Ryan had given me gasoline to drink, I swear. It was the worst tasting stuff I had ever put in my mouth, and unfortunately over the years, I have put a lot of horrible things in my mouth, that’s how bad it was.

I drank three anyway.

The fourth drink sat steady in my grasp. There was no way in hell I’d be able to swallow anymore of it down, so I just stared stupidly into its amber liquid.

Maybe it wasn’t the drink I couldn’t take.

Maybe it was the truth.

I looked up, my gaze slowly sweeping around his kitchen. It wasn’t any different than it was ten minutes ago, yet everything had changed, hadn’t it? For some stupid pathetic Brooke Fury reason, I thought maybe there was some sort of future between Ryan and me. Like I’d be able to just pretend I didn’t screw up my job and jump to the very next guy who looked my way.

I squeezed my eyes shut tightly. I was starving for love. I always had been, and probably always will be. All I ever wanted was someone to come home to—something my parents had—still have. Something honest and pure, something passionate and breathtaking, something real. I didn’t need a man for money or gifts, I wanted a man who would give me his time and his love, sweep me off my feet, and make me feel like I was part of this big beautiful thing. I wanted to fall in love with someone who didn’t make falling in love so damn messy.

“Why don’t you get some sleep?” Ryan said, pulling the drink out of my hands and placing it on the table.

I was so deep in my own head that I’d almost forgotten where I was.

I swept my fingertips across my wet cheeks, cursing myself for letting him see any vulnerable side of me.

“Go ahead, take my room. You’ll have some privacy. Tomorrow, we’ll go talk to Sergeant Kannon.”

“What? No,” I said, standing up and backing away. It would be easier to just get a transfer, rather than deal with the repercussions of telling anyone about Harris and me.

Ryan looked at me like I was crazy. “Harris Anderson took advantage of you.”

“But, he didn’t really, did he?” I stepped closer to him, trying to show him reason. “I was a very willing participant in that relationship, and the only person that is going to look bad is me.”

He stared back, angrily.

“Come on, Cage. He’s a Captain. So what if he’s married? He could spin a story about how cold his wife was, how they’re separated, whatever the heck he wants to say. But me? No matter what, I look like some stupid rookie who uses a mattress to climb my way up the ranks.”

“We’re going to Kannon tomorrow and telling him Anderson hit you. That he threatened you. That he’s been harassing you for weeks.”

With a wave of nausea, I realized my career was going to take one hell of a hit. I shook my head back and forth, trying to gather the words, the strength, anything. “They are going to think he’s the one who broke into my house. They are going to fire me!” My whole body felt numb, painfully numb.

“They are going to investigate everything. This isn’t some joke, Brooke. This is really serious, and you need help,” he said, like he really meant it.

“Why would you want to help me, anyway?” I sobbed. God, I was desperate. Fishing for anything this man could give me that was worth something. Any words that could make me feel better.

“Bad choice on redirecting the conversation. It only makes you look more desperate and self-centered,” he said, angrily.

“What?” I wanted the question to sound full of anger and venom, but it came out weak and pathetic. “I’m not desperate—” But I was, wasn’t I?

“This isn’t about me wanting to help you or not. It’s you fighting for your own self-worth and respect and standing up for yourself,” he interrupted.

“Self-worth? Self-respect?” I shouted, furiously. I didn’t even know where the thoughts were going or how to finish the conversation. The words just exploded past my lips—and somehow even though I was screaming them—they sounded like weak half-assed pleas.

He took a deep breath, and crossed his hands over his chest. “Someone hurt you Brooke. He doesn’t have the right to do what he did to you, just because you loved him or whatever really was going on between you.” His mouth twisted into a tight line, and the skin around his eyes tightened. “What if you’re not the only woman he does this to? What if there’s some innocent girl out there that sees him like you did, and he takes advantage of that? Just like he did to you. But what if, next time, he does worse damage.”

I repeated the words over in my head until it stuck. “Right,” I mumbled through tears I did not want to shed. “Because there were probably a lot of women before me, and they’ll be a ton more after. No way, I could have been special at all.”

“Special girls aren’t kept hidden.” He spoke the words slowly and deliberately, his icy stare never leaving my face, until the cruel realization settled into my broken heart.

“And I should have known that. I should have known better, right?” My voice was just a whisper, just ghosts of the words, their emotions dead on my lips.

“Yeah, you should have,” he said, staring into my eyes without apology.

“But we—”

He shoved his hands in his pockets and shrugged his shoulders. “Let me just take a wild guess, okay? Humor me.” He pushed off the counter with his foot and moved closer to me, so that he was only a few inches away. “He never took you out. He never showed you his apartment; he just fucked you in his car or his office.”

I opened my mouth to scream at him, to say something back, to refute his disgusting words. But I couldn’t. I couldn’t, because he was right. So, I just snapped my mouth closed and cried.

My body somehow became even more numb as pins and needles sliced over every inch of my skin. My heart shattered into pieces, and I was so angry with Ryan for calling me out on all of this. Yet, all I could do was nod helplessly.

“You are so much better than that, Brooke. And you deserve more than what he gave you.” His eyes melted, looking at me with an intensity that I could only dream about. “The question you need to answer is why didn’t you see that?”

“Oh, that’s pretty easy, Cage. All you men suck the confidence right out of us. Every time you choose the sexier, younger models of us. Or catcall us while we walk down the street.” I shifted closer to him, and tightened my hands into fists, jabbing them on my hips. “It’s from all those times you men said you’d call and didn’t. All the secret texts you all send to other girls. It’s working in an office where the majority of the men talk about what you might look like naked. It’s the thousands of magazines and television shows telling us we are not good enough how we were born. Or the boys that promise they’ll give you the world and ask out the prettier girl in the office, because she flirted with you. All that great stuff and more. Mix that with the sheer terror that you might one day die, alone, still looking for a hand to hold yours.”