Page 78 of Black Jack (Advantage Play 5)

“I stopped counting because––”

“Because what? It made you feel dirty?”

I cover my mouth as my body wracks with sobs.

“That’s because it is dirty, Bianca. It’s despicable. And it makes me sick to know that I was just another one of them to you.”

My heart cracks. How can he think that? “You’re not––”

He lifts his hand, making my mouth snap shut as his ice blue eyes pin me in place. “Stop. Just…stop. If it wasn’t clear, we’re through. I could handle you sleeping around with other men to get out from beneath your brother’s thumb, but this is different. It’s worse. It’s…dirtier,” he rasps. “I don’t care what your brother has to offer. You’re used goods, and I wouldn’t touch you with a ten-foot pole. Get out of my apartment.”

Then he turns on his heel and leaves, taking my heart, my pride, and the last ounce of my self-respect with him.

Because he’s right. I really am a dirty whore. And he deserves so much better than me.

25

Bianca

It’s funny. I initially chose this apartment because I wanted to get under Jack’s skin. I wanted to show him that I could do whatever I want without repercussions. I wanted to prove that all I care about is money and that I expect him to provide for me, regardless of my frivolousness.

I really am a bitch.

Yet somehow, this penthouse started to feel like home. Like a place that I might just belong. Now, all it holds is the reminder that I’ll never be good enough for a house like this. I’ll never deserve a real home where I can lounge on the couch in my pajamas after washing the makeup from my face with a handsome husband who loves me despite my flaws.

That’s just a pipe dream now.

Because I’m a dirty whore.

I gave up on holding in my tears about an hour ago. What’s the point of it, anyway? The apartment almost looks untouched even though my things are packed in a handful of large cardboard boxes. They’re sitting next to the door, waiting to be carried away as if they never existed at all. Just like me and the memories Jack and I built together. I drag my fingers along the top of the antique vanity still tucked away in the master bedroom.

I think I’ll miss this most of all. The confidence I gained in front of this mirror––the acceptance of myself––is invaluable. But I can’t take it with me. And even if I could, I’m not sure I deserve it. Hell, I’m not sure I’d even be able to look at it without having a total meltdown.

The top of the vanity is almost bare with the exception of two items. My tattoo cover up and the earrings Jack gave me. I’d managed to pack away the rest of the little knickknacks I’ve collected over the years, including Jack’s red rose and the letters he’d written me. But that’s it.

My gaze shoots to my reflection. My eyes are puffy and red, making my birthmark stand out even more than usual. But I haven’t been able to twist the lid off my concealer since yesterday. The thought of covering it up again makes me feel dirty. Fake. I guess that makes sense though. My emotional mask had already been ripped off when Jack found out about my past. Might as well get rid of the physical one too.

I sigh and lick my lips, tearing my attention away from the stranger staring back at me before finding the other bane of my existence. The little black box. It’s taunting me. Daring me to open it again and mourn the loss of all that it represents. It’s funny that Jack had initially bought it for me all those nights ago because he felt guilty for calling me a slut.

The irony isn’t lost on me.

Then he forced me to accept it on our wedding day and made me the happiest woman in the world.

With a deep breath, I run my finger along the seam of where it opens, then drop my hand to my side. Everything else is packed away. I guess it’s time for me to go too.

As I step into the hallway, a loud knock breaks through the otherwise silent apartment. Frowning, I go to the front door and open it.

“W-what are,”––I shake my head, convinced I’m hallucinating––“Jack isn’t here right now.”

A somber Wallace Embry bows his head with his hands in his pockets. “I know. I’m here to talk with you.”

“Oh.” My brows furrow. “Umm, I’m kind of busy at the moment.”

And I look like a freaking wreck.

“It’s important,” he replies. “May I come in?”

With a sniffle, I wipe the bottom of my nose with the back of my hand then open the door fully and step aside.

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