of crazy scenarios, but they all had one thing in common; in the end, he would always catch me, and I would wake up just as his knife swept across my throat. I get chills, even now, just remembering it.

“There are other options,” Roman says. “In-patient treatment. Programs that can help treat this kind of thing.”

Maybe he’s right, I don’t know. What if my attacker spends five years in jail, then just comes out worse, and full of anger—at me? There isn’t a restraining order in the world that can keep a furious psycho at bay. Maybe intense therapy would be better. Not freedom. But a facility that treats his particular brand of crazy.

I push out a breath. “My attacker has a preliminary hearing next week. Maybe I should talk to my lawyer about other possible options. I’m not even sure how much my opinion matters, in the end, though.”

Roman flashes a smile then leans forward and places a gentle kiss on my lips. “I wish my brother had someone willing to do the same thing for him. This whole fucking thing sucks.”

Roman pulls me into his strong arms and envelopes me in his warmth. We lay like that for a while, in silence, until eventually, he drifts off to sleep. I can tell by the tempo of his breathing, which is slow and steady.

But I can’t sleep. My mind is whirling, consumed by second thoughts. When my attacker was arrested and thrown into jail, I was relieved. But I hadn’t thought of anything beyond that. I gave my statement to the police, and from there, the justice system was in the driver’s seat. But I wonder now if that was wise. The courts don’t care about me. Not really. Their job is to punish my attacker and then move on to the next defendant on their list.

But I have to live with this shadow of fear for the rest of my life, and Roman has a point. If mental health services aren’t a thing in prison, then where does that leave someone who’s clearly unhinged, like my attacker?

Fuck, I have no idea what to do…