Page 30 of For Wrath and Redemption
“Okay. My turn. Thank you for that riveting offer, but I’m going to decline.”
His grin falls. “Excuse me?”
“I won’t be doinganyof what you just suggested.”
“Do you realize that I can end your entire career with one phone call?”
“Doyourealize that I know all about your deal with your label? The morality clause and how your stupidity put you at risk of violating it. How your selfish actions could screw over not just you, but your entire band. Remember that, Jonah? Because I sure do, and I read the whole contract. I know about every single consequence you’re set to face if you don’t cooperate. And here’s the thing. Iknowthat scares you. Who are you if you’re not in this band? If you’re not this cocky, broody, asshole rock star who gives zero fucks? Hm?”
I pause and watch his jaw pop. His eyes are narrowed to slits as he juts his chin, telling me to go on.
“Without the rock star façade to hide behind, you’re everything you hate. Just a spoiled little rich boy from upstate New York. Youngest of two sons. The baby. Set up for success by your parents in every possible way. Went to the best private schools on Daddy’s generational wealth. Got a legacy acceptance to Yale. A trust fund, a mega yacht, a summer house in the South of France, and absolutely zero consequences for any of your bad behavior. The perfect little pride and joy. Until now.”
I mimic his earlier gesture by reaching for his face, but unlike me, he doesn’t swat at my hand. He lets me run my fingers over his jaw, then toy with a strand of his long blond hair.
“You’re not the only one who can do an internet search, Jonah Theodore Henderson, but I have to say, I was surprised to see you with brown hair and glasses in your school pictures.” I look back into his blue eyes. “Do you wear contacts?”
He swallows, and my attention drops to his Adam’s apple. There’s an anatomical heart tattooed on his throat, and it almost looks like it’s beating with the movement. I drop my hand to my side and step backbefore I touch that, too. I make eye contact again, steeling my face to appear more resilient than I feel.
“I’ve watched women I love be manipulated and mistreated by men like you my whole life. I’ve watched them become husks of who they were, turning themselves inside out for selfish men who didn’t appreciate them or see their worth. Men who couldn’t see past their own wants or weaknesses. Their own addictions. You won’t do that to me, Jonah. I won’t let you. I’m here to do a job. I will do itmyway, and I promise you, if I go down, I’m taking you with me.”
While I’m talking, I watch Jonah’s face grow devoid of emotion. It’s just as fascinating as it is haunting. He goes from sinister to shocked, to pained, and then to...nothing. Indifferent. Completely shut down.
I wonder if this is how serial killers look just before they snap. Weirdly enough, though, I’m not afraid of him. Not even a little. Maybe my anger makes me stupid.
“Do you understand?” I ask slowly.
He nods.
“Sure, Davis.” He takes a step toward me, and then a new smirk forms on his still-swollen, thoroughly kissed lips. It throws me so far off guard that my poker face slips, and I find myself frowning at him. “Now what do you suggest I do about this?”
His shift in mood is so disarming that it takes a second for me to realize he’s talking about his dick. We’ve just hurled insults and threatened each other’s lives, and now he’s...coming on to me? Is that really what’s happening right now?
I give my head a shake. He wanted to shock me, and he succeeded. I’m momentarily speechless. I was so entrenched in the argument that I even forgot he was naked, but now I have to fight to keep my eyes planted firmly above his chin.
I don’t want to know if he’s still hard.
I don’t care.
Instead of deigning to give him a response, I grab the phone and dial the hotel concierge. When they answer, I ask for two new pillows and for my bed linens to be changed as soon as possible. Then I hang up and move to my suitcases.
“I’m taking a shower,” I say over my shoulder. I don’t look at Jonahagain as I roll my bag into the bathroom with me. “You have an appointment with your trainer in the morning. Good night.”
The moment I shut and lock the bathroom door behind me, my body nearly collapses. I hadn’t realized how fiercely I’d been fighting to stay upright, but now I’m exhausted. My fingers tremble, and tears form once again in my eyes.
I turn on the shower, leaving the glass door wide open so the water sound is louder, and sit on the edge of the tub. I drop my head between my knees and breathe. When I don’t think I’m at risk of passing out, I drop to the floor in front of the toilet and empty my stomach into the bowl.
I flush. I rinse my mouth. I take a Xanax. I rinse my mouth again. I brush my teeth. Then I step into the shower and stand under the steady stream of hot water.
I force everything Jonah said in that bedroom out of my head—everything that was wrong, and everything that was not—and I focus instead on the task at hand. I visualize my calendar for tomorrow. I run over my mental checklist. I plan.
By the time I’m drying my body with one of the fluffy hotel towels, I feel better. I’ve successfully removed my past from my present, and despite very strong-armed attempts at devastation, I’m once again in control of my emotions.
I dress in pajamas, take a melatonin supplement, and climb into my freshly made bed. The hotel room is dark, silent but for Jonah’s steady breathing, and just before I succumb to sleep, I steel my resolve.
I don’t know if I’m going to succeed with Jonah Hendrix, but goddamn it, I will die trying. He’s a brand. Nothing more. As long as I remember that, I’ll at least get out with my sanity intact.
10
