Page 64 of Mex

I can never tell him it was me who killed my mother, but I can tell him she’s gone.

He won’t just lay down and accept that, of course, so I’m going to need to come up with a hell of a story to get him to not attempt to go after Marek, because I know he’ll assume that it was him who killed her. If he goes after him, he’ll die, and I don’t want that for him. I may not have a choice, though. Death will do what he chooses to do, the best I can offer is a warning.

“For someone who was starving, you’re not eatin’ much.”

Mex’s voice comes from behind me, and I clench my eyes closed.

“Have you done something in your life that you know you should regret but you don’t?” I ask, looking at him.

“Many times,” he answers, still behind me.

“How do you get past the guilt of having ... well ... no guilt. Of living with the idea that maybe you’re a bigger monster than you ever thought possible.”

I can feel his presence behind me as he steps up closer, but he doesn’t touch me. “Guilt only occurs when the thing you’ve done is wrong. If it isn’t wrong, it doesn’t matter how much you try, you’ll never feel guilty. Don’t make you a monster just because you don’t like how you react to somethin’.”

“Doesn’t it?”

“You’re not a monster, Acacia.”

God, the way he says my name has shivers running up my spine.

“But what if you’re wrong about that, what if I am?”

“Then we all are.”

I shake my head, a soft but broken laugh escaping my lips. “I suppose so.”

“You don’t have to protect him, you know.”

He’s talking about Marek.

God, he thinks I’m protecting Marek? Little does he know I’m actually protectinghim.

“I should go finish my dinner.”

I turn, and our bodies collide, he was standing so close. His arm goes around my waist to steady me, and he stares down with an intense expression on his face. Pressing this close reminds me of just how sore my body is. Soon, the alcohol will wear off and I’ll be forced to take more painkillers to get through. It hurts, but I’ll never admit just how much, because that means I’m admitting that Marek could destroy me and I’ll never let that happen.

“Tell me what makes you a monster?”

I swallow, sucking in a breath as I look up at him. “My very existence.”

Stepping away from him, I retreat back inside.

I don’t finish my dinner; instead, I clean up Myla’s house before going back over to the club, claiming exhaustion. It’s not a complete lie, I am exhausted, emotionally and physically.

It takes me a while to remake the bed and get myself ready, but the moment I sink into the sheets and my head hits the pillow, I feel scarily alone. It’s a deafening silence that is unbearable. Rolling to my side, I clench my eyes shut, desperately trying to stop the feelings inside. I hate them. I’m stronger than them. I’ve lived my entire life without ever feeling anything other than pure rebellion and rage. That’s just who I am.

My door creaking has me rolling to face it.

Mex walks in, shirtless, and without a single word he strides toward me. Reaching down, he tosses the covers back and slides into the bed next to me. His hot, hard body presses against mine in the small space, and he pulls me into him. I wish he wouldn’t, I wish he didn’t decide to come in here, I wish he would just walk away and leave me alone because every single time he does something like this, I find myself unable to turn away, unable to resist any longer.

“Are you in pain?” he asks.

“Yes,” I admit.

Every single time I roll, the sheets scratch against my body, sending a new wave of pain through it.

“Did you take something?”

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