Page 29 of Conquer
We’re toe to toe in an instant, and I’m woefully unprepared for the vitriol in his voice. His gaze. All of it directed at me. Beyond me. At the whole damn world, he’s raging.
“My mother? A whore who sold me into slavery for the price of a year’s worth of rent,” he snarls. “My father was a monster who inducted me into his family of vipers, pitting me against his true heir every fucking waking moment. My whole life has been spent at the whims of others. Trying to assume what it is they want. How to achieve it. How to prostrate myself for their fucking benefit. No one has ever offered me their love—”
“You’re wrong,” I say, standing fearlessly in the midst of his tirade. Even as his eyes take on that cold, mistrustful gleam, his teeth bared. I don’t look away. “Everyone loves you! Ena. Milton. Your old partner, Hiram. Even Maxim, I think, loves you in his own way.”
Why else would his henchman drive me to the hospital at five in the morning? Lucius may be kind, but I doubt his concern would extend beyond the boundaries of what his employer would allow.
The fact that he greeted me at all was testament enough—Maxim permitted him to.
“You’re just too blind to see it. Your instinct is to always assume the worst. Always lash out when you feel stretched too thin.”
“My instinct?” he echoes in a dangerous, vicious hum. His hand raises to my throat, his thumb tracing a quivering artery. I shiver, a heartbeat away from backing down…
But I stay, enduring the ominous caress, even as he curls his fingers around my neck entirely.
“My instinct is telling me that you’re lying,” he tells me softly. “You only aim to get inside my head. Because, your love? I want it,” he admits in a growl so resonating I sway. “But I am not stupid enough to think I could ever have it. Ever have you. Not without a price.”
“Why?” I counter, forcing myself to meet his gaze. The more I challenge him, the more unsteady his dark irises become, glazed over and unfocused. Crazed. “Why can’t Ijustlove you? Why can’t youjusttrust me? Like when the mother of your child comes calling, and all I want is to know how to help you—”
“Because…” He encircles my throat in his fist, applying pressure…pressure. More. As I gasp, his eyes flash, nostrils flaring. Like my fear is a welcome addition to this tension—something he’s used to navigating. Manipulating. “Because who could love me?” He says it all so fervently… I think he means it.
Every last word.
As if in emphasis, he tightens his grip slowly, letting me feel the flesh of my throat conform around his fingers. Collapse. My breaths feather at first, followed by that terrifying constriction of my windpipe. The building terror that he’s cutting off my air. Choking me—but in the gentlest, lingering of ways.
Because I’m not resisting him. A fact he only realizes just as my breathing wheezes, a hair’s breadth from being cut off completely.
“Merde!” He lets me go, staggering away from me, horrified. Panting, he stares down at his hands, his voice a broken rasp, “I’m sorry—”
“Don’t be,” I say, my voice surprisingly strong even as my throat aches slightly with the remnants of his touch. “At least you aren’t hiding how you really feel for fucking once. Is that what you want to do to me? Hurt me?”
“No!” His eyes flash at the mere idea of it. “Never—”
“But you have,” I cut over him. “You are. Every fucking time you push me away. Play with my mind. How can I trust you if you won’t even trust me?”
“I’ve let you into my life,” he points out, regaining his stiff, imposing posture. At his sides, his fingers curl and uncurl again—a mere hint as to the extent of his frustration. “I’ve let you around my daughter. You don’t call that trust?”
“I don’t know anymore,” I admit, my voice breaking. “But I trustedyou. That is what love is. Sometimes, it means being a petty bitch and second-guessing everything, but in the end, I trusted you.”
Despite how he fucks with my head. Plays with my soul. Makes me hate him. Want him. Crave him.
“So now what?” he wonders with a cold, harsh laugh. “You leave after tempting me with the one thing I will never have?”
“No!” I scoff in exasperation. I think I even stomp my foot, I’m so frustrated. “You always had it!” I practically shout at him. “Always! You were just too fucking paranoid to see it.”
And I refused to. Why? Who falls in love with a stranger after barely a few weeks?
But how many strangers are like Vadim?
As tormented as him?
As beautiful as him?
As utterly frustrating as him?
“But what was I to you, huh?” I demand nastily. “Collateral? A tramp you could just throw away—”
“Never!” He’s before me in an instant, his hands cupping my skull, drawing me into him. Near my ear, he croaks, his voice hoarse, “You were what happiness always was to me. A futile dream always out of reach. At least before…”
