Page 20 of The Bitterness of Venom

The car speeds off and in the millisecond I take to blink, they've disappeared.

THIRTEEN

I blink backtears as I look at the bruise forming on my cheek. I don’t cry, ever. But I wasn't expecting Clint to strike me. We had a disagreement. He wanted to fuck me as part of my payment. That's what the nice dinner was about. And when I refused, I thought everything was fine. I mean, he allowed me to leave. It was an illusion at best. After snatching me off the street, he told me I was ungrateful and added ten grand to my already hefty debt. And then, he hit me. He's never hit me before. Then again, I don't know if I've ever made him mad. I think about it, but nothing comesto mind. I've never upset him before. Ever. And I can't imagine the precautions he would take against someone he doesn't like. I know this bruise on my cheek is light compared to what he's capable of.

I let out a deep breath, pulling makeup remover wipes out and slowly cleaning my face, revealing the freckles beneath. Once my makeup is off, I take my contacts out, slipping on my glasses. I pull off my clothes, dropping the dress and bra to the floor. I grab a big shirt that somehow got put in my laundry. I think it's Jasper’s. Nonetheless, I'm keeping it. It's made of a rich material I can never afford, and it swallows me whole. It's the perfect sleep shirt.

I flip my lamp on, turning my overhead light off. Climbing into bed, I grab my book. I've barely finished the first page when my door opens. Looking up, I pause as Desmond walks in. He looks me over, and I wonder if he sees the fragile girl who used to sneak into his bed on nights that were too hard to handle. He swallows, closing the door behind him. Slowly, he sinks into my bed, cupping my chin and turning my face. His finger brushes over the bruise, causing me to flinch. His jaw hardens and he drops his hand. "If you need help, all you have to do is ask."

"I don't need help." But it sounds like a plea. A plea for what? This monster to help me? That only happens in stories.

"It looks like you do."

"Why do you care?" I snap.

His eyes bleed into mine and I automatically feel smaller. "Because I don't like other people breaking my toys." He stands abruptly, throwing my door open and walking out.

He's an asshole.

But then he comes back in, a royal blue shirt clutched in his hands. He drops it on the bed, pulling the covers back. His big hands grip the collar of the shirt I have on and with a tug, it’s ripped off. "What the hell?" I yell.

He tosses the ruined shirt to the ground, pushing the newshirt over my head. I look down to see the university’s name and hockey team under it. I have a sneaking suspicion it has his hockey number on the back too. It engulfs me. Smelling deliciously of Desmond. I look up to him, raising an eyebrow.

He grumbles something under his breath. And this time when he leaves, he closes the door and doesn’t return. I sink farther into his shirt, a smile tugging at my lips as I inhale his scent, knowing when I wake up, it'll be all over my skin.

I shouldn't want that, but it doesn't stop me. Doesn't stop me from getting hopeful for our next encounter. For when he puts me out of my misery and takes me. We're like water and oil, not meant to mix, but it doesn't stop us from trying. It never has.

Out of all the bad ideas I've had in my life, Desmond Rickman has always been my favorite.

I don’t haveit in me to put makeup on, or even wear my contacts. My armor is shattered and I don't feel like building it back up today. So, I slip on some sweats and a hoodie. Not even changing out of Desmond’s too big shirt. I'm not sure why Clint hitting me broke me, but it did.

I twist my hair into boxer braids, grabbing my bag and walking into the living room.

Milk spits from Elisha’s mouth as he sees me. I pause. My roommates are usually not here in the mornings. Practice, I assume. "That's what you look like?"

I push my glasses up, looking away, embarrassed. "Sorry to disappoint."

"Hold up." Elisha raises his hands. "I'm not disappointed, but you look… sweet?"

"Gross." I scoff. Heading for the door to walk to class. I have no clue why I thought morning classes were a good idea.

"I'll take you!" Jasper hops from the couch, only to be pushed back down by Desmond.

"I've got it," he growls, stalking toward me.

"I can walk."

Instead of answering me, he pushes me toward the door. I barely catch myself before I fall into it. With a glare, I yank it open. I walk down the walkway, hurrying down the stairs and making my way toward his car. "Want me to go ahead and get in the trunk?"

He mock laughs. "Very funny. Get in the fucking car." He slams the driver’s side door and I slide into the passenger seat. He starts the car and looks over to me. His brow furrows as he studies me. "Are you an escort?"

I choke on my next breath. "No, why?"

He shifts the car into reverse, pulling out of the parking spot and heading to campus. "Because you're always climbing into a black SUV, wearing fuck-me heels and short dresses."

I pause, looking over to him. "Whatever you think you've seen, unsee it. Forget it."

He shakes his head, jaw tight. "Why?"

---