Page 5 of The Revenge Agenda

“Who the hell are you?”

“R-Rush.”

“That’s a stupid fucking name.”

“Who are you?”

Hearing his pathetic voice has made this so much worse. I want to punch him. Shake him. Tell him exactly what I think of the type of person willing to sleep with a taken man.

“Are you sleeping with him?”

Rush’s bottom lip trembles, and he sinks further into his coat.

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

“Are you?” he asks.

I’m taken aback by the actual fucking audacity. “Considering we’ve been together five years and just got engaged, I’d say that’s a yes.”

His mouth drops. “Engaged?”

“Sorry, sweetheart. Whatever he was telling you, he had no plans to leave me. You were his piece on the side.”

My words aren’t anywhere near as harsh as I want them to be, but Rush bursts into tears anyway. He’s trembling all over, and at first, I think it’s because he’s been caught, but the more I eye the way he’s hugging his coat around him, frosted breaths leaving sporadic bursts of white, legs and feet bare, I realize he must be freezing.

The last thing I want to feel for my fiancé’s whore is sympathy, but it hits anyway.

“Why aren’t you wearing clothes?” I grit out.

“I-I left my bag,” he sobs. “I was waiting for you all to leave so I could go and get it.”

“And fuck my future husband again?” I snap.

He sinks to the footpath, sobs shaking his body. Wow, Ian really knows how to pick them. This guy is falling apart and not even trying to hide it, when if anyone should be upset, it’s me. I’m the one they fucked over. I’m the one they’ve been sneaking around on.

How dare this guy make me feel sorry for him?

My jaw clenches as his teeth audibly clack together. Was he really planning on standing out here and freezing because he didn’t want to go back for his bag? Is pneumonia on his Christmas list?

“Jesus fuck,” I mutter, shrugging out of my coat. Then I lean down and wrap it around his shoulders.

His sobs cut off, and when he looks up, the tears on his cheeks catch the light from above us. He blinks, eyes wide and vulnerable. “Th-thank you.”

I hate everything about him.

“Don’t.” I storm back to the house, find his bag tucked around the side, and then head back down the street. He watches me the whole time, my coat pulled tight around him.

Once I’m close enough, I toss the bag at his feet. “Now, go home.”

“There are no buses,” he whispers.

“Call a ride. I don’t care.”

“I … I forgot my phone.”

Holy shit, now I might cry. I pinch the bridge of my nose as I really struggle to pull myself together. The fact Ian cheated on me hurts like a motherfucker, but knowing it was with this guy? This guy, who Darwinism should have caught up with a long time ago?

I should turn and head back inside. Let Ian take care of his side piece.

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