Page 22 of Unorthodox
But I don’t want this.
Even though I think he’s testing me, seeing what I’m capable of,I don’t want this.
I close my eyes. I might not be able to physically fight him, but I can defy him like this.
I realize immediately that it was a mistake. Whatever softness he’d shown me in the dark, now that Ben is dead, now that I’ve disobeyed him, it’s all gone.
“Addison.”His hand leaves my wrists as my eyes spring open. His fingers curl around my throat and then he’s hauling me up to a seated position, shoving me against the wall.
The gun comes under my chin, just like it was with Ben.
With Ben.
I open my mouth to scream, and he moves the gun, shoving it past my teeth, into my mouth.
“You fucked up, baby girl.” My eyes are glued to his, the taste of the gun like iron in my mouth. My stomach churns as I realize it could bebloodI’m tasting. “You fucked up, and I won’t let you do that again. If you disobey me one more time?” He leans in close, his nose running down the length of my jaw, barrel of the gun still between my teeth. “I’ll pull this trigger after I fuck you senseless.”
Max Bennett is worsethan the devil. At least you know Satan is going to eat you alive. With Max, he’ll make you beg for it first. Make you think he’s doing you a favor as he rips your heart right out of your chest.
When he takes the gun from my mouth, puts it back on his hip, stands to his feet and offers me his bloodied hand, flecked with scars set against his pale skin, my entire body trembles.
He put a gun in my mouth. He just shot a man in cold blood. He threatened to kill me.
But I take his hand, because what else is there to do?
Between ending up like Ben and shaking hands with the devil, I’ll choose the devil every time.
Even if it terrifies me.
I thought I was made for this. I thought I would be fine, biding my time while my father finds a way to get me back.
Or my brother.
But I wasn’t made for Max Bennett.
No oneis made for Max.
Because despite what he did, despite what he still might do, when he pulls me close against him, I cave. When he wraps his arms around me, tears silently spilling down my cheeks, the taste of the gun still in my mouth, I sink into him, close my eyes and pretend he’s someone else.
When his fingers tangle in my hair and he presses a kiss to my head, I pretend it’s because he’s sorry.
For Ben. For the gun. For his threats.
I pretend he has a soul, and I pretend, for just a few minutes, that I don’t hate him.
* * *
The water is warm,but I still feel cold.
There are two showerheads in this shower, and he stands under one while I’m under the other. I face away from him, because it’s easier that way, and yet even with the water as hot as my body can physically stand it, I’m shivering.
The blood ran clear minutes ago, but I keep staring at the white tile beneath my feet like I expect to see more of it at any moment. With my back to Max, I almost expect it to bemy bloodgoing down this drain.
But Max took my hand, led me up the stairs, through the enormous house that seems to be entirely made of shades of black, and he pulled off my bloody clothes, opened up the glass shower door, and pushed me inside.
I haven’t washed my hair. Haven’t washed anything.
I’ve done nothing but try to forget the spray of red from Ben’s head. The taste of the gun in my mouth.
