I ignored him, keeping my focus on Ash. “Give me the truth, Doss.”
He looked at his team, and when no one else said a word, he gave it to me. “If Gordon retaliates in the way we think he will based on his track record, he will nab an agent and torture them for answers.” He paused. “The FBI has extensive training on how to resist torture and interrogation, but Gordon is a fucking snake, Margo. He’ll do anything—”
“To get what he wants,” I finished for him, the puzzle coming together in my mind. “So if he does kidnap an agent, he will torture them for information, which will lead back to Red Snake and thus, me. Do I have that right?” I snapped.
“Yes,” Jake said, his voice low. “You have that right.”
“How likely is this to happen?” I asked, more frustrated that I still had to put up with this shit than anything else. I was supposed to be happy by now, dammit.
“Highly,” Dominic answered.
“Which is why we’re taking precautions,” Hayes finally joined in, his heat at my back. “It’s late. We need to get going. Meeting at Rossy’s tomorrow, clear?”
The men nodded and then I was turned to Hayes’ Jeep.
The ride home was silent, and by the time I opened my front door, I was the one who wanted to explode. I kept my back against the door, watching Hayes take off his coat and drape it over the back of my accent chair. The air was thick, words needing to be said were being choked out, forced back under the rug, hidden with the rest of his troubles.
“We need to talk,” I told him. Though I wished my voice had been strong, fierce, and unwavering, it wasn’t. It was soft, almost timid. My heart knew the stakes. If I fucked this up or if he managed to convince himself that pushing me away would be the best course of action, I would never recover.
“It’s late,” he said over his shoulder.
And there it was.
The deflection.
“You wanted me to tell you that I loved you,” I said, firmer, louder. Stronger.
“Margo, it’s late.” He sighed, turning around to face me.
At least he was bold enough to look me in the eye.
“You shut me out,” I declared.
His eyes dropped, drinking me in. “You still have your coat on.”
“And I will not take it off until you agree to sit down and have this conversation.”
“There’s—”
“You can lie to everyone else,” I whispered. “You have lied to me in the past, just as I have to you, but right now, don’t you dare lie to me, Hayes Mitchell.”
He stared at me, frozen in place, brow furrowed, jaw tight.
“You can’t blow this off. Not with me.”
“I just need to get out of my head,” he finally said.
“And I need you to let me in it.”
He flinched then. The big, strong, brave, and perfect Hayes Mitchell—my Superman—flinched. The movement rocked me. If I hadn’t been leaning against the door, I would have stumbled back. The force of this minuscule movement and the fear with it, hit me like a fist to my gut. Nausea followed as the man before me transformed into a stranger without moving a single muscle. It was all in his eyes. The sturdy green trees within his irises had shrunk, withering to only weeds as the dark voids of his pupils expanded.
He looked like an abused animal who had been cornered.
“Trust me, Temper, you don’t want inside my head,” he whispered gravely, his upper lip curling. He brought his finger up to his temple, tapping it twice. My pulse began to jump under my skin, skittering under the curves and swirls of ink as my heart prepared my body for the worst. “If I let you in here, you’ll never love me.”
Now it was my turn to flinch.
“I don’t—Hayes, there’s nothing you could do to change the way I feel about you.” I lifted my foot to take a step forward, to close the distance between us, the tips of my fingers aching for the warmth of his skin.