Page 11 of The Den of Sin
I rolled the anger off my shoulders at seeing Ryan put his mouth on her and touch her. It wouldn’t bode well if I went into attack mode. Not yet. It wasn’t time to show who owned Isabella Taylor. Or should I say Santos?
Her red dress hugged her body and had an open back, giving me a full view of her smooth skin. It made my cock painfully twitch. Ever since that night five years ago, she had inked herself into my bloodstream and refused to leave me. She was like a fucking enchantress that threw a spell on me, refusing to let go. That innocent, vulnerable look of hers, the way she carried her softness on her sleeve, drew me in. She was a beautiful woman, but that vulnerability and softness was what brought men to their knees. She was crack for men, willing to commit murder to have a taste of her.
It was the reason I had men watch over her from the moment I met her, alongside my sister. Even after that night I squashed her heart under my expensive boots, I had men watch over her. I couldn’t let go. I told myself it was so I could always keep tabs on her, but for the first time in my damn life, I’d lied to myself.
Ever since I met her, I had always lurked in the shadows. She was a pawn to my revenge, but the joke was on me. The relationship between my father and her mother was so much more than my mother led on. There wasn’t an innocent in that fucking triangle.
Actually, scratch that!
Isabella was the only innocent in that whole fiasco. The regret was bitter, but the desire and need for her never diminished. Five years and I could still taste her on my lips, feel her soft body withering under my touch, hear her moans. Ever since that night, I haven’t been able to get her out of my head. The way she gave herself to me, without reservation, holding nothing back. It was priceless, addictive, intoxicating.
Her blind trust made my betrayal even worse.
But I was done paying for my sins. Or our parents’. This time, I’d play for my queen.
Let the games begin.
Chapter Three
Isabella
Mr. Johnson wants to meet you.
Today, six this evening.
His place.
The text was from an unknown number. It wasn’t surprising. Ryan went through assistants like underwear. He could be a difficult prima donna to work for. The surprising part was that he wanted to meet tonight. I thought he was out of town for another two days, on his tour.
It had been three weeks since the award ceremony and the night I ran into Vasili. Seeing him after all that time shook me more than I cared to admit. It was stupid that I still wanted him with the same intensity as I did five years ago. Knowing how he used me and then discarded me, you’d think I’d know better. But my damn heart wanted what it wanted, without regard for what was smart.
“Gun victim, coming in five minutes,” someone shouted, and immediately I shoved all thoughts of Vasili and Ryan aside.
The next few hours the atmosphere in the ER was hectic. Surgeons, physicians, and nurses running around, working together to save the victim. We each all our own important part in saving people.
Three hours later, I was finally able to call it a day after a twelve-hour shift. It had been a long day, I was exhausted and tired. There wasn’t anything more I wanted to do than just head straight home, take a shower, and crash.
I briefly debated just ignoring that text. It was so tempting just to go home and get my much-needed sleep. I was glad Ryan was back, but I wished it had happened yesterday. It was a much quieter day. Or maybe tomorrow when I was supposed to have a shorter shift.
I peeked around the corner from the ER, the place I have called my home for the past four years, and a relieved sigh left my lips. No paparazzi and no reporters. God, how I hated being followed by those! It was the single biggest downfall to dating Ryan Johnson. Since the premier, the spotlight was even more on him and his life. As the lead singer of The Surprise Blink, it was a necessity for him. For my career, it was a nuisance.
Ryan and I were an unlikely couple in the world of the rich and famous. Our interests and careers were vastly different. Even more, our personalities were too. He loved being the main talk of the public; I loved being unnoticed. Although he was just a few months older than me, he still looked like he was twenty-one. Sometimes he acted like it too. It was what made him popular. That nice boy charm.
So unlike Vasili who was more dark, cruel, and cold. I shook my head, shooing the thoughts of him out of my mind. I had to stop comparing him to Vasili. I noticed it happened more frequently since I ran into my blast from the past.
Ryan and I met in an unusual way for a rockstar. I ran into him in the cafeteria of the ER. His guitarist fell off the stage and hurt his arm. His friends rushed him in, and it happened to be my shift. I had no clue who they were, but they all hovered around me as I set their friend’s arm straight. An hour later, he was getting a cast and I was getting a fresh cup of coffee. Ryan spotted me, offered to buy me a cup of coffee, and the rest was history.
The hot air was heavy as I walked down the sidewalk. Ryan’s place was a ways away, but I needed some fresh air after a long shift. Although today was a bit too hot. It was the last week of September but Los Angeles tended to remain hot much longer than the East Coast. Initially, the weather attracted me, but now I missed all the seasons. Yes, I could drive to Tahoe for some winter or Yosemite National Park in the fall, but it wasn’t the same. There were days I told myself it was time to move, but then, I’d convinced myself to stay. This relationship with Ryan was difficult as it was. Between his touring schedule, constant appearances at various publicity events, and my hectic schedule at the ER, we didn’t have much time left for us. Dating with thousands of miles between us wouldn't bode well for our relationship.
Despite my tired state, my chest warmed at the thoughts of him. It was good that I would see him tonight. Sometimes I just needed some time to warm up to an idea. Like to see him out of the blue.
Or move in with him. I recalled our conversation from the last night we spent together, before he left for his tour. He asked me to move in with him again. It was a big step and though my brain said just do it, my heart resisted. There was no logic to it.
“I love you, Isabella.” His voice was soft as he showered my neck with gentle kisses. “I have never asked another woman to live with me. But with you, I want it all.”
My body was relaxed, my heartbeat slowing down after what he had just shared. I didn’t feel intense, crazy chemistry with Ryan, but I cared for him, and I enjoyed everything we shared, in and out of bed. The question was did I love him?
I raised my head off the pillow. Our eyes met and I searched his eyes for… what? I wasn’t sure. I loved him too; maybe not exactly the same way as he loved me. But that was because there was a part of me missing. Someone stole it years ago and hadn’t given it back yet.
