Page 79 of Don't You Pucking Dare

Brody's face appears in my line of sight. "You alright?"

I stare blankly, not trusting my voice.

"Come here, Duchess." He slides in the bed beside me, pulls me against his chest.

Tears slip down my cheeks before I can stop them. His arms should feel like a trap—this man who tortured me, whoused me as bait. Instead, they feel like the only thing keeping me from flying apart. And that terrifies me more than anything. He's being too gentle, too present, too much like someone who might matter. The emptiness my mother left gapes wider with each soft touch. Because this is how it starts—people get close, make you need them, then leave you hollow. Everyone leaves eventually. My mother's proven that again today.

"Why are you even here?" The question bursts out of me. My mind’s racing, and all I feel is anger. I’m seeing red because why the fuck is he here?

"What?"

I twist in his arms, needing to see his face, to catch the lie I know must be there. "Why are you still bothering with me? You got your red mask. Mission accomplished. Fucking end it." My heart pounds against my ribs, waiting for the truth to break whatever this is.

"Because—"

"Because you want an easy fuck?" The words fly from my mouth, but better to hurt him first. Better to be the one who pushes away than the one left behind. Again.

His arm tightens, possessive. "Because we understand each other's demons."

The tenderness in his voice terrifies me more than his violence ever did. "You don't fucking know anything, Brody." Panic spreads through my chest like wildfire. I need him gone before he can leave on his own. "You should leave!"

"Not happening."

"Get out!" Something feral takes over. "I don't want you here anymore. Stop coming around. You got what you wanted! Be done with me."

"Be done with you like how your mom is done with you?" His words slice straight through my defenses.

"Fuck you!" I scramble for his clothes, throwing them at him, anything to create distance. My hands shake as I try to dress him myself, needing him covered, needing him gone. "Get out! And don't come back!"

"I told you it would make sense after that night. I'm not going to hurt you anymore, Duchess."

But he is. He's hurting me by being gentle, by staying, by making me believe he might be different. "I'm not yours, Brody. I’m not something you can fucking own. And I’m tired of whatever this is between us."

He shakes his head. "I'm not done with you."

"Yes, you fucking are!" The screams tear from somewhere deep and wounded. "Get out! Now!"

He towers over me, immovable as a mountain. "This isn't over until I say it's fucking over."

Terror and need war in my chest. He has to leave. Has to go before he sees how broken I really am, before he realizes I'm not worth staying for.

"You don't know me." My voice cracks.

"I do, Duchess."

"Or the things that I’ve done. Just leave."

"I told you I’m not going anywhere."

Desperation makes me vicious. The cruel words form like poison on my tongue. "I fucked Jack that night."

His expression shifts—just slightly, but enough to show the hit landed. Oh, did I actually hurt him? He studies me and then says, "You're lying."

I laugh like a madman. He truly doesn’t think I would do it? He thinks too fucking highly of me.

I say, "He came to the bathroom. Told me to meet him later. So I did. And I fucked him."

His hand finds my throat, pins me to the wall. The violence is almost a relief compared to his earlier tenderness. "Don't lie to me."

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