Page 72 of Vicious Seduction

Mitch’s eyes widened. “Jesus, man. Get this woman off me.”

“Lina, calm the fuck down and let go of him,” Oran hissed, tugging at my shoulders. He might as well have painted a fat red target on himself. Every ounce of my fury refocused on him.

I whipped around to face him. “You. How could you?” My hands slammed against his chest, shoving him as violently as I could. “How could you do this to me?” Suddenly, it wasn’t the club motivating me but the image of him in a tux next to his smiling wife. A barrage of tears blurred my vision. I rushed forward to push him again, only he bent at the waist and thrust his shoulder into my belly, sweeping me off the ground and folding me over his shoulder.

“We can discuss this in private,” he hissed, a death grip around my legs to keep me captive as he marched us onto the elevator.

“I’m not doinganythingin private with you.” I slapped my hands against his ass because it was the only thing I had access to.

“You’re going to give me a chance to explain, even if I have to force you.”

“There is nothing you could say that I want to hear.”

“That might be true, but you’ll listen anyway.” When the doors opened, he walked us out of the elevator and took us out onto the street, where his car was double parked, blocking the road.

“I knew you’d be just like Lawrence and the rest of them, using people for your own entertainment. Doing whatever the hell pleases you.”

Oran opened the passenger door, then set my feet on the ground. “I didn’t use you,” he growled, his gray eyes almost black in the shadow of his furrowed brow. “I fucked up by not being up front about Caitlin. Yes, I’m technically married—”

“Technically?” I shot back with a humorless laugh.

He continued as though I hadn’t interrupted. “But the divorce has been filed.”

“There’s no decree. I looked.”

“That’s because it’s an ugly divorce. She betrayed my entire family—set my father up to bekilled—so I had her put in prison for murder. That’s why I didn’t tell you. Seemed like a shitty selling point in my efforts to get you to trust me.”

She set up his father’s death?

I remembered back to the obituary and the picture of Oran with his father in a joyful toast. His own wife had done that? I thought back to his grieving mother at the wedding and how welcoming his family had been. Why would his wife have rejected all that?

I didn’t know what I’d expected him to give as an explanation, but that hadn’t been it. Some of the fight drained from my coiled muscles, though I wasn’t totally ready to surrender.

“I told you how important it was to me not to run from my mother and stepfather and the club, and you took it from me anyway. How am I supposed to trust someone who ignores me?”

“I didn’t take anything from you. I got a call out of the blue telling me I’d been kicked out and thatourmeeting was canceled. I didn’t know what the fuck was going on.”

“If that’s the case, and you really don’t care about the club, then why did you treat me like a lepper after I wouldn’t tell you more about the Society?”

“Because you seem to care more about this fuckingsocietythan being withme,” he bellowed, each word louder than the one before. His shout ripped through the night air, the city seeming to quiet in response.

My heart lurched to a stop in my chest.

I looked at the building in shock … and fear. “We should go,” I said softly.

“I’m not going anywhere. You started this, and we’re seeing it through.”

He was past the point of reason, whereas I’d finally begun to regain mine. I took a deep breath and brought my eyes to his. “I don’t want to be a part of them. I wanted information from them. I’ve spent months trying to get access. Wellington, the club, everything I’ve done has been for a purpose, and now I’ve been cut off completely. Everything I’ve done was fornothing.” A fist of emotions clamped tight around my throat, and tears burned the backs of my eyes.

“Why, Lina? What do you need information for?”

This was it. I had to decide whether I was willing to lay it all out on the line and tell him the truth. In reality, there was no choice to make. I needed help. And deep down, I wanted Oran to know the entire gut-wrenching story.

“Alright,” I conceded quietly. “I’ll tell you everything, but not here. Take me back to the apartment.” I slid into the car. Oran thought for a moment, then closed the door and rounded to the driver’s side.

The ride home was tense, yet I felt an odd sort of peace. Was that how people felt on their final walk down death row? No more option to debate. No more reason to fight. Just the simplicity of acceptance. It was freeing. I greatly appreciated the comfort it brought as I walked back into Oran’s apartment without any guarantee about what would come next.

I crossed to the living room window and looked out over the city. It was easier that way—as though I was talking to everyone and no one at the same time.

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