“I’m so sorry,” she said.
He swallowed the lump in his throat, his body tensing when her hand came down on his forearm.
“There’s more to it,” he said. “Something broke inside me that day. Everything good drained away, leaving me a monster.”
“You’re not a monster, Priest.”
“I killed them all, Cleo. I wiped them out. It wasn’t brutal. It was a bloodbath. So much worse than they’d done to me. I wanted them to suffer, to remember my face as they died. And I don’t regret it.”
She’d hate him now, want nothing to do with him. But he couldn’t live behind the lie. Priest wasn’t worthy of forgiveness or love. He was a lost cause.
****
Cleo was speechless. Her heart felt heavy for this man. She wanted to comfort him, to be everything he needed. Being a foster kid herself, she knew the pain of being unwanted and alone in the world. It was a level of trauma few understood. Priest would know. He’d lost all the people he loved.
“They made you into what you are. If it wasn’t for those murderers, I have no doubt you’d still be in the church, living the life you planned.”
“I had a choice,” he said. “I don’t deserve a reward in this life or the next. Not all men get a happily ever after.”
“We all have choices. They shape our lives, and we make the best of the consequences. I didn’t ask to be born and tossed into the foster system. But I made choices not to do drugs or sell my body.”
“You’re better than me.”
“That’s not what I’m saying, Priest. I’m saying that just because you did what you did, doesn’t mean you’re a bad person. Your circumstances don’t define you. You can still live a good life, find love, have a family.”
“Why don’t you?” he asked.
“What do you mean?”
“You haven’t found love or started a family. Why not?”
She shrugged, even though he probably couldn’t see. Her eyes were adjusting to the light, but it was all a mix of light and shadows in the room.
It was a hard question to answer. She was awkward around men and often felt undeserving of love. It was much easier to give advice than it was to take it.
“I’ve been busy working. This city isn’t cheap.”
“That’s an excuse,” he said.
Her defenses went up. “I’m only twenty-four. I just haven’t found Mr. Right yet.”
“Could I be that man? Or does the murder spree and kidnapping disqualify me?”
She froze. Was he actually asking her that? Was he joking? He didn’t seem like the type of man to joke about anything. He was serious to a fault.
Did she judge him? They hadn’t exactly met under the best of circumstances … and he was a hitman. But he’d never hurt her and treated her well considering. She’d had more carefree fun the past few weeks than she could ever remember having. And for some reason, she was flattered he hadn’t killed her.
Cleo couldn’t deny the chemistry growing between them, or the fact he was built like a Greek god. How could she not be attracted to him? It was painful looking and not being able to touch, but she was used to denying herself.
“You and me?” She chuckled nervously. “You have a thing for broke, overweight women with no experience in bed?”
There was no way a man like him would consciously choose her. She was plain and chubby and weird. He was everything. Tall, muscular, and ridiculously sexy. He had that dark, bad-boy quality and made her feel safe and wanted. He was a fantasy. Nothing more.
“I have a thing for you, Cleo.”
Her breath caught. How could he know exactly what to say to turn her into a puddle? She’d never wanted a man more than Priest.
He moved on the bed. Her heart raced impossibly fast in her chest. When his fingers threaded into her hair, pulling her closer, her heart pounded. She didn’t fight him, but rather leaned toward him, offering herself willingly.