Page 79 of For Cowgirls and Kings
“He saw?” I whisper, my voice quivering. His eyes dart around, refusing to look at me, and my anger burns into full on rage. “What do you mean he saw, Mateo?”
He bites his lip before sighing, “On the camera’s around your house.”
At first, his words only confuse me—I don’t have cameras around my house. And then Mateo’s guilt begins to make sense. “You put cameras around my house?” I shout, the house ricocheting my words back at me.
He cringes, but then nods, sliding both hands into his pockets.
“When?”
“A few months ago,” he whispers, refusing to meet my gaze.
I take a step closer to him. “Damn it Mateo. When?”
His eyes finally raise to meet mine, but there’s no fear there, only resignation. “After I foundJared, at your house.”
My face screws up and I have half a mind to spit on him just to rid my mouth of the overwhelming sour taste filling it. I hate that he watched me—that he thinks has some kind of claim on me.
But I hate thatI don’t hate it,more. The knowledge that Mateo would do something so unhinged,for me,turns on some dark and twisted part of me.
“I don’t know what you’re thinking—” He steps closer, timidly touching my arm again with one of his hands. The tender motion sends a bolt of electricity through me, and I almost forget my anger.Almost.
I shake my head, sighing raggedly. “You will take them down.” He freezes, but reluctantly nods. I step out of his reach again, trying to distance myself from the comfort I always seem to find in his proximity. It’s wrong that he watched me.But where would I be if he hadn’t?
I bite my lip, focusing on anything but where that thought leads. “How could you hurt Gus like that? Stetson? They’re my family. I thought they were your friends.” I know it’s irrational, but if I fold this easily, am I betraying my friends? I still don’t know the extent of what McCrae did to Gus, but it has to have been bad. How can I feel grateful for this demon man?What’s wrong with me?
“I’d have done anything to get you back. Used anyone.Ruined any relationship I had to, if it meant using the resources I had access to, to get you sooner. You were my priority. My only priority.”
Each word hits me like the lash of a whip, flaying me open to the bone. I’m unable to think, to speak at his admission and the need to flee fills me.
“Let go of me,” I hiss, as his fingers wrapping around my bicep once more, their heat scalding.I need space—I need to sort out how I’m feeling. And I need to get away from Mateo before I do something stupid.
I feel myself spiraling again—my former grip on control slipping through my fingers like quick sand. I hate that I have no control, no means to control anything in my life. My fate, my failures, my feelings—I control nothing.
“Let go of me!” I repeat, but Mateo’s hand doesn’t loosen. He grips my other arm in an equally tight vise, pulling me to him, my head snapping back with the motion.
“Never, Dale. I’ll never let you go. You’re safe; I want you here with me. You’re my priority now, just like you were then, just like you’ve always been.”
“No!” I scream, his words cutting deeper and deeper into my flesh. They don’t make sense—I’ve alway been just a friend, a burden potentially.
“Tell me how to help you.” His voice cracks. This powerful, sturdy manshakes. This King—a man more man than any, breaks. For what?For me?
“I have no control. I can’t control anything. Let me go. Let me be!”
“I can’t let you go.”
I yank at his grip but he doesn’t budge. I feel myself falling. I feel myself leaning too much on his soul to support my own. I can’t risk that—I can’t risk what’s left.
“If you don’t let me go I’ll never forgive you. You’re taking this last little bit of my control away from me. Don’t you see?”
His hands shake, like he knows what I’m saying is true, but still can’t make his them work.
And then he drops to his knees. His hands never releasing my arms, his head falling toward my chest, nose resting between my breasts. He inhales raggedly, his hot breath burning beneath my clothing.
I gasp, so surprised by the motion—by his closeness—that I stop breathing.
I look down at him, eyes wide, when he shifts, his face tilting up to meet mine. My breath remains lodged in my throat.
“Let me help you, Dale. Let me give you back your control. Let me be whatever you need to find yourself again. Let me be your punching bag if you need it. Please, Dale, let me submit to your control. You have it—you have me—use me how you need to,” Mateo begs.
