Page 71 of Ruin
“My life is far from figured out, Kolton.”
I step so close to him he backs up against the house. “I will not destroy myself for you again, Lucian. I still haven’t put all the pieces back together.”
His eyes find mine, holding my furious gaze in challenge. “One of us has to give in.”
I nod slowly. “Yeah. But it sure as fuck isn’t going to be me.”
“Why are we even fighting over this?” he asks. “We both want this, why can’t we justhave it?”
“Because I don’t trust you not to ruin me again.”
“How can I prove it to you?” he asks desperately.
“I don’t know.” I shake my head. “And honestly? I wouldn’t tell you if I did. Giving you the key to my destruction would be stupid.”
“I’m not leaving you again. I’m not going anywhere. I love you, and I want this.” He steps closer, gripping onto my shirt. “I need you, Kolton. Don’t make me beg.”
“Maybe I want you to.” I hold my chin high, looking down at him.
“If you told me getting on my knees, right this very moment, and begging for you to come back to me would make you do it, then I would,” he grits out.
He’s frantic. The desperation in his eyes is different this time. I think he finally gets it. I think he finally understands that I won’t go back so easily—that there is a chance I won’t go back at all.
I raise a brow as I take a step to the side and hold my arms open. “Do it,” I say in challenge.
He doesn’t hesitate to drop to his knees in front of me. My heart beats a little harder.
“Please,” is all he says as he looks up at me.
I want to shove my jeans down and make him choke on my dick. I want to hold his head in place while I fuck his mouth so hard he won’t be able to swallow. I want to take out my nine years of anger on him, right here, right now, on my front porch. I want him to hurt the way he hurt me. I want him to feel everyache and pain that I’ve felt over the last nine years, all at once. I want it to knock him on his ass so hard he won’t be able to get up for days.
Fucking him won’t make him feel a damn thing, but I know what will.
I stare down at him, and the words leave my mouth too easily.
“You beg like a bitch.”
I step around him, pull my key from my pocket and unlock the door to head inside. I close and lock it behind me, then press my back to it and suck in a sharp breath. I’m not sure how long it is before I hear his car start and take off down the driveway. My chest aches over what I said to him, and I haven’t regretted something that badly in a long time.
I don’t like hurting him. In fact, I fucking hate it. I don’t want to see him hurt, and I certainly don’t want to be the one doing it. But if he comes back after this, if he still tries, maybe that means something.
I need to take another shower, but first I need to let Grizz know he can stop babysitting and go home. I get my shoes off before heading into my living room, only to stop short when I see the two of them cuddled on the couch together, asleep.
I scrub a hand down my face, not wanting to deal with this. So I quickly strip out of my jeans and shirt, then hurry up to my bedroom and shower there. I don’t like it, but the cleaning will have to wait until tomorrow because they’re still in my house.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Kolton
Another week passes before the Iron Runners strike. They’re smart about it; coming to the bar late into the night when we’re drunk and ready for bed. It’s rare for me to stay here so late because I don’t like hanging around these guys more than I have to, and I haven’t stayed late since Anastacia has been with me, but something told me to stay tonight. A gut feeling. I’m glad I listened.
They bust in through both doors at the same time. Every girl in the place, except Trudy, screams their lungs out and runs for the hills. One girl catches a bullet to the head, which causes the others to scream louder, as if that’s going to make anything better. The brain matter is going to be a bitch to clean up—thank fuck we have a prospect to do that shit now. If he makes it out of this alive, that is. I saw him somewhere a little bit ago, but I don’t know where he wound up. Hopefully not with a bullet in his head.
Guns aren’t our thing—they’re for weak men. It’s why we don’t deal in them, and why half of us don’t want to. It takes barely any talent to shoot someone a few feet away. A bit of aim, a little pressure on the trigger, and bang. That’s it. But to beat someone to a pulp with a bat, or your fists? That’s talent. That’s strength. That’s not what pussies choose.
However, only a dumb man would take a bat to a gunfight, which is why we have guns hidden around the place—in case of a situation like this.
We all dive toward the closest one, yanking open drawers or ducking under tables to pull them from the tape holding them in place. I was sitting at the end of the bar, as I usually do, so I duck around it and grab the gun taped to the side of the small fridge that’s beneath the bar top. Trudy is grabbing the one under the sink.
