The sheets were a mess. Their bodies were worse.
Sweat clung to their skin like guilt, and the room reeked of something darker than just s*x.
It reeked of secrets.
Cara lay on her stomach, her back streaked with bite marks and his fingerprints. Michael stood by the window, a cigarette between his fingers—a habit he only picked up when the weight of truth got too heavy to bear.
“Talk,” she said without looking at him. Her voice was hoarse, wrecked by moans and muffled cries. “You said there was no turning back. So take me there.”
Michael exhaled. The smoke curled in the dim light.
“Your father wasn’t just doing business with the Donovans,” he said finally. “He was one of them.”
Cara rolled onto her back, brows drawn. “You’re lying.”
“I wish I was.”
He turned slowly, his chest risin
