Steven stops pacing and stares daggers at me. “He used you to investigate our family.”
His words sting. Because they’re true. And I’m still struggling with it.
“I know that, Steven, but put yourself in his position. If I were killed in the same way, at the hands of a dirty cop no less, what wouldn’t you do to bring my killer to justice? What wouldn’t you do to make people pay for their deeds?” I get up from the bed, crossing to my brother where he’s standing like a huge, stiff Hulk in the doorway. “Steven, you would’ve done the same thing. Maybe even worse. There are no limits to what we’d do for the people we love.”
“I can never forgive him. You realize that, right?”
“Hemi isn’t the one who needs your forgiveness, Steven. The only thing he’s guilty of is granting my request for him to teach me how to tattoo. He may have had an ulterior motive, but he did nothing wrong. He gave what little information he had to a trusted legal official. Yet he’s apologized for it anyway. But he doesn’t deserve your anger. Put your outrage where it belongs. Duncan betrayed you in the worst possible way, and an innocent man died because of it. Let’s not forget who the real villain is here.”
“You’re going to stand there and defend him? After all he’s done?”
“He didn’t do anything we wouldn’t have done, Steven,” I remind him softly. As I watch, I can see the anger my brother feels warring with the truth of my words. He wants to be mad at Hemi, but he knows it’s not justified. All this can and should be laid at Duncan’s feet. Period. Hemi would never have put our family at risk had he known, really known, things would take the turn that they did. He’s not that person.
With a shake of his head, Steven turns to walk away, pausing before he closes the door behind him. “If he didn’t do anything wrong, and he doesn’t deserve my anger, then why aren’t you seeing him anymore?”
I see Steven’s lips draw up into a smirk just as he shuts the door. He thinks he made his point, but all he did was remind me of how wrong I’ve been. Defending Hemi to Steven made me see what was right there all along.
Yes, Hemi neglected to tell me what was going on. Yes, he took me on under false pretenses, but I know deep in my heart that what happened between us was real. However it began, it ended up being real. And I could see on his face how much he hated what he did to me, what he did to my family.
But what I told Steven was the truth. Hemi didn’t do anything the members of my family wouldn’t have done. He doesn’t deserve my anger or my hatred. He needs my understanding. And my forgiveness. The two things I haven’t yet given him.
Yet, I think to myself. But the night is still young.
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO - Hemi
I take a sip of my tequila and lean my head back against the edge of the hot tub, concentrating on the pounding of the jets against my sore muscles. I’ve been so tense lately. Between dealing with my old coke dealer, Sebastian, to find out who has the beef with Sloane’s brother and throwing enough money at it to make it stop, I feel like I’ve relived all the hellish parts of my life as it led up to Ollie’s death. So tonight, I skipped work to hole up at my house and get shitfaced in the hot tub.
When my phone rings, I consider not answering it, but I quickly discard that notion. I’m waiting on too much important information, too many important calls to skip one because I’m in a piss-poor mood.
“Yeah,” I answer.
“Mr. Spencer, this is Winston at the gate. You have a visitor, sir. A Miss Locke. Shall I open the gate?”
My stomach clenches. “Yes, let her in.”
I sit back in the warm water for a few seconds, wondering why she would just show up here when she won’t even take my calls. It doesn’t take me long to realize that I don’t give a shit. I’m just glad she’s on her way, that I get to see her and talk to her again. Even if it’s just once more.
What this says to me is that I’ve got one shot. One. More. Shot.
I drag myself out of the tub, wrapping a towel around my waist and carrying my glass inside to refill it. I drain it again before refilling it a third time and taking a small sip.
I hear the whiny purr of Sloane’s engine just before it cuts off out front. I walk to the door to open it and wait.
When Sloane rounds the corner of the walkway, she sees me and comes to a dead stop. Her eyes travel over my chest and down my stomach to the towel cinched there. I will my dick not to react. But damn, it’s hard!
I grit my teeth and step back, giving her plenty of room to walk by me, which she finally does. When she passes, I smell the clean scent of her shampoo, the same kind she always uses, and that unique aroma that’s just Sloane. My mouth waters reflexively and, again, I put a choke hold on my libido.
“What are you doing here?” I ask as I shut the door behind her.
Sloane waits until I am standing in front of her, eye to eye, before she answers.
“You said you wanted five minutes. Well, I’m giving them to you. This ends now. One way or the other.”
That phrasing makes my chest tight, but I can’t say that I’m totally blindsided. I can see why she would write me off forever. What I did to her was pretty bad. Unforgiveable even. I guess I’d just hoped that maybe she could. Forgive me, that is. That she would. That somehow she’d view what we had as worth another shot. I know I do. I’d give her a thousand shots if it meant she’d stay and never leave me.
“In that case,” I say, draining my glass yet again and walking to the edge of the dining room to the wet bar, where I pour myself another. When I turn, Sloane is standing near me, her eyes fixed on mine, her expression guarded. “I wanted to tell you that I found the people who threatened your brother. They won’t cause you or your family trouble anymore.”
She doesn’t look surprised. She just nods. “Thank you.”
I wait for her to say something else, but she doesn’t so I continue. “I also have my brother’s attorney friend looking into any and all leads that might’ve had something to do with what happened with the dirty drugs. I’ll find out who it is and I’ll make this right with your brother. I promise.”
“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” she says softly, reminding me of a conversation we had a lifetime ago.
“I don’t. I make promises that I’ll either keep or die trying to keep.”
She says nothing, just watches me. Finally, after a long pause, she asks, “Is that what you wanted to tell me?”