Page 60 of House Rules
A shuddering breath sighs out, and I drop my forehead to my knees, holding them tightly to my chest.
I give myself another thirty seconds to fall apart, and then I stand, strip, and walk into the shower. I turn the spray as hot as I can and stand there until my skin is pruney and pink. The water scalds my skin, but I don’t turn it down. I need something to anchor me. Something to burn away the invisible fingerprints still clinging to my body.
They just proved that they can get to me anywhere. I’m not out of their reach, and there will be no safe haven until I find something to give them.
There’s nothing I can do about it now. Come tomorrow, though, I’m going to have to up my game and find a way to get the information they want.
Either way, I’ve done everything I can right now.
Bone-weary all of a sudden, I flip the light off and crawl into bed. Sleep eludes me, an image of thosewords on the mirror making me toss and turn. Soon though, I let my eyes close, and I try to think about anything other than the mob. Anything other than their plans for me. Instead, I focus on the only other thing consuming me.
Why the hell did tonight feel like a date?
Each time I had a few minutes alone with one of the men, it felt like they were trying to romance me. Like they were trying to woo me into their beds…but why? I signed the contract. As far as they’re concerned, they own me. They can ask me to do anything, and I would do it.
I wouldenjoydoing it, although Con might believe it’s a punishment of some sort. If I didn’t need the money, and a way out of this mess with the mob, they wouldn’t need a contract to keep me here.
Just a reason to believe they really want me, as pathetic as that is.
Why bother trying to give me the fairy tale?
I don’t want the fairy tale. Fairy tales only work because they end happily ever after. Cinderella becomes a princess. She doesn’t return to her stepmother’s house and keep on slaving away.
If Cinderella didn’t get her happily ever after, how long would the memories of her dancing with the prince stay a happy memory? How long until those memories turned her heart bitter because for just a second, she got a taste of a life that she was never really going to have.
After I broke up with Con, I retreated from any attempt at having a relationship. I have never been the kind of girl that a man wines and dines. I’m not the kind of girl who gets chocolate and roses on Valentine’s Day or diamonds for Christmas. No one has ever treated me like that, and I don’t expect they ever will.
And I’m okay with that. It’s just not who I am, and it’s not who I’m meant to be. I wasn’t born with a Tiffany’s rattle in my crib. I was born the trailer trash girl whose mother left and whose father loved less than he did gambling. I’m the girl a guy takes out for a burger or bowling and then fucks against a wall and never calls again.
That’s the extent of the one or two dates I’ve had after Con, and truth be told… I prefer it that way.
A date like that ends up with sex in a car, in an alley, or in the bathroom of a bar. I know where I stand.
I know that it was no more than scratching a mutual itch, and ideally, both of us got what we needed from that interaction. For a moment, I felt desired. I felt beautiful, and I was satisfied. It was an even exchange. I know where I stand, and I know not to expect those types of guys to call again. If I know they’re not going to call, I can’t be disappointed.
And yet here I am, filling my own head with silly dreams and letting myself get carried away by them. I can’t let myself believe in fairy tales. Not when I know how they end for girls like me. Not with glass slippers, but with broken heels and an Uber home in the rain.
If I let myself believe that this could possibly be something real, and it ends with nothing more than a wire transfer…
It will destroy me.
Maybe that’s their goal. Maybe that’s the game my Titans are playing. It would make sense, given my history with Con. They might want to fuck me, but they don’t want to keep me…they just want to make me believe that I might be the one girl they actually want. They want to put me on a pedestal just so they can watch me fall at their feet.
Maybe I shouldn’t feel guilty about getting the mob the information they require.
If the Titans are the type of men who would torture a woman just because they can, and play mind games designed to leave her broken, then maybe the idea of them killing women after they slept with them isn’t so farfetched.
I have to find out if that’s the case, and keep it from ever happening again.
I close my eyes and drift. I’m going to protect the next woman who falls into their trap…even if it means betraying them to the mob.
Even if it means never finding out if they could’ve loved me back.
20
Maverick
I’m sosick of Con and his goddamn plans. When his plans work, which admittedly is most of the time, it’s fine. But this big idea to get Phoenix out on the yacht so we could get her to talk and loosen up so one of us could finally fucking nail her backfired so unbelievably hard.
