he wanted to admit, even if all Jared had done was turn the question around. It felt like an insult, one he wanted to answer with a little brotherly face-punching, but Jared was watching him, waiting for a response.
Except the truth might be as harsh as a fist to the face, because the thing that had first entranced him about Rachel was the thing that terrified him. "She's not like us. She never learned how to lie."
But Jared only nodded. "Makes sense. It was never your favorite part of the job."
Maybe not, but maybe he was still lying to himself. It wasn't like all the other women in his life had been experts at deception. Some had been as guileless as Rachel. Some had been smart and some had been funny, and others still had given him big eyes while being both. And he loved women. He loved the filthy temptresses and the newly, earnestly horny and the women who fucked for money. Rachel wasn't special because they were less ...
She was special because they were all fucking amazing, and she still felt like more.
There was no one trait, no logical reason. Nothing he could point to and say, This, this makes her better than those other women. No defining moment where his honest lust for everything she represented had slipped over the line into this gnawing, obsessive hunger he couldn't escape.
She was a work of art. Jared saw the paint and the canvas and a few pleasant shapes. Ace felt the earth move.
Jared made a soft noise of indulgent amusement. "A rhetorical question," he declared. "All I meant was that you may never know her reasons, and does it really matter? Unless you doubt what she feels, that is."
He might have, if the hurt in her eyes hadn't been so damn real. "I guess not."
"Don't even start. I've seen her look at you." Jared paused and tilted his head. "What about Cruz?"
The question stopped him cold. He'd been running on adrenaline, on the horror of realizing what he'd done to Rachel, and fucking hell . Hurting the man would be like sinking a knife into the back of a brother. Worse, because somewhere in all those muddled rationalizations, Cruz had started looking like more than paint splattered across a canvas, too.
No matter which way he turned, he was crushing something fragile. "I don't know."
"But you need to figure it out."
Yeah, he really did. And maybe, for once, he needed to make a decision while he wasn't strung out on booze and self-indulgent angst. Ace drained his drink and slumped back on the couch. "It'd be great if you'd go get stupid over some sweet little piece of ass. Then you could be the idiot for a while."
Jared grinned. "I have my idiotic moments. I keep them to myself, that's all."
"Come on, brother. Solidarity. Tell me one."
Silence. Then a rough sigh. "I fell in love once. It didn't work. That's why I don't recommend it."
Ace had never seen evidence of it in all the years he'd known Jared--but then, he might not have. That was the one lesson they'd all learned, even Ace--you showed the world your strengths because they earned you respect, and your flaws because they earned you trust. But your weaknesses you held tight in your heart.
Gia struggled to remember she couldn't rescue every wounded woman she stumbled across. Ace couldn't stand seeing hookers mistreated, because paying for someone's body didn't give you the right to leave marks on their heart and soul. And Jared didn't trust himself with feelings, as if he was convinced that dropping his pragmatism for a few moments would end in an emotional bender he'd never survive.
They were all broken, right along the lines drawn by their respective fucked-up childhoods, and for the first time in his life he didn't envy Jared. Because whatever was going on between him and Rachel and Cruz hurt like hell, but the pain was a pinprick compared to the satisfaction when Cruz growled his name or Rachel whimpered it.
If he could just figure out a way for both of them to do it at the same time, they could tear his heart out of his chest
Learning to Kill: Stories