CHAPTER TWENTY - SIX

MIRI

What are they saying?

It's the one thing running over in my head. It shouldn't be, but I want to know what the priest is saying to him – if he's agreed to help.

Now we're here, I can't help but wonder why Landon was so reluctant to get involved with this Logan man. It seems he couldn't help after all, considering Jackson is dead, and I had to rescue Naja.

The confession of the relationship between the priest and Cane should have shocked me more than it did, but who am I to judge after what I've done? It's really very clear that you can fall for someone who does terrible things. Is Samuel Cleary a bad person – a bad priest – because he has feelings for someone terrible? The thoughts spin around in my mind, dragging me down into more confusion.

The water stops running, and I hear Naja move about in the bathroom. Part of me wants to burst in and confront her, tell her every detail about my life since she left and what I've had to do to reach this point. Would she understand? Would anyone?

I lie down on the bed and close my eyes, mentally running over the plan – Landon comes, we leave, we get home.

And I never see Shaw again.

Simple.

"The bathroom's free," Naja says, waking me as she comes in.

"Thanks." I don't move.

"I don't understand why you're being like this?" she blurts.

"Like what?"

"You're acting like a child."

"Really?" I roll over and sit up. "Funny. I was trying to work out why you aren't more grateful to be free."

"We're not free. And I'll never be grateful for anything the Cortez family have done. They ruined our lives. They murder and maim and destroy lives. They can all rot in hell for all I care."

"How is Shaw any different from Jackson?" I challenge. Her forehead wrinkles, and she looks confused but doesn't answer. "Do you need me to ask you again? How is Shaw any different from Jackson? He's risked his damn life to do the right thing, to help me and you escape, yet Shaw's still a monster?"

"It's different, Miri. You wouldn't understand because you haven't seen what I've seen."

"Oh really? I've not been drugged, raped, held hostage, blackmailed? Starved in a cage waiting for God knows what? And that's all been after you abandoned me to run off with your very own fucking monster." I'm panting by the end of my speech. It's been there, ready to be said, for what feels like years. It doesn't make me feel any better, though. In fact, I feel like a bitch.

It"s not a competition as to who's had it worse. How sick is that? But she doesn't have the right to point the finger at me and call me a child. She lost that right when she left me alone.

"Everything I did was for you. To keep you safe," she snaps.

"And everything I've done is to get you back," I shout, feeling like I need to defend my actions.

"If you're so angry at me for leaving, why bother?"

It's my turn to feel wounded and confused. "Because you're my sister. Why wouldn't I? I asked Landon time and time again, but then when Shaw—" I pull up, not finishing that. "He gave me the opportunity. You fought for me. It was my turn to fight for you. Even if I'm furious you left."

Silent tears track down her face.

It feels like when we first went to Tallington, when we had the world on our shoulders and no idea what would happen next. Under that roof, there were possibilities, though, and I hope it's the same now.

She doesn't speak but does move towards me, wrapping her arms around me, and I let her. Her warmth helps break down part of my shield that's been in place ever since she left. Every look from Landon, every training session with Neil, gave me an inner strength to put that shield up. It didn't exist when we were last together. Why would I need it? I worked for that strength, worked and fought hard. But now, here, I can't resist the solace I feel standing in the quiet with her.

My arms raise, slowly hugging her back.

We both stay like that for a while, content to simply be.

The soft click of the front door from downstairs breaks our moment, and we both pull away. Naja gives me a weak smile like she's spent all her emotion in that act of sisterly love.

I leave her to sleep and head downstairs because I feel like this isn't over, and I don't want to keep going round and round in angry circles. Perhaps it will be easier soon – With time – When we're out of here. It won't matter then, anyway.

Shaw sits in one of the worn chairs as I enter the small room. He looks tired, worn out, and bruised as hell. He stands as I head toward him and glances back at the staircase.

"She's not coming down."

He nods. "I need to get some air. Fancy getting something to eat? There's a pizza place I clocked on the way in. It's New York, after all."

"Sure." I agree. "Do we need to tell the priest? Samuel?"

