Raven paced the suite like a woman walking the edge of a blade. The silence between her and Jaxon had grown too loud to bear. Zane’s voice still clung to her skull, his cruel, teasing promise of “freedom,” his claim that Jaxon knew more about Gabriel’s death than he’d ever admit. It was poison, seeping through her thoughts, making every glance Jaxon gave her feel like an accusation.
He was watching her now from the corner of the sofa, whiskey glass resting in his hand, his jacket gone, sleeves rolled to his forearms. The quiet authority in his posture, ankles crossed, head tilted, should have infuriated her. Instead, it made her throat tight.
“You’re restless,” he said matter of factly.
“I’m fine.” The lie landed flat.
Jaxon set down his glass. “You’ve been lying to me for days.”
The
