Page 47 of The Last Call
She’s truly grateful. Which I’m glad but also fucking hate. As if she thought I wouldn’t allow her to leave. That I would force her to stay when she’s terrified. That I would let her to suffer for even a fucking second.
I nod to Bex over her head. More than ready to get out of here. Getherthe fuck out of here. So she will understand that I mean what I say when I tell her I will always give her what she needs even if she doesn’t know yet what that is.
My lion is back.
Although definitely not in the way I like.
Silent the entire ride home I didn’t push while she floated in her reverie. Allowing her to work through whatever is bothering her. Keeping my own mouth shut and my hand tight on her quivering shoulder as I kept her folded against me. We don’t need words when we’re together. As long as she remembers we are together.
But when she rips her fingers away from mine as I escort her into the house, she ends any tolerance and patience I reserve for her. “Remember yourself piccolo leone. I won’t hesitate to spend the rest of the night taming you again if needed.”
Actually not a bad way to spend the rest of the entire weekend. Can’t let her know that though.
This time she tremors with rage. Looking me straight in the eye. Her harsh gaze flooded with pure loathing. “Fuck off Sabatini.”
She stomps away. Obviously out of her god damn fucking mind to think she can get away with talking to me like I’m not the boss. Behaving like I will not punish her defiance. Acting as if she knows where she’s going when she sure as hell doesn’t with that mouthy attitude. I follow her into the study. Slamming the door behind me. No one leaving until I fuck the fight out of her, and she finally explains what the fuck is going on. “The only fucking I’m going to do is to you.”
“Of course that’s all you care about. Just like every other man I know.”
My fury matches hers now. Uncertain as to what has triggered her doubt again. But I’m fucking done explaining myself. Finished proving myself. More than over her damn tantrum. “I can lock you up without fucking you if that’s what you really want. Keep you prisoner in my room until you learn to fucking trust me.”
“I don’t trust anyone.” She spins around without me having to force her. A recklessness in her eyes I fucking hate. “Especially you.”
Especially me.A devastating accusation that hits me harder than I thought possible. Because I’m the only one who can hurt her. The only one whose opinion matters to her. Since she seems to think so low of herself for which I’ll never fucking understand.
“Because you only think you know me. But you don’t. No one does. They only know what I show them.”
“Maybe.” I step closer. So close I can feel her heart beating. Too close I guess when she stumbles backward. “Or maybe what really scares you is that I see the real you and you don’t like it.”
Absolute silence. I swear to God an entire minute passes before she moves. Or I fucking breathe. But I refuse to rush her because I want to finally find out what the hell is keeping her from giving herself to me.
Finally, she shakes her head. Slow and determined before a sneer twists her ruby lips. Then a smile. Then a full on laugh. Throwing her head back as she trembles. Cruel and vicious. Thick with a bitterness I’ve never heard from anyone before.
“The real me, huh? That’s what you think? That you know the real me? You’re a fool, Julius. A god damn fucking fool.”
So many words fill my mind. My heart. My mouth. But never cross my lips. I can’t console her. Can’t argue or question. She needs to admit what’s she’s finally been hiding.
“I fucked him.”
Animation drains from her face. Hollow as her tone. Strange how quickly she’s disappeared inside herself. I speak just as quietly. Refusing to agitate her more. “Who?”
“The man who raped me.”
Motherfucker.
“The man who held me against the wall in your club and squeezed my throat and forced his dick inside me as I begged and pleaded and cried for him to stop. But he didn’t. He didn’t listen. Or care. Or stop. So five years ago I offered myself to him. My very first fucking client—literally. And for ten grand I fucked him.”
God damn. “Syd–”
“Shut up.” She bellows at me. Her voice raspy and sharp and desperate. “Just shut the fuck up.”
My voice pulls her from the memory. She’s back. Wild. Furious. At him. At herself. And I’m going to let her take it out on me.
“I fucked him in that same hallway. And this time I didn’t beg or plead or cry. I let him. So there’s the real me. Your fucking tiny lion. The woman you think you love. That you think you fucking know. I’m nothing but a worthless whore who lets men pay her for sex so she’s in control. So I’m in god damn fucking control.”
She glares at me. Her small body convulsing. Delicate fingers balled into fists. Chest rising and falling with heaving breaths harder than running a marathon. Because finally stopping from running from the truth takes so much more than hiding.
“Good for you.”
