Stepbrother Thief(83)

“Karl had your mother killed, Regi. Because of me. Elena, she's dead because of me.”





My heart pounds in my chest, rattling my bones, speeding up my pulse until all I can hear is the sound of my own blood thumping inside my head. Those words spoken by anyone else would mean nothing, a ridiculous statement that I wouldn't give a second thought to.

But Gill … Gill wouldn't joke about this. Or exaggerate. Or lie. Not about this.

I stare into his blue eyes, so focused on mine that I wonder if he's even breathing; I know I'm not. The silence stretches uncomfortably between us as I wait for an explanation and he waits for a reaction.

“I don't understand,” I whisper finally, my chest tight, the tears drying into salty lines on my cheeks. Gilleon turns away suddenly, raking his fingers through his hair and shaking his head like he's regretting his sudden confession. But no. When he turns to look at me, there's enough fear and hope in his eyes that I can tell: he needs to speak the truth as much as I need to hear it. But he's afraid he's going to lose me in the process … and he's praying to God that he doesn't. “What are you talking about? My mom … she was in the wrong place at the wrong time.” I stand up, but my legs feel weak, too weak to hold me, so I sit back down again, the mattress dipping beneath me. “Gilleon, you better explain yourself before I have a goddamn heart attack.”

“Regina,” he says, his voice breaking a little on the last syllable, trailing into a rough growl that brings goose bumps up on my arms. “I'm sorry, baby. I'm so fucking sorry, mon cœur.” My heart.

“You seem to be saying sorry a lot lately, Gilleon, but before I can forgive you, I have to know what exactly it is that you're apologizing for.” I suck in a deep breath and close my eyes, trying to control my pulse, trying to still my frantic nerves. What the hell is going on here? I can't take a single second more of not knowing.

He nods, but he doesn't look at me, turning so that his back is facing me, the tail of the panther curving with the movement of his muscles as he bends down to grab a shirt. I guess we're both aware of how much harder this will all be if he doesn't put some clothes on. Gill shrugs the shirt over his head, mussing up his black hair.

I stare at him as he turns back to face me, and I wonder: if his words are true, will I hate him for it?

But no. No.

I watched him kill two men right in front of me, and I can't summon the feelings of disgust or shock or outrage that most people would feel. Gilleon Marchal, he's my weakness and my strength, has been since the day he picked the lock on my bedroom door. I have a feeling that not even death will change that, so what about this revelation of his?

I reach up and realize that I'm crying again, tears leaking down my cheeks as I stare at the wetness on my fingertips in surprise. I think I'm in shock already, and I still don't have the full story. What's going to happen to me when I do?

“Karl Rousseau had your mother killed to teach me a lesson, Regina.” He pauses and his voice drops into a deep rumble more akin to a growl than actual words. Gill's angry, but not at me. “My mother, too, Regi,” he whispers, trying to keep the sound from ascending into a yell. “He had my mother murdered, too.”

I stare at him in stunned silence. Until this moment, I didn't even know she was dead. I let that knowledge brush away some of my fear, focusing on Gill's mom instead of my own. It's just … easier that way. Without even realizing I'm doing it, my fingers curl around my mother's diamond pendant. Gill doesn't miss the gesture.

“I …” I try to think up some way to respond to the sadness in his eyes, the regret, but there's nothing. I swallow hard and close my eyes. “I'm sorry to hear that.” My words come out in a whisper, but I hope he can tell how sincere they are. I mean, he's Gilleon, of course he can. I open my eyes back up and meet his gaze.

Gill smiles tightly at me.

“It was twelve years ago,” he says with a slight shrug, like it doesn't matter. But I know it does. Family's as important to Gill as it is to me, or at least I always thought it was. It was one of the things that drew me to him. When he left, I figured it'd all been a lie. But maybe not? Maybe, just maybe …

Fuck.

I just want all of this shit out in the open, so I can stare it straight in the face and figure out what to do about it. I just admitted my feelings to him; isn't that enough for one day?

“Gill,” I begin, wishing I could just lean back and drop into the mess of blankets on his bed, curl them around my body and close my eyes, forget this day ever happened. I start again. “Gill, I'm sorry about your mom, but I … I don't understand how any of that relates to mine. You were with me the day that she died, Gill—in Paris no less. How could you have been responsible for what happened to her in Seattle?”