Page 55 of Unveiled

Of course it isn’t true. I’m sure she said some pretty convincing things if Ainsley was so quick to leave, but that pisses me off even more. I’ve worked my ass off this week to get Ainsley back, and now we’re going to be back at square one.

As I’m racing to my car, I dial Ainsley’s number and wait for her to pick up. The ringing stops, but there’s only silence on the other end.

“Ainsley,” I growl through the phone. She doesn’t get pet names when she runs away from me, especially the day after promising that it would never happen again.

Before I can say anything else, she snaps, “Go to hell.”

The sound of the dial tone fills my ears as I cross the parking lot. As soon as I get in my car, I dial her again, not expecting her to answer this time. I have to try, though. My call goes straight to voicemail.

Either my little succubus turned off her phone, or she blocked my number. Again. She’s already been warned about blocking my number and making me mad.

The drive to her apartment feels too slow, especially knowing that the longer she’s away from me, the more she’ll convince herself it’s all true. And yet, I’ve only ever driven this fast twice before. The day I thought I would rescue her from the boss, and the day I did rescue her from Carlos.

This situation is nothing like that, but having her away from me is never easy. And the sooner I get to her, the better chance I have of getting her back.

When I finally arrive, I can’t stop the laugh that bubbles up in my throat. She parked my favorite car like she’s never driven a day in her life, probably hoping something would happen to it so she could spite me. To show her I’m more amused than angry, I park my car the same way, right next to the Corvette.

As I climb the stairs and reach the floor her apartment is on, I find her door locked to keep me out. Too bad she’s never been able to do that successfully. I copied her key as soon as she moved here, which means all I have to do is push it into the lock and, like magic, the door opens for me.

The first thing to greet me is the sound of Ainsley retching through the walls. If I ever see Christina again, she’s going to receive the same treatment everyone else has for hurting my girl. Especially for hurting her to the point that she’s vomiting.

I close the distance to her room with only a few long strides. She didn’t even bother closing her door, allowing me to slip in silently. I find her kneeling on the floor of her bathroom with her head in the toilet and her hair falling around the seat.

As I approach her, I gently pull her hair away from her face and wrap it around my hand as I whisper, “Shh. Everything’s going to be okay. I’m right here.”

She doesn’t acknowledge my presence as she continues heaving into the toilet. Nothing comes out except the tears rolling down her face.

“Take a deep breath, little one,” I whisper in her ear. Her body calms at my words and she takes a long, cleansing breath in, still not acknowledging my presence behind her. “Good girl. Keep doing that.”

Her body relaxes as she focuses on her breath, and soon, the dry heaving stops and the tears slow. Once she’s calm enough, she stands up and walks to the sink, making me drop her hair. I watch as she gathers water in her cupped hands and swishes it around her mouth, trying to get rid of the taste of her vomit.

“Would you mind telling me what she said to you, so I can tell you she was lying and we can go home?”

She jumps at the sound of my voice, as if she had no idea I was actually here. Our eyes clash in the mirror as she spits the water into the sink, but she refuses to turn around and look at me.

“You know where the door is. Feel free to go to your house, and leave me alone,” she spits at me through her reflection.

With a growl from deep in my throat, I use my arms to cage her against the sink and hold eye contact. “You want to do this the hard way? Fine. But we both know I always win in the end.”

She closes her eyes as she tries to keep her composure, then, with the small space I’ve allotted her between my arms, she turns around to face me. Except, her eyes don’t meet mine. They land on my neck, where she bit me last night.

“Funny, you’re trying to get back in my good graces, but you’re too ashamed to show the mark I left on you last night,” she sneers.

She thinks she has the upper hand as she stares at the large bandage on my neck, but I can’t wait to pull the rug out from under her feet. With a smirk to warn her I’m about to win this part of our little battle, I reach my hand up and slowly peel off the bandage.

It hurts worse than when she broke through my skin last night, but this is a pain I’m proud to endure. Her eyes widen as she takes in the black tracing around each tooth mark she left on me, and through the mirror, I can see just how red and irritated my skin is.

It was one of the most painful tattoos I’ve gotten; not just because it was on my neck, but because it was over an already painful wound.

Just as quickly as the shock appeared on her face, it disappears, leaving her staring at my neck with blankness in her eyes.

“Congratulations. You got a tattoo to remind yourself that you won.”

Her voice is so monotone, and I know it’s killing her as much as it’s killing me for her emotions to be masked. She’s feeling everything right now, but she doesn’t want me to see it.

“I won? I got this tattoo as a celebration for you promising you wouldn’t run from me again, but as soon as I walked out of the appointment, I got a phone call that you took my car and left. In what world did I win?”

Now, her eyes meet mine, and she looks broken. Devastated, angry, vengeful. They’re all emotions I would use to describe how she’s looking at me right now.

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