Page 114 of Boy of Ruin
I might not have been, but she’s faithful.
She loves me.
She loves me, doesn’t she? She wouldn’t break my heart in that way. She wanted me to breathe. To heal. To get help.
I haven’t, but she doesn’t know that.
She doesn’t know where I’ve been. What I’ve done.
“Baby girl,” I warn her, feeling my stomach twist inside out as I think about his hands on her. His dick inside of her. His fingers around her throat when she’s pregnant with my goddamn baby. “What did you let him do to you?”
She’s not breathing anymore. Her chest isn’t rising and falling like it was, and it’s not because I’m holding her throat.
She’s pregnant with my child.
For all of our fights, all of our hatred and disdain wrapped up in a broken package I liked to believe was love, I wouldn’t really hurt her. Not now. Not like this.
But if she fucked him…if she did that…
She inhales, almost gasping as she does, her throat moving beneath my fingers.
I hear my brother’s voice down the hall. I think he’s calling my name.
She tenses, her hand not underneath mine going to my forearm as she holds on tight to me. Afraid.
She’s afraid for him.
“What are you doing to—”
I release her, then thread my fingers through her hair as I spin her around, shoving her against the door, cradling her head with my hand so I don’t really hurt her. The door thuds against the wall, and she’s hisses under her breath, my hand planted against her chest, one still tangled in her hair.
“I’ve been lenient with you before, baby girl,” I tell her, my body dwarfing hers as I crowd her against the door. “I’ve let you fuck your own fucking brother. I’ve given you space. Grace. Forgiveness.”
I jerk her hair back, so her throat is pulled taut even though I can’t see her in the dark. I don’t care. I don’t fucking care.
I don’t need to see her. In fact, right now, it’s best if I don’t.
Someone calls my name again, from down the hall.
Sid tries to shove me off of her, her hands wrapping around my biceps, or trying to, anyway.
But she can’t move me.
She’s not getting to him.
Not now.
Not fucking ever.
“Answer my question or I’ll make you kill him.” Those words leave my mouth in a growl, and her nails dig into my biceps, beneath my black T-shirt.
“Let me go, Lucifer,” she snarls, but there’s panic threaded through her anger. I know it’s not for me.
It’s for him.
I shove her back against the door again. “Answer me, goddammit!” I snarl at her, pulling her hair back so hard I know her eyes must be watering. She whimpers, still trying to push me off and there’s another thud in the living room and I roll my eyes, unseen by her in the dark. I push my forearm against her throat, keeping her still as my body is nearly flush with hers. “If you don’t answer me, he’s gonna fucking die.”
“No,” she whispers quietly in the dark, “I didn’t fuck him.” I let up the pressure against her throat, her hair as I stroke my fingers down her scalp. To her neck. Massaging her.
