A short laugh vibrated in his chest. It made the little hairs on my arms stand on end. “Falcone would care.”

“Why? Is it someone he does business with?”

Growl met my gaze square on, and the look in his eyes made a horrid suspicion settle in my mind. But I couldn’t be right…

“Falcone was the man who did all this,” Growl said, motioning toward his throat.

I pulled my hand away from his chest. “So,” I said slowly. It was difficult finding the right words, or any words, really. “Falcone killed your own mother and wanted to kill you too, and you decide to work for him?” I wanted to understand him, but how could I possibly understand something like that? This was so far from normal, it blew my mind.

Growl gave an almost imperceptible nod. His face was unmoved, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes I wouldn’t have noticed a few days ago. I was becoming more perceptive and growing used to the small changes in his facial expressions.

“Why?” I whispered. Why would anyone want to work for such a man? Maybe something had been irrevocably damaged when Growl had to watch all that at such a young age. Part of me wanted to reach out to that damaged little boy and squeeze him into a tight hug and tell him everything would be okay. But for one, I wasn’t sure if that boy was still hidden away somewhere inside of Growl, or if he’d shriveled with time and with the horrors he’d witnessed. And second, I knew I would be lying to that boy. Few things would be okay in Growl’s life. That boy would be molded into a monster through abuse and cruelty. Perhaps it would have been better if he hadn’t survived in the first place. Not only to spare him the horrors of his life, but also to save the many he’d tortured and killed for Falcone.

I’d given up on an answer from Growl when he said, “Because he’s my father.”

I sucked in a deep breath. “Falcone?” I asked because it seemed impossible. I didn’t doubt Falcone had many mistresses beside his wife. A man like him couldn’t be faithful. But it simply seemed impossible that word hadn’t gotten out. That people didn’t mention Falcone’s name in one breath with Growl, the bastard. My eyes searched Growl’s face, but if there was something of Falcone in his features, it remained hidden to me.

He nodded again. “That was one of the reasons why he wanted to get rid of me. And why he killed my mother. She threatened to tell people. Falcone doesn’t let anyone threaten him.”

“He killed your mother. The woman he had a child with,” I said slowly.

Growl didn’t react.

“How could he do that? What kind of monster would do something like that?” I winced, suddenly worried I’d gone too far. For some ridiculous reason, Growl was loyal to his cruel father.

“A monster like me,” he murmured.

“Like father, like son?”

Growl shrugged. I could tell that he was done with our conversation, but I was way too agitated to let the topic drop so quickly. “Maybe you shouldn’t take your father’s horrible nature as an excuse to be a monster yourself. Maybe you should strive to be better.”

He let out a low breath, which might have been a laugh, I wasn’t sure.

“I’m not joking.”

He rose to his feet. “I’m not a monster because of my father. I’m a monster because I chose to be.”

I doubted that was the truth. He’d been a young boy when he’d experienced horrors even grown men could hardly imagine. “It’s never too late to change and to make up for your mistakes.”

Growl shook his head. “You’re naïve if you think that’s an option. I won’t change. I don’t want to. My life is good as it is.”

“You’re working for the man who killed your mother. I don’t believe you can live with that.”

“I have for a very long time.”

“If I were you, I’d want to get revenge.”

Growl smiled darkly. “But you aren’t me. And you don’t know me.”

He turned around and left the room. A second later I heard the back door open and close.

He was right. I didn’t know him. Yet. But today he’d handed me a few pieces of the puzzle that was him—and I was determined to get the remaining pieces as well.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Cara

I decided not to push Growl further regarding Falcone and what happened. I had a feeling that he would close up completely if I tried again too soon. At least he didn’t seem angry enough about my questions to stop sleeping with me.

When we lay next to each other in my bed after Growl had driven me to three orgasms, my mind was racing for a way to make him stay with me. He usually left directly after we were done, giving me no chance to get to know him better. We didn’t even touch afterward. Or hadn’t so far, at least.

Now Growl’s arm was lightly brushing mine. It wasn’t by accident. Perhaps deep down he longed for closeness beyond sex?

His eyes were half closed and his breathing was already slowing. His muscled chest glistened with sweat. “What happened to my father after you took me to your house?” I asked.

Growl opened his eyes. “He was dead.”

“I know,” I whispered harshly. “That’s not what I meant. Where is his body? What did you do with it?”

Growl turned his head toward me, frowning. “What does it matter? He’s gone.”

“People bury their dead for a reason. Because they need a place to feel connected to them, a place where they can go to say goodbye or talk to what remains of the people they love. It’s what humans do.”

Growl didn’t seem to understand. “Maybe. I can’t see how that helps.”

“You don’t have to understand,” I said quietly. “Just accept it. I really need to know where my father’s body is. I need to say goodbye to him to find peace.”

“He was buried outside the city borders.”

“Buried? So he wasn’t dumped somewhere, or worse?”

“I wasn’t there when they buried him. But it’s what they told me.”

“Do you know where it is? Can you take me?”

Growl let out a sigh. He sat up like I’d expected and swung his legs out of bed, turning his back to me. That, too, was covered with tattoos, thorns and roses, skulls and snakes, and intricate black letters that read “Pain,” nothing else. There were more scars on his back, shoulders and neck.

“You have to move on.”

I stifled my frustration. He simply couldn’t understand. So many human emotions and habits were foreign to him. I pushed into a sitting position and scooted closer. I hoped it was a good sign that he hadn’t gotten up yet. Perhaps something in him wanted to stay with me?

My fingertips grazed the strange round scars that littered his back and upper arms. They didn’t look like gunshot wounds, more like someone had burned Growl. After a moment of hesitation, I asked quietly, “What are those?”

Growl peered over his shoulder, amber eyes softer. “Cigarette burns.”

My fingers froze. He sounded so detached, as if we weren’t talking about his body. “Who did this to you?”

“Perhaps I asked someone to do it to me,” he said.