Page 59 of Vengeful Eyes
“This is nothing like you. The smoking, drinking. Fighting and blood.” She paces, fidgety again, her hands balling into fists and relaxing. It’s amusing, so I drink and watch some more, waiting for what she really wants to say to come out of that mouth before I force it. “I don’t like them.”
“I do.” They’re my kinda people, and I trust them now, more so than half my fucking team. And her if she keeps this shit going.
“You shouldn’t. They’re no good, Benjamin.”
“They’re not?” I laugh, wondering who the fuck would think any of us are good. Good is something that left long ago, if it was ever even here to begin with. I refill another drink and down some more. I don’t care anymore. She needs to get a grip and leave me the hell alone before she gets something she’s not gonna like. “And you’re a fucking saint, I guess, Hope.” Jesus. Stupid bitch. I turn away, scorn for her tone winding me up. “You do know who pays for your expensive ass, right? What I do to earn that money?” Something smacks into the back of my head and bounces off the window. I look down at it and frown. A goddamn shoe? I spin slowly, cautiously, trying to contain the temper that’s riling itself all the way back up. She glares and puts her hands on her hips.
“What the fuck is going on?” I ask, having never known such a stupid fucking move in my life. She knows exactly what’s gonna happen if this carries on.
“I want them gone.”
“Why?”
“I can’t breathe with them here. The conversations, the secrecy.”
“I wouldn’t have to be so fucking secretive if I could trust people, Hope. That shit with the gun and Quinn, what the hell was that? Seems to me like I can't even trust you lately.”
That stops her in her path. The expression shifts on her face and if I were a decent man, I’d give a damn. Fucking hands on hips,at me?
“Who are you, Benjamin? A gangster now?” Always was.
I sneer at her attempt at anger, bored with it, and consider throwing her ass out of the window. The thought makes me grin, amusement coming with the booze, no doubt.
“You think this is funny?” she yells.
No. The last thing I think this is funny. It’s fucking infuriating. And the more she pushes, the less I damn well trust her. “You don’t get to dictate to me. I choose. Cane is part of my world. Now sit your ass down and have a drink.”
“Fuck you. Tell me what happened.”
Every hackle I have rises at her fucking mouth, eyes focused on this threat rather than any other. And if that wasn't enough to wind all hell up in me, Quinn's words filter into my thoughts. Who is she anyway? “What are you hiding, Hope? And think before you open that pretty little mouth of yours again.” She dares snarl at me, pacing to the side of the room and back again.
“Why? You going to beat me again?” I fucking might in a minute, get rid of some of this rage she’s bringing. “No. You will damn well tell me about tonight. It’s not a difficult question,” she shouts, picking up a vase beside her.
“I choose what to tell you. Right now, you’re acting like a crazy bitch. I don’t trust crazy, and I don’t fucking trust you. I swear to God you’re about to get. . .”
The goddamn vase is launched at me before I get the rest of the sentence out. I duck from it before I storm across the room to get to her. She baulks left, trying to sprint from me towards the hall. Fuck that. I get hold of her arm and yank her back to me in a flat second, hands throwing her back at the sofa.
“Get a fucking sorry out from your lips before I force one.” I barely hold myself back from her.
“No,” she spits, her body pulling up from the sofa to stand in front of me again. “You need to hear this, Benjamin. They’re wrong. Both of them. They’ve ruined everything.”
“What the fuck, Hope? Get a grip of yourself.”
“Give me something. Anything, Benjamin. Please!” she begs. I let her go and she tumbles to the ground, arms splayed as her feet scramble her upright again.
I have no goddamn clue what this shit is about. Enough. Anyone else, anyone at all would have been dead already for this type of behaviour. I turn and head for the kitchen before I do something I might regret.
She needs to leave right fucking now. I can’t deal with her or figure out why she’s choosing to hide something from me after all this time. She’s right, what she said earlier. She’s never faltered, but this shit here? This reeks of distrust, disloyalty. She needs to get out of my damn way. She fucking doesn’t. She follows me, mumbling and grumbling under her breath as she stamps into the kitchen behind me.
“Back off, Hope.”
“Fuck you. You didn’t think I’d be concerned? This is finished when I say it is, not you,” she screams out, eyes like fucking slits.
I’m done.
Everything inside me explodes, the glass in my fingers thrown at the wall by the side of her head. Splinters and shards shatter around her face, and her eyes widen, panic finally settling in. About fucking time. My hands go back to the counter top, clawing at it for purchase rather than letting loose at her.
“You need to get out, Hope,” I say, glaring in the goddamn hope that she gets the point. “I will fucking lose it if you don’t leave. Now.”
