Page 38 of Filthy Elites

But I can’t give her any advantage. I grab her wrist and yank her hand from between her legs.

“What are—”

I lean closer, not caring that I might catch her cold.

“I’m not letting you come just yet, sweetheart. First, you need to tell me who the fuck Juan is.”

Her white face becomes even paler, and her beautiful violet eyes grow larger.

“He’s… nobody.” She turns her face, and her bangs part to the side with the movement.

I see it then, the scar near her hairline. I brush the strands off to have a closer look. She bats my hand away and fixes her hair so the scar is covered again.

“How did you get that?”

“None of your business.”

Pissed now that she’s back at thinking she has any leverage here, I cup her pussy with my hand, making her arch her back. She’s still turned on, despite the change in dynamics.

“Did Juan give you that scar, Isabelle?”

“No.”

“You’re lying.” I plunge two fingers inside her, hard. She’s so wet, they glide in easily.

“Are you going to finger me until I confess?”

“Yes. I’m going to bring you to the edge, but I won’t let you take the plunge unless you tell me everything.”

She closes her eyes and whimpers. I keep my fingers in place, buried deep inside her pussy, while I press my thumb over her clit. She gasps loudly.

“Is Juan the reason you faked your death, Isabelle? Tell me.”

Her eyes fly open, and then she shoves me with more strength than I expected. I slide off to the side, allowing her to jump out of bed. I’m stunned, not angry. I wait for the rage to erupt from the pit of my stomach, and when it doesn’t, I suspect I might be getting sick too.

She only manages a couple of steps before she collapses on the floor and covers her face with her hands. She’s shaking terribly now.

Shit, I think I broke her.Too soon.

I follow her and then crouch by her side. “Isabelle?”

She turns to me, and glowers. “Yes, Juan is the reason I’m here, pretending to be someone I’m not.”

My chest is tight; I’m not elated as I thought I’d be. I finally pushed her to the point of despair, but I feel wretched, not vindicated.

“What did he do?” I ask.

“You’re a smart guy, Jason. What do you think? He killed me.”

Her words feel like a punch to my stomach. Some motherfucker tried to take her away from me, and for a while, I thought she was truly dead. The possessiveness I felt earlier when Finn mentioned that Luke or Cameron might want to do something to Isabelle returns with a vengeance.

I pull her into a hug, not knowing if it’s for her benefit or mine.

“What happened to him?” I ask in a low tone.

“Nothing. His family is too powerful. He left me for dead, and then we let him believe he succeeded.”

“Tell me everything, Isabelle. I want to knoweverything.”

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