Page 42 of Trust Me

“Enough.” His tone was soft, full of empathy.

Fuck. Him.

He didn’t get to play the good-gangster card. Not when all I wanted was for him to hurt as badly as I did.

I cocked my head, my smile as patronizing as my tone. “Now don’t go getting any crazy ideas, Lucifer. You can’t protect me from everything. And you certainly don’t want to try protecting anyone from the Brennans. We both know how well that turned out for you the last time.”

I swear he actually stopped breathing. His dark eyes scalded me, turning any remaining words in the back of my throat to ash.

I didn’t watch him leave, but I heard the evidence of his fury as it tested the integrity of the door hinges in his wake.

Willa

Raphael leaned down and planted a kiss on my cheek.

It seemed my good fortune had run out.

I refrained from wiping his mark off my face and met his gaze. “You’re back.”

“I’m blinded by your joy,” he deadpanned.

It was late afternoon and my fiancé had just returned home, still wearing the same suit he’d worn during our romantic date last night. His shirt was still missing a few buttons. I was sure upon closer inspection I’d find lipstick stains and the lingering scent of perfume. But I’d have to give a fuck to do so.

I closed The Count of Monte Cristo I’d found on a bookshelf in his study and set it beside me on the parlor couch.

Raphael immediately picked up the worn hardback, a crooked grin sliding into place. “Mercédès was a cunt,” he said, tossing the book aside. “Mondego was the true hero, not Edmond Dantès.”

His insane personal take on one of my favorite stories of warranted retribution soured my stomach. Like Edmond, I believed that justice would be served once those who’d done unjust things to me had been punished accordingly. I only hoped that unlike Edmond, I could avoid hurting innocents along the way and losing myself entirely.

Like you did last night?

The reminder of my detestable actions toward Lucifer came flooding back, leaving me to suffer the raw pain that I deserved. There was no amount of alcohol that could shoulder the blame for what I’d done. That was mine to carry alone.

And I would.

My self-worth and character were trashed, right along with my dignity, which I’d shed the moment I let Raphael put his hands, his mouth, and his tongue on my body. A therapist might say that I had a propensity for being triggered. That my behavior was a product of the trauma I’d suffered. I’d left a nerve exposed when I reflected on my accidental overdose, and Lucifer had struck it with his comments. His insinuation that I was my own worst enemy belittled everything that I’d survived.

Victim blaming. That’s what it’s called.

But it didn’t matter. I didn’t deserve the leniency. I didn’t deserve the pass, however valid. It wasn’t applicable to me after what I’d done.

Raphael’s incessant drawl pulled me away from my inner musings. “His actions came from a place of love, you see. Mercédès—not sure if you’ve gotten to this part—but, the cunt, she was his cousin.”

I rolled my eyes. “A cousin he fucked and married after he screwed over her true love—his best friend.”

He gave my ponytail a harsh yank until I was forced to look at him. “Don’t be juvenile, Willa,” he chided.

I suppressed the urge to drive the heel of my hand through his perfectly straight nose.

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” I ground out.

He frowned. “Save the sass for the bedroom. At least there I can spank you without Sosanna walking in. I wouldn’t want to give the poor woman a heart attack. She’s the closest thing to a mother I have left.”

I hadn’t yet seen Raphael’s bedroom, and he hadn’t been in mine since the night he’d threatened my life. I hoped to keep the trend alive. Because I had no idea which part of anything he’d just said was dark humor and which part was truth.

I flashed him my best fake smile when what I really wanted to do was tell him to go fuck himself. “Better?”

He smirked and tapped my cheek with his free hand. “There’s room for improvement.”

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