"We're not going to be long."

Walking out of the small garden, we emerge onto the side street, and I walk in pace with Shaw as we head back along the way we drove in. He says this is New York, but it's not what I imagine when I think of the Big Apple. Bright lights and tall buildings are how I picture it, with people rushing around all the time and yellow cabs. It's not the same here. For one, it's quiet, and I take it in for a moment.

Shaw's quiet, too, but there's an ominous feeling around him, like he knows something's coming.

"Will he help?" I ask.

"The priest, yeah. It's why I did it this way. However, his help doesn't guarantee anything from Cane. It's the only ace I have, though."

"And then what?"

"Landon arranges for you to get back to London."

"We could have just called him. You didn't need to risk anything with Logan Cane."

"Maybe. But this way, I know you're safe until Landon has you. Logan's about the only person my family won't try going through."

In no time, we're outside a pizza restaurant. Shaw holds the door for me, and I go in. It's impossible not to smile. Maybe because it's such a simple thing to do – go for a meal – but after everything we've been through, it feels special.

We're shown to a cosy table and given an enormous menu, blocking our view of one another.

We both order pizza and a beer, and the barricades between us are taken away.

I look over at Shaw. He still looks tired. Haunted, even.

"Do you remember our first date?" I ask, wanting to rid the look from him.

"Hmm. I do. But what do you count as our first date?" He grins, and the man I first met at the bar is suddenly back in front of me.

"Tequila night. I know it wasn't a date technically, but it was the start."

"That's dangerous talk, Miri. We're not in any position to talk about starting anything."

"Yet here we still are." The words fizzle, falling flat.

He shakes his head. "Landon will come for you. Then you can start your life again."

"It's not that easy. You keep talking about going back to my life, but London isn't where my life was."

"It looked like you were doing just fine when we met. You had a good job, opportunity, friends. I know you had a shit deal, but don't overlook those things."

It's been so long since I've thought about the rest of my life back in London and what will be waiting for me. I always felt so hard done by, as if the world owed me something and what happened. I should have been more grateful for my second chance.

"Maybe."

"Okay, then tell me, what would you do if you could do anything or go anywhere?" I look at him, a little lost at even where to start. "Come on, you must have dreams?"

"Dreams, well, they seem to be shifting. I wanted to go off to university and have fun, study, and become a lawyer. Beyond that, I hadn't thought too closely. Then, all I wanted was to get Naja back."

"You've got that, now. So, what next? The whole world is at your feet, so let's start with where first."

"Somewhere hot. And quiet. An island somewhere." I try to imagine what it might be like not to worry or fear anything. Not to react and jump into fight mode if someone bumps into you, or dissolve into panic at a memory. It's pretty.

Our beers arrive, and I take a sip of mine. "What about you? Where would you go?"

He laughs, but it's a sombre sound. "Well, if we're playing that game, I suppose somewhere as far away from the world I've grown up in as possible. Somewhere old, with culture, simple. I could do quiet. It might be nice to feel peace."

"Italy or a Greek island?" I offer. "Did you ever travel when you were a child?"

"No. There was nothing glamorous about growing up a Cortez. Didn't mean I didn't want something else, though. Didn't ever sit well. Fought it the way I could, but that just riled up my family."

There are more questions I want to ask about his family, but I know that won't make for a good conversation. "How old are you?" I ask.

"Twenty-Five."

"You speak like you're an old man, sometimes. Maybe you need a holiday," I tease him.

The pizzas arrive, two enormous dishes, big enough that a separate table is pushed against ours so they can be placed down.

"I'm never going to finish this," I say, staring at the feast.

"Oh, I bet you can do better than you think. I've seen you eat pizza before, remember."

"Us and pizza have a complicated history," I reply, not wanting to be dragged back into the nightmare that followed that evening.

"Let's keep it simple, then. First one to finish wins." He rubs his hands together.

"Hey, no fair. I'm not even sure I could eat half." I push my bottom lip over my top in an exaggerated pout. "Oh, could you ask the waiter for some water?"

He turns around and I take my shot, grabbing the first slice and taking a giant bite through the gooey cheese and tomato topping.

