Her eyes search mine. “Legend said I could stay.”
“He meant it.”
“He doesn’t know me.”
“No.”
“He doesn’t trust me.”
“No.”
That hurts her, but lies would hurt worse later.
“But he don’t need to trust every piece of your story to know you should be safe tonight,” I say. “That is different.”
She looks at the locked door.
“Men like Legend scare me,” she whispers.
I almost smile, but there is nothing funny about it. “Men like Legend scare most people.”
“You’re not scared.”
“I was.”
That brings her gaze back to me.
“When?” she asks.
“At the beginning. Before I understood the difference between danger and cruelty.”
Her lips part slightly.
“Legend is dangerous,” I say. “Derby is dangerous. This club is dangerous. Hell itself is dangerous. I won’t insult you by pretending otherwise. But cruelty is different. Cruelty needs you small. Danger doesn’t always.”
She studies me like I have handed her a language she doesn’t fully speak yet.
“Jeremy is cruel,” she says.
It sounds like the first time she has said it without softening the edges.
“Yes.”
Her eyes close.
A tear slides down her cheek.
She wipes it away fast, angry at it.
I let her.
Some women need to cry. Some need to be allowed to pretend they’re not crying until they are ready.
Amelia’s the second kind.
Down the hall, Derby’s boots move once, then stop. He’s trying not to listen. I know because men who aren’t listening don’t hold themselves that still.
I lower my voice. “Does August know?”