Page 59 of Pretty Little Psycho

“To my family’s cabin,” he replies. “No one uses it anymore. I come up here when I want to get away from everything.”

My jaw nearly drops. Now he’s taking me to his special place? This is a whole side of Valentin I didn’t even realize I’d been longing for. “It sounds perfect.”

I watch him drive, unafraid. I like looking at him so much I never want to stop. He glances back and forth between me and the road every few minutes. We are silent for the rest of the trip. No music, no talking, just the sound of the engine and the wind.

It fills the ache in my chest, soothing my untethered emotions and grounding me in ways I’ve never felt. My mother was the storm that tried to drown me today, but Valentin was the anchor that kept me afloat. I chuckle as I think of the absurdity of it. This man hates me the most out of all three of them. But today he saved me.

He chuckles back as if he can read my thoughts. As if he knows that he and I are the most unlikely pair. And yet I feel in my soul that we are more alike than we realize.

As we reach the highest peak of the mountain, the trees narrow and create a path for us to drive through. The house at the end of the road is a French chateau with brown shutters, bougainvillea-draped arches and a stone walkway leading up to a beautiful oak door. We park in front, and I am awestruck. “Holy fuck, Val. This is massive. I think my idea of a cabin and yours is very different.”

He shrugs. “That’s just what we’ve always called it.”

I nod and follow him inside. The house is bright and airy and looks nothing like what I pictured. Valentin is a gloomy guy. He’s practically the poster child for dark and Gothic. But this place is pretty in a way that fancy delicate things are.

We enter the spacious kitchen, and he motions for me to sit at the table by an open window that overlooks the garden. I take a deep breath and inhale the scent of roses, jasmine, and honeysuckle. “No poison,” I murmur.

“No, not out there. There is a small patch of hemlock on the other side of the house.” He hands me a glass of white wine.

I arch an eyebrow as I gladly take it from him. “Day drinking, are we?”

“Well, you did just get smacked in the face. I think it calls for it, don’t you?” he teases.

I snort mid-sip and a little spurt of wine comes out my nose. “And you’re a comedian too. What other secrets are you hiding?”

He smiles but some of that pain starts to creep back into his eyes. He pours himself a glass of the tart white wine and sits across from me. “My father used to hit me too,” he says softly.

My heart sinks. I reach across the table and squeeze his hand. “Fuck… I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. It’s not your fault.” He flashes me another grin. “It’s an Erebus family tradition. My uncle Julian tried his best to shield me but even he was terrified of my father. So when he stopped spending the summers here, Atlas came instead.”

I swallow a big gulp of wine down. “He wouldn’t hit you in front of outsiders…”

Valentin rubs his jaw. “He was less violent in front of my friends, yeah. Atlas had his own family shit to deal with, so he couldn’t wait to spend his summers here. But the abuse wasn’t just physical. He said we couldn’t trust women. That the only thing they were good for was fucking and servitude to us. That if you don’t control them, they’ll leave like my mother did. But I always knew why she left. He beat the shit out of her too. I just wish she would have taken me with her…”

This is why he’s the way he is. I want to wrap my arms around him and hold him forever. He looks so broken, so fragile right now. “Maybe she didn’t have a choice,” I murmur.

He snickers and shoots back the rest of his wine. “There’s always a choice, Maureen.”

I nod, my heart breaking for him. “You’re not your father, Val.”

He lets out a deep sigh. “Aren’t I? I don’t know. Sometimes I think violence is ingrained in my blood. But I try not to be. I’m just so fucking angry all the time.”

I grab his other hand from across the table. “Ditto. I stifle it and push it down so deep until I snap. Then I do some crazy shit I can’t take back so that everyone will hate me. My mother blames me for her shitty life. She was engaged to your uncle, and she left him for my father. The Blackwells cut us off and banished us to Wickford Hollow. Now my grandmother is probably pissed that I’m here, using their name, and… well… hanging out with her sworn enemy.”

Valentin pours us more wine and holds up his glass to toast. “Cheers to your mother not marrying my uncle because then we’d be cousins, and I’m really not into that sort of thing.”

I burst out laughing as I clank my glass to his. “Same. I’m not really into kissing cousins either.”

“Do you want to stay the night here with me?” he asks, his voice hoarse.

A shiver races up my spine. In the midst of all this new bonding and playful banter, I almost forget about the night we fucked each other like crazed animals. My cheeks flush as I think about the way he bent me over his bed and defiled me while I was on my period. The way he made me choke on his cock in the car…

Something in my eyes must have changed because his gaze darkens and that carnal hunger returns.

“You don’t have to drink, or fuck me, or even stay… if you don’t want to,” he adds nervously.

I’ve never seen him look so shy before. So gentle. It’s everything. “What if I want to? What would we do?”

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