He looks back at me, chomping through my first slice and grins, grabbing his. "Cheat," he mutters before taking his bite.

"Holf. Eel." I talk around the mouthful of Italian goodness and fold the next slice and feed it into my mouth, but even with the margin of a head start, Shaw is powering through like he's not eaten in a week. He doesn't even look like he's trying.

We're both trying not to laugh at each other and for a moment, there's not a care between us. We're on a date, no agenda, no history, just two people having fun.

"Okay, okay. I concede," I announce, after taking a bite of my fourth slice and struggling to swallow it down. "You win."

He smiles and keeps on eating. "What's my prize then?"

"Bragging rights."

"Oh, I think we can do a whole lot better than that."

My stomach flips, not from the food but from the look in his eyes. The air charges between us as he drops his half-eaten slice, and I'm suddenly flooded with nerves as to where my feelings are taking me.

"Ready to go back?" he asks.

I look at the half-drunk beer and leftover pizza. "Sure."

Walking over to the waiter, he looks back as he drops a handful of bills to cover the meal. Tension builds in his gaze, and I follow to head out. The evening air chills across our skin and seems to suck all of the humour from us. It's like we're walking back to face the music, and maybe we are, but for a moment, we were just two people trying to have fun in there.

The shadows of the church come into view, and instead of feeling solace from them, they feel ominous. Maybe that's because I'll have to face up to Naja and whatever this is between me and Shaw.

He leads me through the garden and into the small cottage. It's quiet as we step inside, with no sign of Samuel or anyone else. I head over to the coffee machine, pretending to keep myself busy.

"What do you do now?" I ask, fiddling with cups. I've been putting off this question as I didn't want to hear the answer.

"I guess I go back and make things right with my family." He shot his brother the last time he saw him, so I'm not sure how that's going to work out.

"What does that mean? You said this is it for you. You can't go back."

"I don't have a choice. I can't leave things like this. Not now I've involved Cane, too. It's another line I've crossed."

I turn around to face him. "That can't be your only option." I remember what happened at the end of that tunnel before we escaped. Nothing Shaw has said, or I've seen, makes me think it will be okay.

He leans on the wall. "I'm no coward, Miri. They've played me as that my whole life. That's not me."

"You can leave for London with us?" My voice is soft as the words slip out as if they didn't mean to escape my lips.

He looks at me, and at that moment, hope erupts that he might say yes. It was a test, in a way, to see if I really wanted that. I wasn't sure when I spoke the words.

"No. That's not my place. I'll be just like Reed, hunted down. You don't know my family like I do."

And just as quickly, that hope is doused.

My body turns for the machine again. "It was just an idea. I don't like the thought of you in danger because you did the right thing by us. That isn't fair."

"Nothing is fair. What happened to you isn't fair, but I don't regret it because it's put us together. In the worst fucking circumstances, but I got to see how strong you are." Hands land on my hips, moving me so I'm looking at him again. "How beautiful you are, despite everything."

He brushes my cheek with the back of his hand, and I cling to it, holding it to my face. My stomach grips, and my heart stutters. Such small reactions, but huge in what they might mean to my dumb head. Dumb, because isn't that what this is? The most stupid thing in the world?

"How long do we have?" I murmur.

"No idea. Could be hours. Could be days."

"I don't know …"

"Shhh." He presses his thumb over my lips. I sigh, holding in the sound and closing my eyes. His lips replace his thumb, and he tugs my bottom lip with his as he moves to tilt me, his kiss already knocking me off kilter.

He's soft and careful — nothing like the way we've been towards each other before now. This tears at something in my heart, opening up a crevice that would be so easy to fall into.

My lips push against his, teasing and slow. But too soon, I want more than just a gentle kiss. I want to feel what's burning under the surface between us. Desperate hands move and run over his chest and wrap around his neck, pulling him to me because this is what I need. I need deep and honest with nothing between us but the truth. It's all out in the open; there's no deception. That should be terrifying, but in a way, it's freeing. There's nothing more to be afraid of. I've faced the nightmares, and I'm still standing. Why shouldn't I enjoy this while I can?

