He tucks his face in the crook of my neck. “Please don’t ask me what I mean by that, because if you do, I’ll be honest with you. I can’t lie to you anymore. But I want this night with you more than I’ve ever wanted anything in my life.”

His words roll over me like a wave, crashing against me with so much force, I wince. I run my hand through his hair and tilt my face until we’re looking at each other. “Will you be honest with me when we wake up tomorrow?”

Samson nods. He doesn’t even say yes out loud, but I believe him.

I believe him because he looks like he’s scared he might lose me. And he might. But he has me tonight and that’s all I really care about.

I kiss him to let him know the truth can wait until tomorrow. Right now, I just want to feel what I’ve always deserved to feel during sex—like my body is respected, and my touch has more than just a monetary value.

Samson pulls away long enough to grab a condom out of the bedside table drawer. He puts it on beneath the covers and then rolls back on top of me. He’s patient as he kisses me, waiting for just the right moment to push himself inside of me.

When it finally happens, he’s staring down at me, watching the expression on my face. I gasp, holding in all my breaths until we’re as connected as we can possibly be. He sighs shakily. Then, as he begins to pull out of me as slowly as he entered me, he rests his mouth against mine.

I moan when he pushes into me again, amazed at how new Samson makes this feel for me. There isn’t even a piece of me that doesn’t want to be here right now, and that makes all the difference in the world.

Samson rests his head against mine. “Does this feel okay?”

I shake my head. “It’s so much better than okay.”

I feel his laugh against my neck. “I agree.” His voice sounds strained, like he might be holding back because he’s scared I’ll break.

I press my mouth to his ear, dragging my fingers through his hair. “You don’t have to be careful with me.” I wrap my legs around him and kiss his neck until his skin breaks out in chills against my tongue.

My words make him groan, and then it’s like he suddenly comes to life. His mouth finds mine and he kisses me like he’s hungry and touches me like his hands are starving.

It somehow gets better with every passing minute. We find a rhythm with our bodies, a tempo with our kiss, and a cadence in our collective moans. It becomes everything I’ve never experienced during sex.

It becomes love.

Whatever tomorrow brings with his truth, I already know it won’t change what I feel for him, even though he’s convinced it will. I’m not sure he knows how much he means to me. Knowing I’m finally going to learn the full truth about him doesn’t feel threatening.

Samson makes me wonder if there’s a difference between a liar and a person who tells lies to protect someone from the truth.

Samson doesn’t feel like a liar to me. He feels protective, not dishonest.

And in this moment, Samson is being more honest than he’s ever been, and he’s not uttering a single word.

I’ve never felt more appreciated than I feel right now. Not only appreciated, but savored. Respected. Wanted.

Maybe even loved.

TWENTY-THREE

“I’m so sorry.”

Samson’s words feel like concrete moving through me. I haven’t even opened my eyes yet, but his voice sounded more regretful than any sound I’ve ever heard.

Was it a dream?

A nightmare?

I reach to his pillow and open my eyes, but find nothing. I fell asleep wrapped around him, but now he’s gone and my arms are empty. When I roll over and look toward his bedroom door, I see him. His hands are behind his back. There’s a police officer gripping his arm, shoving him out of the bedroom.

I sit up immediately. “Samson?”

It isn’t until I say his name that I see another officer on the other side of the bed, her hand on her hip, touching her gun. I pull the covers up over my chest. She can see the fear in my eyes, so she raises a hand. “You can get dressed, but move slowly.”

My pulse is racing as I try to make sense of what’s happening. The officer reaches to the floor and tosses me my shirt. My hands are shaking as I try to put it on under the covers. “What’s going on?”

“I need you to come downstairs with me,” the officer says.

Oh my God, what is happening? How can the night go from us making love to Samson being handcuffed? This has to be some kind of mistake. Or a cruel joke. It can’t be real.

“We didn’t do anything wrong.” I get out of the bed and look for my shorts. I can’t even remember where they are, but I don’t have time to look for them. I need to stop them from taking Samson.

I rush to the door and the officer says, “Stop!”

I pause and look back at her.

“You need to finish getting dressed. There are other people downstairs.”

Other people?

Maybe there was a break-in. Maybe they’re confusing Samson for someone else. Or maybe someone found out what he did with Rake’s remains.

Is that what this is about?

That thought makes me panic, because I was there. I saw what he did and I failed to report it, which makes me just as guilty as Samson.

The officer exits the bedroom while I’m pulling on my shorts. She waits and then walks behind me while I head for the stairs. When I emerge into the living room, there are two more police officers standing in Samson’s living room.

“What is happening?” I whisper to myself. I look outside and the sun hasn’t even risen yet, which means it’s still the middle of the night. Samson and I fell asleep after midnight.

I glance at the clock on the wall. It reads 2:30 in the morning.

“Have a seat,” the female officer says.

“Am I being arrested?”

“No. We just have some questions.”

I’m scared now. I don’t know where they took Samson. “I want my father. We live in the house next door. Can someone please tell him what’s going on?”

She nods at one of the officers and he exits the house.

“Where is Samson?” I ask.

“Is that the name he gave you?” The officer pulls out a notepad and writes something down.

“Yes. Shawn Samson. This is his house and you just took him out of his own bed in the middle of the night.”

The front door opens and a different officer walks in, followed by a man holding a child. The man is followed by a woman. It must be his wife, because she clings to him as soon as they get inside.

Why are there so many people here?

The woman looks familiar, but I can’t place her. She looks like she’s been crying. The man is eyeing me suspiciously as he hands his child over to his wife.

“How long have you been staying here?” the officer asks.

I shake my head. “I don’t. I live next door.”

“How are you and the young man acquainted?”

I feel dizzy and scared, and I wish my father would hurry up. I don’t like these questions. I want to know where Samson is. Do I need a lawyer? Does Samson?

“How did you get in?” This question comes from the man who was holding the child.

“Get in?”