Page 54 of Vengeful Rotten Casualties

“Stop calling me that.”

“What?” I ask, pushing her. “MiKayla? You don’t like your name?”

“You don’t call me that,” she snaps.

“You also don’t fucking betray me, but neither one of us is getting what we want tonight, are we?”

She ducks her head against her chest and I pull her face up once again. “I didn’t fuck him!” she screams. “I didn’t betray you! We’re not even—”

“Finish that fucking sentence.” My words are deep. Dark. Angry. “I fucking dare you to tell mewhat. we’re. not.”

Micki’s eyes meet mine in the mirror and she closes her mouth. “Good decision,” I say. “Now, answer me.”

“What?” Her brows lower over her eyes.

“Look in the mirror,” I order, “and tell me what you see.”

“Luc, this—”

“Do it.”

Her pulse throbs in her throat as Micki finally directs her gaze away from me to herself. She stands there, her hands gripping the edge of the counter and sink as her eyes move over first herself and then me. I wait. Patience has never been one of my better virtues, but for her I’ve got all the fucking patience in the world.

“I don’t know what you want me to say, Luc.”

“I want you to tell me what you see,” I say.

“Us,” she replies, “but—”

“Look at yourself,” I cut her off once more. “Tell me what you see.” I pause. “Or would it be easier to tell you whatIsee?”

She stiffens and I lean down. I rest my chin on the top of her head as I gaze at the two of us in the mirror. “I see someone who’s stronger than anyone else I’ve ever fucking known in my life. I see a woman who fought death and won. I see someone whose dignity equals that of a queen.”

“Stop it.” Micki turns her face away from the mirror and pushes back against me once more.

I release her chin and delve my hand back into her hair. I tighten my hold, ripping her head back into place. “No,” I growl. “I’m not stopping. You crossed a line tonight; this is your consequence. You’re going to stand here like a good girl and take it.”

“This isn’t a fucking consequence,” she snaps. “You’re just pissy and you want to take it out on me.”

“You think I want to be pissed at you?” I don’t release her hair. “I don’t. I fucking love you. I want to give you everything, but I can’t if you put yourself into dangerous situations. I can’t do shit if you’re out there, crossing too many lines.”

She grits her teeth and glares at me.

“You’re responsible for your actions. You have choices, and you made the wrong call tonight. You came back—you came tome.Youmade that decision. No one forced you to. I searched for you—for fucking years—I searched for you. I never found you, so I couldn’t drag you back here. You returned all on your own. You wanted my help. You wanted my connections.”

“Not yourfucking ownership!” she screams. Her head goes forward as she tries to rip herself free of my hold.

I release her head and close both of my arms around her, squeezing her tight against my chest as she starts to fight me. She kicks her knees into the cabinets below and screams when she can’t get free. I’ve never seen her like this—like a frightened animal caught in a trap. I breathe through my nose and let her get it out. I hold her as she thrashes against me, panting with effort. Without releasing her, I listen to the harshness of her raw voice as she yells and curses at me.

The strongest things are often the most fragile and I know that’s true for her. So, I let her pound against the cabinets and against me.

Eventually, her screams morph into something else. Gasps for breath. Her tone lowers. She trembles against me as she tires herself out. I don’t know how long we stand like that. The clock in the hallway keeps ticking. Time moves on. The planet keeps spinning. Micki finally calms.

Slowly, I ease my grip, waiting for the inevitable rush and pull as she tries to escape me, but she doesn’t. She continues to stand in place, her head down, her chest rising and falling. Gently, I urge her to turn and face me. I want to strip her clothes off, I want to bend down and check her legs. I have no doubt she’s given herself a few bruises. Instead, though, I cup her cheeks in my hands and direct her face upward.

Her breathing is shallow and uneven. Her eyes are closed as if she’s refusing to look at me. “Micki.” Her face moves—a twitch in her brow. Her lips turn down. I smooth my thumb over her temple. “Micki. Open your eyes.”

She shakes her head. “No.”

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