Page 68 of Cruel Dominion

They’d be better off, even if it meant Carter had to kill himself working. At least there wouldn’t be someone hurting him every night when he dragged his tired feet home after a shift. And selfishly…then I wouldn’t need to worry so much about him.

“I’m really sorry. You don’t deserve what he’s done to you.”

“You sure?” he said, laughing darkly.

“Yes, I’m sure.” I leaned down and planted a kiss on his lips.

He was the first person I’d ever kissed and I was starting to think I’d be okay with it if he was the last one, too.

“You’re a good person, Carter Cole. No matter what that…asshole says.”

He raised his brows, a tiny teasing smirk on his lips. He always teased me for that—my inability to curse without blushing. I really meant it, though.

Frank Cole was more than an asshole. I didn’t think there was a bad enough word for what he was, but if I found it, I would say it without so much as a blink.

“I’m not as good as you make me out to be, Anna.”

I brushed his hair back. His eyes were a limpid, warmer shade of blue when it was bright enough to see the gold in them.

“You’re good to me.”

“That’s because I like you. I don’t like Frank.”

“Nobody likes him.”

“I want my own father to die. Who wants that kind of shit?”

“He deserves to die.”

I surprised myself with how strongly the words came out, without any doubt.

Carter looked away.

“You don’t get it. I want it to hurt,” he said as if pushing the words past some dam he used to keep them hedged in.

“When he’s dying, in pain, I want him to think about everything he did to me and my ma. I want his last moments on earth to be his worst.”

A chill ran over me.

He’d never said anything like this before. Hinted at it, but admitting it out loud…

I could see he meant it.

And I didn’t know how I was supposed to feel.

No, wait. Carter’s words from another night replayed in my mind. He was talking about something else, but they rang true now all the same.

Don’t think about how you’re supposed to feel, Anna. Just feel how you want to.

It didn’t bother me, I realized. In fact, I hoped Frank died badly, too, even if that made me more of a bad person than I ever believed I could be.

I thought about the thick scars that were scattered across Carter’s chest and back. They were too random to have come from an accident. They were scars because Frank liked to test how hot the fireplace poker was on his body.

That dark laugh again. “Fuck. Maybe I’m more like him than I thought.”

“You’re nothing like him,” I snapped.

He grimaced, hugging me close. “Let’s hope so.”

---