Page 22 of Always Been Mine

“It was just sex—”

“Keep telling yourself—”

“Just. Sex.” Beatrice reached in her bag to pull out a card. “You’re good. One of the most delicious fucks I’ve ever had, but the entire package is a bad investment.”

At that moment, Gabe hated her. He dropped his hand from her arm and clenched his fists at his sides as he tried to control his anger.

“Stop,” he bit off. Each word pounded another nail in his coffin, sealing him in a tomb with no redemption.

Still he couldn’t let her go, so he reached for her again, but she stepped back. Her body language warning him not to touch her.

She flicked the card in the air; his eyes followed it to the floor.

“If you want to do this again, give me a call,” Beatrice said, pulling the door open. “But if you have any pride left in you, Gabe, you won’t.”

He wished she had slammed the door behind her. At least that way he knew she still felt something for him, even if it was anger. The click of the lock echoing in the silence of the room made it seem more final.

He had lost her forever.

4

Dmitry entered the whorehouse.

The madam had cheated Zorin out of his cut, and his boss had lost patience.

He passed the rooms where drugged-up teenage girls were held; his mouth curled in disgust. None of his kills were innocent; today wouldn’t be any different—a righteous kill.

He could have made this quick, but Dmitry wanted to exact revenge for the young women who might never recover from their horrific fate.

The madam writhed underneath him.

In the throes of her climax, his other hand circled her neck.

And squeezed.

His face came closer. She started struggling, her eyes dilating in fear.

“It may be too late to save those girls,” Dmitry snarled softly, “but you will never, ever harm another innocent again.” His fingers tightened. “Feel their pain, their fear.”

She choked for a while.

Before he snapped her neck.

The whiskey didnothing to drown the pain. Each time Gabe remembered Beatrice’s words was like being stabbed by adagger to the chest. Repeatedly. It was a physical pain and a constant lump in his throat. He hoped hard liquor would wash it away, but it didn’t.

The prospects of rekindling their relationship were bleak.

The situation had turned ugly.

If Gabe were honest with himself, he didn’t think he was ready to be with her, for he had no idea who the fuck he was. The old him wouldn’t have let Beatrice walk out of that room after firing those words. He would have hauled her over his shoulder, dumped her on the bed, and fucked her into submission. As Dmitry Yerzov? He’d probably shackle her to a bed and keep her on the brink of orgasm before he fucked her. In the ass.

He tipped his whiskey back and signaled the bartender for another one and took in the packed establishment on a Saturday night. He had contemplated camping out at Beatrice’s condo, but the sting of rejection was still too fresh and there was only so much a man’s pride could handle. Because if she rejected him so soon again, Gabe didn’t know what he might do. Fuck. Was this how she felt when he had left her?

How could they come back from all this ugliness they were inflicting on each other?

His brain was telling him to let her go, but that muscle he called his heart was screaming at him to beg her to take him back. His loins were a different matter. They craved her, as well as wanted him to fuck her out of his system. He looked around at the meat market before him.

Maybe if he could bring himself to fuck someone else, he could move on from her. She obviously didn’t want him back. Why the fuck was he trying so hard?

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