Page 39 of Necessary Cruelty

She has the nerve to laugh in my face. The sound is unexpected but lyrical, like church bells ringing on a clear morning.

And then she realizes I’m serious.

The response is visceral. Zaya looks like she’s going to be sick or pass out. The thought of being married to me obviously so disgusts her that she can’t stop herself from visibly recoiling.

I’d be more insulted if I didn’t know how easy it is for me to make her wet, but the response still stings.

She stares at me like I have a second head growing out of my neck. “Are you serious?”

“As the grave.”

“You’re insane.”

I let the smallest hint of truth shine through. “Not insane, just desperate. It only has to be for a year, not even a day more. Thank Christ.”

“Why?”

I give her the barest detail, hopefully enough to convince her the offer is legit without giving everything away. She can’t know the kind of power she potentially holds over me. “It’s a requirement if I ever want access to my sizable inheritance.”

Her dark eyes flare with heat, sucking me in with the gravity of twin black holes. “Why me?”

“Because I know you’ll agree to a prenup without complaint and be just as interested in signing the divorce papers as I will be. Day 365 on the dot. When it’s done, we never have to see each other again.”

For a moment, I have myself convinced that she’s considering it. I see her doing mental calculations in her head, tabulating just how far the money I’m offering would take her. Or maybe she’s thinking about the prospect of never needing to be in the same room with me again when it’s all over.

I’m taking a calculated risk not telling her about the requirement for a baby, although I like to think it’s only a lie by omission.

She would never agree to this otherwise.

Baby steps. I’ll get what I need eventually.

“No,” she says, finally. “I won’t do it.”

My hands ball into fists, but I do my level best to respond calmly. “You drive a hard bargain. What if I throw in college tuition at the over-hyped and overpriced private school of your choice?”

“This isn’t a negotiation. It’s not about the money. Even a million dollars wouldn’t be worth it.” She shakes her head violently enough that hanks of hair fly into her face, and she bats them away in annoyance. “I would rather never speak again.”

I tell myself I don’t care about the clear rejection, — I’m mostly just annoyed at not getting my way. Who does this girl think she is? After everything that’s happened, the things she’s done, that she won’t even do me the courtesy of considering my offer is infuriating.

“That might also be an option.” I stride toward the counter and lean across it, forcing my face into her personal space. The aisle is narrow enough behind the counter that there isn’t any room for her to lean away. “The things I’ve done to you are nothing compared to what I can think of if I’m feeling creative.”

“Then do it,” she says boldly, despite the flash of unease in the dark depths of her eyes. Those eyes are always a touch too wide, like something you’d see on a porcelain doll or a cartoon character. It should make her face ridiculous, but the effect is precisely the opposite. “I don’t care anymore, Vin. Do your worst.”

I want to tell her that she has never seen my worst. She has no idea what happens when I decide to make it my life’s mission to tear apart someone’s psyche brick-by-motherfucking-brick. Up to this point, I’ve been riding her ass with training wheels on. “This is the only time I’m going to ask nicely. Next time, the deal won’t be anywhere near as good.”

Zaya squares her shoulders like a prize fighter readying for another round. “My answer isn’t going to change.”

So I let every bit of darkness into my smile and watch with satisfaction as the bravado slowly dies from her expression and fear takes its place.

I smile when a shiver works its way down her spin.

“Game on.”

* * *

I slamthe sliding glass door shut hard enough that the pane rattles dangerously in its frame. Part of me is disappointed when the thing doesn’t fall and shatter into a million fucking pieces.

Just like the rest of my life.

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