Page 115 of Deceptive Games
“You can’t show up at my place like that again,” I bit out, putting my hand on the gun as he stepped closer. He halted, putting a hand up.
“I’m not going to hurt you. Why haven’t you told anyone? Skeet would?—”
“You think I want to tell Skeet that his best friend fucking raped me?” I snapped, making him wince. “He’d kill you, I know that, and that’s the last thing I want playing on his mind for the rest of his life. If he shoots you, he’s choosing me over the crew. What happens then? He gets thrown out? Murdered? Labeled a traitor? The crew means everything to him, fucking everything, and I refuse to let you take that away from him. If I told Josie or Caden, they’d drag you through court, sure, but I’m sick of being the fucking victim, Slash. Do you know how Josie looked at me when she found out about Tristan? Like I was some poor little girl that she couldn’t protect. It’s not her job to, and I’m not some damaged girl that needs saving. In keeping this shit buried, I’m saving myself.”
“You’re far from a victim, Donovan. You’re a survivor,” he offered quietly, hesitating before continuing. “Did I hurt you?”
“Of course you fucking did!” I shouted, getting to my feet but holding myself back from waving the gun at him. “You forced yourself inside me!”
“I know, fuck. You should see a doctor, maybe?—”
“Don’t fucking tell me what to do,” I warned, aiming the gun at him when he started moving closer again. “Don’t.”
“I don’t know why I did it,” he insisted, thankfully stopping.
“Because you’re a monster.”
“Not like that!” he barked, frustration seeping out of him as he raked a hand through his hair.
“Hate to break it to you, bossman, but that’s exactly the kind of monster you are,” I said in a low voice, keeping the gun on him.
“I’m sorry.” It was so quiet, the regret on his face almost making me feel bad for him as if he was the victim here.
“Did you do it to scare me off? To break me? To make me feel dirty? Why the fuck?—”
“I can’t get you out of my fucking head, Aurora,” he replied, desperation in his tone. “I hate you, but I want you at the same time. Every time you open your goddamn mouth, I want to strangle you then fuck you until you fall into line. I was supposed to just threaten you, but I blacked out in my anger and then you were crying and I freaked out.”
“You don’t fucking want me, you psychopath. You just want to control me.”
“I don’t want to want you,” he said firmly, and this time when he stepped closer, he didn’t care about the gun in my hand, moving towards me until the barrel pressed against his chest. “You drive me insane with your defiance. Every time you mouth off at me, I just want those lips wrapped around my cock again until neither of us can think straight. When you blew me at the Shed? You were the only one in control. The second you got on your knees, my brain died.”
He slowly lifted his hand and reached out to cup my cheek, his thumb brushing my lip as I pushed the gun harder against his chest.
“Slash, don’t.” My hand trembled, and self-hatred filled me when I couldn’t pull the trigger.
“I’m sorry I did that to you,” he murmured, his free hand carefully taking the gun and tossing it onto the bed so he could step even closer. “Stay here while I shower, then I’ll take you home. I’ll leave you and Skeet alone, you have my word.”
“Your word doesn’t mean a thing to me,” I choked out, trying to step back, but the chair was in the way.
“I’ll call someone to come and get you then. Just wait until I shower and make coffee. Stay, please,” he asked, angry tearsburning my eyes, but I refused to let them fall. “I’ll make you something to eat too.”
My body sagged slightly when he left the room, my heartbeat slamming inside my chest as I tried to calm down.
My phone buzzed, and I pulled it from my pocket to see it was Caden.
Caden: Where are you?
I couldn't exactly tell him I was with Slash, he’d call Skeeter and freak out, so I lied.
Rory: Sorry, I should’ve left a note. I went for a walk. Had a shit sleep.
Caden: You should’ve woken me, baby. Want me to come and get you?
Rory: No, I’ll be home soon. Give me an hour or so.
I pocketed my phone again and poked my head out of the bedroom, spotting a pack of cigarettes on the table in the living room. I hadn’t snooped last night, too worried Slash would wake up and corner me, so I moved through the house cautiously as if he’d set booby traps everywhere.
The pack thankfully had some cigarettes, so I took one and raided his bedside drawers for a lighter, before returning to the living room to get comfortable on the couch. I smoked to calm myself, some of the tension returning when I heard the water switch off a few moments later.
