Page 49 of Ruthless

A long silence follows. When Sara finally speaks, her shoulders droop. “What do you want from me? Whatever it is, I’ll do it.”

The reminder that Jeremy’s continued safety and happiness exist at my discretion obviously landed, so why does the realization leave me feeling flat?

I drum my fingers irritably on the table. “I just want us to have a nice night.”

True, to a degree.

For me, the most notable thing about Saffron isn’t the food, or the atmosphere, or its history in the community. It’s more personal. I planned to propose to Sara at this restaurant. Instead, my kidnappers ambushed me from the back of my SUV, dragged me to their hideaway, and subjected me to the worst months of my entire life. All because of her.

After spending hours whipped and beaten, I lay in the dark and assembled the jagged pieces of truth. That excruciating discovery rivaled the physical elements of my torture.

My abductors had the spare key to my Land Rover. The same key I’d given Sara in case her ancient car ever died while I was driving the Audi. And she was the only person I told about my planned trip to Long Island to buy custom rims for the Audi.

The man holding me captive merely confirmed my horrible suspicions, and when I asked why, he shared that they paid Sara a big chunk of money.

That night was supposed to kick off the rest of our lives together, not my own personal nightmare.

Sara studies me for a long moment, as if assessing my sincerity. I watch the tension bleed from her muscles in real time as she resigns herself to something. What, I don’t know.

What I do know is that, for the next hour and a half, she allows herself to unwind as she sips a glass of one-hundred-dollar Cabernet Sauvignon. Some of the lightness from the other day in her cell returns, so I decide to pretend, if only for a while, that my abduction never happened.

Is this how things would have played out that night, under different circumstances?

Where would we be if the last few years had only been a bad dream?

The thought jars me, especially when I’m the supervillain in her story, but that’s what she deserves. A woman willing to betray the people she loves doesn’t get a happy ending. I hate how her blue eyes lie, how the hurt in them pleads her innocence when we both know she’s guilty as sin.

“Have you thought any more about me working in the clinic?”

Irritation settles into my bones, anchoring me to the reality of the situation.

This isn’t a date. She’s not my girlfriend, and I can’t continue pretending that her requests matter. I’m tempted to agree just to witness her unguarded reaction, but I nix the idea almost immediately.

She’s safer locked up. It’s easier to maintain boundaries that way.

“No.”

Her entire body deflates. Disappointment distorts her features, and then they smooth to show a blank acceptance that sets my teeth on edge.

Dinner continues to go downhill from there. Every time I glance at Sara’s emotionless face, a burst of wrath floods me.

The chatter of the surrounding guests reminds me to maintain control. Wrestling with my roiling temper, I deliberately set down my fork and inject warmth into my voice. “Do you want dessert?”

As intended, the sudden change startles her. Her eyes widen like a doe’s before her expression adopts a far-away look. I wonder if she’s recalling the last time we shared a dessert together.

Then her jaw tightens. “I’m fine.”

Intrigued by the glimpse of resistance, I reach out and cover her hand with mine. If I push too hard, she’ll only withdraw further.

My thumb strokes her soft skin, but I freeze at her wince. Her knuckles and hand are reddened, with small, jagged cuts from her nails. “You don’t seem fine, Sara.”

“And why do you care? I thought my pain was the point.” She punctuates the statement with a long drink of wine.

Regret sours my tongue. I shouldn’t feel bad about the shit I’ve done, because she’s right. Why the hell am I trying to soothe her when her pain is the point?

Maybe because I don’t want to play this game anymore.

It’s good to admit, if only to myself, that a weak, sick part of me wants her back. Not as another recipient for my revenge, but as Sara,mySara, the woman I once loved more than anything. The woman I intended tomarry.