Page 141 of Shadows in Bloom

CHAPTER 7

CRUZ

Sacrifices had to be made. Hearts had to be broken to pave the way for realization. Marshall can’t have his cake and eat it, too. I don’t want to touch this girl any more than he wants her to suck me off, but here we are with my dick down a slut’s throat while the guy I’ve obsessed over for years flees the room as if I’ve slapped him.

As though this is my fault.

Did he forget he pushed me away and avoided me at every turn? Did he really think I’d blend into the shadows? That I wouldn’t sink my blade where it hurts?

Now that I’ve proved my point, I shove the girl away, and she falls back with a shriek, her naked tits bobbing on her chest. My skin crawls with disgust as I zip my pants and rise to my feet. She stares at me with mascara streaks trailing down her cheeks, looking surprised and hurt. Not that I give a shit. She’s a piece on the playing board, a means to an end. I had to crack Marshall’s shell to reveal the diamond inside.

“Fuck off home,” I order, tossing her discarded tank top at her. “Now.”

Clutching the top to her naked chest, she blinks up at me, her chin trembling. “Cruz?—”

“Did I fucking stutter?”

She climbs to her feet and sniffles as she puts her top on, sliding it over her big tits. “Everyone was right. You are an asshole.”

“Then you knew the deal.”

She shoulders past me. I chuckle, pocketing my phone. It still bores me that people think I harbor emotions. I really fucking don’t, except where Marshall is concerned.

And those tears that filled his eyes as he took in the scene? I’m dying to taste each one trailing down his cheeks before I fuck him hard enough to purge this restless energy coursing through me.

Leaving my room, I jog downstairs, barely able to contain my anticipation. My heavy weight thunders on the steps, but my heartbeat is steady. Marshall is back in the kitchen, pretending everything is okay.

Mom refills his glass as I plop down across the table. “Where did the girl go?”

I stare at Marshall, who looks anywhere but at me. “She left.”

“She seems nice.” Mom puts the bottle of wine back down and sits.

“She’s a whore,” I reply.

Across the table, Marshall’s head shoots up, and I let my lips curve to the side as the fire in his eyes intensifies. Fuck, I want to burn in those flames.

Mom gasps. “Cruz!” She peers at Marshall, aware that we have dinner guests. “Don’t speak like that.”

Instead of replying, I rest my arm across the back of the empty chair beside me and stretch my legs. Marshall stiffens when my ankles brush against his.

“I agree with your mom,” Dad says, but it’s all background noise to me. “I raised you better than to disrespect women.”

Marshall and I remain locked in a stare-down, and I revel in the electric current between us while my parents continue their conversation, tossing the occasional disapproving glance my way. He lifts the glass to his lips and watches me over the rim as he sips the mature wine.

We don’t have to speak a word; his eyes tell me everything I need to know. “I hate you and these emotions you evoke when you look at me like that. You hurt me.”

My smile spreads. “I’m not sorry. I’ll hurt you over and over to get you to see me.”

I stroke my sock-clad foot over his ankle, then flick my head to remove the strands of hair tickling my eyebrows. When I lock eyes with him again, a muscle clenches in his jaw and then he rises to his feet abruptly.

“Excuse me. I have somewhere I need to be.”

Dad blinks, looking surprised. “Okay. I’ll drive you home.”

“No, that’s fine. I’ll catch the bus.” He’s gone in a flash, and my parents exchange glances in the ensuing silence.

“What’s up with him these days?” Mom asks.

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