Page 13 of Blood and Vows (A Twisted Duet 2)

Castello grabbed my arm, pulled me up, and dragged me out of the bathroom. He shoved me onto the bed like I was nothing more than a pathetic ragdoll. “What in the name of ever loving fuck were you thinking?”

When my eyes met his, I knew I had never seen him angry before. But this, the way he stared at me, irises swirling with rage, this was Castello Fattore angry.

I tried to right myself on the bed. “Cas—”

“Why?”

I looked up at him, and I knew there was no way I would be able to bullshit my way out of the truth. Not with him.

I glanced down at the fresh wound. “I needed it.”

“Why?”

I snorted. “Are you serious? Do you really not know why I needed to do this? In case you haven’t noticed, I’ve been through hell and back the last few weeks, so I think I’m entitled to act a little crazy.”

He stepped closer, his eyes narrowed. “So you did this, for what?”

I sat up straight and looked him square in the eye. “Release.”

The malevolent smile I’d come to know so well spread along his face. “Release?”

“Yes. Do you not think I deserve some form of release after what I’ve been through—what I’m still going through?”

Abruptly, he grabbed my thigh, his thumb pressing right over the wound, making me flinch. “I give you release. My hands, my mouth, my cock…my blade gives you release. So next time you feel likeacting a little crazy, you come to me.”

“You locked me in. You weren’t here when I fucking needed you. You’re the one who woke all this shit up inside me, Castello. You’re the one who made me feel okay about the fucked-up mess inside my head. And what do you do? You lock the fucking door as if I’m an animal you need to keep caged. You. Weren’t. Here.”

He leaned down closer, dark irises wild and burning with fury, lips pulled in a straight line. “Then you go on your fucking knees and wait for me like the good little pet we both know you are.” He gripped my thigh harder, smearing the blood over my skin. “But this will never happen by your hand again. You will never dishonor me in this manner again.”

I balked. “Dishonor you? How is cutting myself dishonoring you?”

He let go of my thigh and grabbed my face, his fingers gripping my chin painfully. “You are mine. You belong to me. And by cutting yourself, you are waving one giant ‘fuck you’ in my face.” He let go of my face with a jerk.

“What’s the difference between whether you do it or I do it?”

“What’s the difference? Are you serious? The difference is, when I do it, you bleed for me, not for yourself. Me.”

He grabbed me by my hair, pulling me up and dragging me across the room.

“Castello, stop. You’re hurting me.”

He turned me around, grabbed my waist, and pulled me back against him. “Look!”

I tried to grab his hand still fisted in my hair. “You’re hurting me!”

“I said, fucking look!”

My scalp felt like it was on fire, my heart beating a thousand beats a second.

“Look!”

I opened my eyes and stared in front of me at both our reflections in the mirror.

“That woman you see, she’s mine. That body, it’s mine. Everything is fucking mine, and when you go do shit like that”—he glanced down at my thigh—“you’re fucking with what’s mine.” He tightened his grip in my hair, and I flinched and gasped. “Do not fuck with what’s mine, Tatum. You think you’ve seen the worst of me, but you couldn’t be more wrong.”

He let go of my hair, and with a jerk he tore the nightgown I was wearing straight down the back before yanking it off me completely.

“Castello, what are you doing?”

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