Page 90 of Eden's Deliverance

“I told you, he’s just a friend I see at the studio sometimes. Wouldn’t we have each other’s numbers if we weretogether?” I ask, tacking on a nasty, “Grow up.”

I haven’t seen the light—or anything for that matter—in two, maybe three days. The least of my worries is Julian having my phone number. I stink, I’ve been stuffed with two men’s jizz non-stop for days now, and I want to sleep in a damned bed. My arms fucking hurt.

“Do you wanna know what I think?”No.“I think, darling Ruby, we’ve been spoiling you, and it’s going to your head.” Casanova pinches my cheeks between his fingers. “I think it’s been a few days without your attitude being checked, and you’re forgetting who you belong to.”

“Maybe,” I drawl, “that’s because you said you’d let me go if I admitted it…and I’m. Still. Here.” I rip my face to the side and evade his touch, but then there’s a long pause.

“Admit what, again?” Broody asks.

If I wasn’t blindfolded, my eyeroll would probably hit the way I mean it to, but alas. “You know what.”

“I want to hear you say it. Just one more time, and then we’ll let you go. Say it one more time, forreal, and we’ll believe you,” Casanova whispers into the shell of my ear, stroking his finger against my ribs in a way that tickles so badly I start to squirm.

I thought I knew how I felt. I alwaysthinkI know what I’m feeling, but then they draw me in like a fucking flame and I lose all sense of self. I don’t have to say the words—not for their sake, and not because they deserve it—but if I don’t say them aloud…if I just write them in my journal or overthink in my head, none of it is real.

Taking a deep breath, I force the words out. “I’m yours and no one else’s. I don’t like how you went about it most of the time, but yes, I want you like fucking crazy, even when I try not to.” I don’t know why I’m crying, but I’m glad they aren’t mocking me for it. “I hate that you hurt me to play some sick game, and I hate that you ruined probably the only good relationship I have in my life. I hate that I still want you, despite what you did. Yes, I’m yours. But I hate you, too.”

Another minute of silence—painful fucking silence—then the spreader falls, and I crumble to the ground. Casanova catches me, and I feel his warm chest against my cheek as his arms encircle my shoulders. Broody must have run over, because somebody is unlatching the buckles of my wrist restraints, finally freeing me from my prison.

They shove my arms through two tunnels of fabric and wrap it around my body, tightening it at the waist. A robe, most likely.

I don’t think I could stand if I wanted to, so Casanova scoops me up and holds me against his chest. Instinctually, my hands seek the proof of my wrath, tracing softly over the scabbed letters I marred him with.

“It’s not just that you’re ours, you know,” he says, low enough for me to hear because I’m so close, but probably too low for Broody. “We’re yours, too.”

It shouldn’t, but the notion brings a smile to my face. It’s the last thing I remember doing before I fall asleep.

A crash downstairs startles me awake.

My head is pounding, my arms ache like nobody’s business, and I’m so fucking tired I’d love nothing more than to crawl back under the covers and pass out again. I don’t though, sliding the blanket off me to sit up and check my phone for the time.

What the fuck?

It’s four in the damned morning, and somebody is outside my fucking house. I saysomebody…because I hear Penelope snoring from across the hall like a fucking chainsaw, so it can’t possibly be her. And I know it’s not Casanova and Broody because they just brought me home and left immediately afterwards.

Sprinting to my closet, I snatch my phone from the nightstand on my way, then find something to wear. Call it my groggy, sex-drunk brain, or my complete lack of ability to put together a solid thought, but something draws me to my text app instead of the much obvious answer—calling the police.

I’ve never had to call 911 before and find out how long it takes for them to arrive, but I have had to answer to a different kind of authority…and I know exactly how quickly they can reach me.

What I’m about to do is even stupider than texting Skylar Cole after months of giving him the cold shoulder. I never did apologize to him for the way I acted after he warned me about Dario—not that he knew why I would eventually break up with him or even the things I already found odd about the relationship.

Whether he was just jealous or not, maybe he could have saved me from wasting a few weeks of Dario’s life.

My phone lights up with a text notification:

Hiding isn’t who I am anymore. Instead, I slowly creak open the balcony doors and look around, but I don’t see anything that stands out. The trees are still trees. The grass is still grass.

Then, I see something that’s definitely not supposed to be there—a man’s shadow. The figure creeps along the wall of the house until the light of the moon reveals his face.You’ve got to be kidding me.

“Dario?” I call down to him, and his eyes shoot straight for mine. “What the fuck are you doing in my yard?”

A smile creeps onto his face, but he stumbles backwards and throws his arms out to the side when he screams, “Diavolina, I have come to win you back.”

This motherfucker is going to wake up the entire goddamn neighborhood or worse—Penelope. “Don’t move! I’m coming down.” I throw a cardigan on, then carefully tiptoe downstairs, making sure Pen’s still snoring savagely.

I really don’t feel like watching Dario get beat up again, but if Skylar sees him here, that’s exactly what’s going to happen. I don’t understand why he waited weeks to reach out to me if he wanted me back. I didn’t block his phone number, so I know he could have texted.

He must bedrunk or high to think this is okay. I haven’t thought about it much, but his outburst at the diner should have proven what type of person he’s been from the start. He’s just another man who can’t take no for an answer, not unlike some other men I know…but that’s besides the point.

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