He crouches down in front of me. "And I'm not going to. I can't lie to you, Karissa. I've never lied to you."

I scoff.

His expression hardens. "Name one time I lied to you."

"You lied about everything!"

"No, everything I've told you was true. Just because I didn't tell you all of it doesn't mean I lied. Everyone has secrets."

"I don't."

"You did," he says. "I was your secret. We keep the darkest parts of us to ourselves until we think others are ready to see them. Sometimes that never happens, but I knew it tonight... knew it was time for you to see me."

"See you? You're a monster!"

"I am," he admits, "but don't pretend to be surprised. You knew that about me all along."

"I didn't."

"Ah, I don't lie to you, so at least give me the same respect in return," he says. "The pieces were all there from the beginning, every single one of them. Just because you refused to put them together, to look at the big picture, doesn't mean you didn't know what it was. I told you I wasn't a good man. I told you I never would be. That's reality, sweetheart, and you still asked me to stay." He reaches for me, grazing the back of his hand along my cheek and down my neck, across my chest. "You handed over your body so willingly, like it already belonged to me."

I smack his hand away, the loud crack echoing through the silent kitchen as I try to move further away from him. "There's something wrong with you."

"There's a lot wrong with me," he says. "Has been ever since your father aimed a shotgun at my chest and pulled the trigger."

"Why?" The word is barely audible as tears spill over from the corner of my eyes. "Why did he do it? Why would he?"

"Revenge."

"Why?" I ask again. "What did you do to him?"

"Nothing," he says. "It wasn't me he wanted vengeance against. He did it to get back at my wife's father."

"Her father?"

He nods. "Ray."

I blink rapidly. I can only stare at him in shock.

His wife was Raymond Angelo's daughter?

"I was caught in the middle, condemned to die at the hands of someone close to me, someone who was supposed to love me. God spared me, but you see, nobody would've spared you, not when I was done with you, so you're lucky... you're fucking lucky... I fell in love with you."

My voice is weak when I whisper, "You don't love me."

"Oh, but I do," he says. "Because if I didn't? You'd be dead already."

I let out an involuntary whimper at the sound of his voice, so matter of fact, with no sign of regret in his words. He would've killed me… he so easily could have, so many times. If it's love that kept me alive, what does it mean for now? What does it mean for my future?

"Nothing's changed," he says, as if he can read my mind. "I'm still the man I was two hours ago, the same man I was two weeks ago, two months ago… two years ago. I'm the same man you gave yourself to, the same man you fell in love with. Nothing's changed."

He says it like he means it, like he really believes it, but looking at him, I don't see that man anymore. I see a man who not only could end my life, but a man who I think someday might.

"I'm not going to hurt you," he says quietly, and I close my eyes, unable to take the expression on his face, the look that wants me to believe it, that almost makes me believe it.

I sit still, my breath hitching when I feel him touch my face, caressing my cheek, fingertips grazing my lips as I exhale shakily. I can tell he leans closer, his cologne stronger, his body heat wafting across my skin, warming me on the outside, but I'm so, so cold inside. He's turned my blood to ice, stopped my heart from pumping it from fear that if it does, it might still beat for him.

"Tell me what you're thinking," he says, his lips near mine. He kisses the corner of my mouth. "Say something."

His lips meet mine softly. I don't kiss him back, instead whispering a lone word. "Red."

Red.

His lips leave mine in the next breath, his hand dropping from my face. I open my eyes in enough time to see him stand up. He stares down at me for a moment in silence. He has the audacity to look upset, like I've wounded him, like the word hurt him more than he could ever possibly hurt me. It feels like an eternity passes around me as I stare up at him with watery eyes, trying to keep my tears from falling, before he looks away, turning his back to walk out of the room.

I sit there for a while, not having the energy to move, before forcing myself to my feet. My knees are weak, wanting to give out as I leave the kitchen. My gaze darts to the front door, and for a brief second I think about running out of it, but where can I go? Who can I turn to?

Who will believe me?

What would he do?

Instead, I head upstairs.

I climb into bed with my clothes on, not even bothering to take off my shoes. I'm on the verge of tears, but the shock of it all is keeping them at bay.

The city is dangerous, my mother repeatedly told me. There are people who will prey upon me, who will corrupt me, who will use me and abuse me. I have to be on guard, alert, always keeping my eyes open to the dangers of the world, because they're real, and they'll destroy me.

I heard it over and over.

So many times.

Who would've expected I'd fall in blindly with the biggest threat of all?