Page 82 of The Darkest Chase

“I don’t come from a high-class background. I’m from a hole in the wall in Queens. My mother died giving birth to me. My father drank every waking moment and beat me and my brother raw. I was his favorite. White skin. The perfect canvas for blood and bruises.” His voice is so empty, so cold, so much emotion buried soul-deep. That fierce, chilling smile resurfaces. “I’m not asking for your sympathy. Isn’t it ironic that I escaped alcoholic hell as a bartender?”

I don’t know what to say.

My heart aches for him, and I don’t want to say a single word to hurt him more than he’s already suffered.

If he wasn’t a little drunk himself, I doubt he’d be saying this stuff.

But I’m frozen, torn between the ache of wanting to comfort him and this feeling like I should keep my distance.

Rolf breaks away from his spot near Micah’s chair and trots over with a little whine, his ears perking. I’m half expecting him to snarl at me for upsetting his master, but instead, he grumbles and lays his head on my knee, looking up at me.

Like he’s asking me to fix this.

To help Micah when he can’t.

I pry one hand away from my glass and scratch between his ears. “Now you like me, huh?”

Micah glances back at me, his mouth a humorless line. “He’s a better mind reader than me. What are you thinking right now, Shortcake?”

I hesitate, too focused on scratching Rolf, who leans against my leg.

I don’t just want to say the right words. I want the honest ones.

“Mostly that I don’t want you to regret telling me any of that,” I whisper.

“Interesting answer.” Micah’s heavy gaze weighs on me before he leans forward to scratch Rolf’s ruff. “Guess he likes it.”

And you? I wonder. What do you think?

But I don’t ask him.

I just go still as my hand strays down Rolf’s head while Micah’s hand moves up.

Our fingers brush.

We both stop moving.

Our eyes lock.

There’s an electric charge that feels like static.

My stomach twists, my heart pounding as Micah holds my eyes.

God, I still don’t understand what I’m seeing there.

But I feel like those eyes could swallow me up, this hypnotic gaze watching me above the lenses of his glasses, drawing me in until I’m willing prey to this wild creature.

For a moment, we lean toward each other.

Then Rolf lets out a curious sound, shoving his head between us and knocking us away from each other.

Inhaling sharply, I pull back.

Micah looks away, still scratching the dog but no longer looking at me.

“What did you find today? Anything useful?” he asks gruffly.

Right.