Pressed up against Shaw, I don't feel lonely or scared.

Our hands roam and the kiss deepens as the simmer between us heats to burning, but he stops and pulls away, snatching my hand in his to head towards the stairs.

"Naja's in there." We fumble, moving around on the small landing area, still desperate to keep contact with one another.

We open the next door, but it's clear this is Father Samuel's room. We both look at each other and burst into laughter. No. We can't do that. I shake my head, holding back the giggles.

Behind the third door is the smallest room, with only a small cot bed made up, stuffed against the far wall. Shaw doesn't stop to assess; he pushes me inside and closes the door before picking up where we got to downstairs. His kiss is more urgent this time, promising more, but there's no aggression between us. This is desire and feeling coursing through our blood.

My fingers pull at the edges of his shirt, and he starts to tug at my top, too. It's right there, the push to tear at each other and race to the good part. But Shaw slows his actions, taking his time and stilling my hands. It's infuriating but only adds to the anticipation. My breath hitches as he finally touches my skin with his fingers. He runs them over my collarbone, pushing the straps of my bra down to expose me to him step by step.

He watches the path his hands take, drinking me in until I'm standing with all my clothes on the floor. This isn't like anything that's come before. This is new, tender, with feeling.

"Please, Shaw." Although I'm not sure if I'm asking for more of him, or for him to put me out of my misery and just take me.

"You're beautiful, Miri." His lips seek me out again, kissing my stomach, over my hip and down my thighs. I dig my fingers into his hair as he moves to position himself between my legs. My feet step aside to give him access, and his tongue gets to work, but it's not enough. It's only teasing me.

"Shaw!" This time, it's a plea. He stands and tips me onto the bed before he climbs over me. My legs curl to wrap around his waist, pulling me to him, and his hands brush my forehead so he can look at me – really look at me – before going any further.

My heart is in my throat because this means something between us. There's no hiding here behind fighting; it's just us. And as he positions himself between my thighs and pushes forward, I breathe in, savouring the feeling as he does.

He doesn't rush, even though it's agonising in a torturous, pleasureful way. We just stay joined as deeply as we can for a second before he pulls out and repeats. We're quiet, as if we know this isn't meant to be happening, but we can't help ourselves, and a part of me relishes that.

My arms hold Shaw to me as he starts to move; his face dips, and his breathing starts to strain. The pressure builds, and I start to rock my hips into him, making sure he hits and rubs in the right spot before he moves and then repeats. Each time, I feel the spark of heat build a fraction more, tempting me with what's to come.

"God, Miri. This is fucking hard. Being slow like this just makes me want to fuck you more." I giggle and immediately regret it as I feel my body contract around him. "Jesus!" he cries into the pillow. "Fuck!"

His hips jerk, and he shoves into me, the bed bumping up against the wall. But it's what we both want. It hits in just the right spot, and I squeeze my legs around him harder, keeping him there.

"Yes, again, Shaw. Please."

He ignores the noise we start to make and pulls out before pushing back in, hard and sharp, and my eyes roll back as I look up to the ceiling.

"Yes. Again."

His rhythm sets in, and I can feel my body climb higher and higher. Pleasure winds through my toes and legs, getting me closer and closer to the edge. But just as I think I'm going to come, he pushes up on his arms, tilting his position to grind down against me over and over again. It triggers my orgasm, and I close my eyes as my body tenses and contracts all over.

"Fucking, Christ, yes, Miri. Yes!"

He collapses on top of me, our breathing mingled and desperate, and our hands wander gently. I feel sated and relaxed as the endorphins sweep over me, and then he pulls me tightly against him, cuddling me to him. It's the safest I've felt in a long while. What a thing to think about a man like him after what he's done. I savour the feeling, though, and after a while of his breath on my shoulder and his arms around me, my eyes drift and sleep claims me.

"Shaw?" The voice brings me around. I could only have been asleep a short while, and as I open my eyes, I see the priest standing just outside the room. Everything rushes back to mind. "Logan's here."