“Let go of me,” I snapped.

“I gave it time. Your mouth on my tat, I’m done with givin’ it time. You’re not gonna dig deep, I’m diggin’ in there for you.”

“That is not gonna happen.”

“It is. You don’t wanna talk. I will. He promised me, Sylvie.”

My body went solid before I tried to jerk away but his arms only tightened so tight I could barely breathe.

His face got close and his voice got low. “He promised me. I would never, ever f**kin’ leave you to him unless he promised me.”

I glared into his eyes.

“He lied,” he whispered.

“We’re done,” I hissed. “You’re out. We partner but you’re gone. Outta my life. Outta my house. Outta my bed. Outta everything but the job.”

“No f**kin’ way and you know what?”

“I don’t care what,” I clipped.

He ignored me. “The way I know it’s no f**kin’ way is because you won’t be able to let me go. I can leave. I can be gone. You can try to make it just about the job but you won’t be able to do it. I know that because you didn’t kick my ass out, Sylvie, not completely. You’re keepin’ it about the job and that shit is not about Knight. It’s about finding a way to stay connected to me. You’re foolin’ yourself, baby, but you sure as hell aren’t foolin’ me. I been dead for sixteen f**kin’ years, suckin’ in air and not gettin’ any oxygen until I sat down with Knight Sebring and he told me the names of his team. Then, finally, f**kin’ finally I was breathin’ again. And you know, don’t f**kin’ bullshit me, you know you been dead until you woke up that morning, rolled off your bed and aimed your gun at me. Try to deny it, Sylvie, but your tongue traced your name on our pier on my skin because you needed that. You need me. You won’t stay away and you won’t let me go because, baby, you can’t breathe without me.”

Then he let me go. I fell to my hand in the bed and watched as he moved through the room, bending and tagging his shit before he walked right out.

I reached low and yanked the sheet up.

Shit. Fuck. Shit!

Okay, get my head together. Okay, see to Charlene and the kids. Get to Knight. Explain. Get to the airport. Get the f**k out of here.

My body jolted when Creed stormed back into the room wearing nothing but his jeans.

He stopped, planted his hands on his h*ps and demanded to know, “You know where he is?”

I stared at him, not keeping up before I asked, “Who?”

“Dixon,” he bit off.

My head jerked. “Who?”

He leaned forward, his face suffused with hard fury, “Jason f**king Dixon. The animal who did that to you.”

Cold washed through me. Ice cold.

Oh no. I didn’t like this.

I did not f**king like this.

And I didn’t like it because I had no freaking clue what he was talking about but he seemed to know.

Just whatever he knew was not right.

“What?” I whispered.

Creed ignored my question and asked his own. “He still in Kentucky? Or did you just get the f**k out and don’t know?”

“Jason Dixon married Peggy Linklater six months after you took off. By the time I left, they had two kids and she was pregnant with the third.”

It was the truth but it was the wrong thing to say. I knew this because it seemed every muscle in his body stood out in deep relief, such was the effort he was making not to move.

I got up on my knees holding the sheet to me. “Creed –”

“He wanted you,” he growled and that cold crept deep.

“I know,” I whispered.

“Dixon had a thing for you,” he told me.

“I know.”

“We fought about him,” he reminded me.

“I know,” I repeated.

“You told me it was only me.”

Oh God. Oh shit. What the f**k was this?

“It was only you.”

“You bled for me.”

Oh God. Oh shit. What the f**k was this?

“Creed –”

“Did he lie or was it you?”

I shook my head. “This is… we’re not going over this. This shit is history.”

“Can’t fake blood,” he told me. “You gave me your virginity.”

“Yes,” I snapped. “What is this shit? Of course I did. You know that. Jason Dixon? What the f**k are you talking about?”

He didn’t answer. He asked, “Who did it to you?”

“You know. You told me you knew,” I reminded him.

“He told me it was Dixon.”

“It wasn’t Jason Dixon.”

“He told me it was Dixon,” he repeated.

Jesus, God, what was this?

“It wasn’t Jason Dixon.”

“Then who was it?” he demanded.

“We’re not doing this, Creed,” I fired back.

He leaned forward and roared, “Who did it to you, Sylvie?”

“Richard Scott did it to me!”

He stared at me a beat, two, three then he turned and I watched in fascination as the muscles worked in his back while he threw a powerhouse punch to the wall, his fist going clean through the paneling, the drywall, everything.

He pulled it out and twisted back to me as I deep breathed.

“Do not make me waste my f**kin’ time diggin’ for it,” he growled.

“It’s mine, not yours. You were gone. You left me to that.”

“I did f**kin’ not and you know it. How in the f**k did you go from me to Richard f**kin’ Scott? The only drug dealing pimp in the goddamned county.”

“You know.”

“I don’t f**kin’ know.”

“Maybe not then but you know now. I know you do. You looked into me.”

“Sylvie, I didn’t have time to dig that deep. I thought you hooked up with Dixon. I didn’t f**kin’ know about Scott so,” he leaned toward me again and thundered, “tell me!”

I shook my head. “Don’t bullshit me. You know. You know what I do for Knight and why. It’s about the girls.”

“Yeah, Sylvie, I know that because you’re you and watchin’ you for a month I know, as much as you shovel the bullshit, that hasn’t changed. You got a heart of gold. You always had a heart of gold. Somethin’ matters to you, you’ll do anything. Only difference now is, you do it with a gun clipped to your belt. Now, tell me how you got hooked up with f**kin’ Scott!” he shouted the last.