Page 19 of Deal with the Devil

“You don’t?” I frown. It’s automatic and entirely at odds with the flipping of my over-excited—why is it excited?—heart.

“No.”

“Okay.” I twist my lips to the side, trying hard not to do the same with my hands in my lap. I’m nervous. “What do you want to talk about?”

“I want to know what happened.” His eyes darken at my flinch, but he insists, “All of it, Sunshine.”

“Oh boy.” Wiping my palms on my leggings—or Candace’s leggings—I draw in a deep breath. Then I start from the beginning. “I’m a media designer.” His brows furrow, but he nods. “I went to school for it, and I’m pretty good. I work on stuff for bands. You know, album covers, logos, designs for merch. I do the same for indie authors with book covers, logos, banners and designs for swag. Anyway, I went to school with a girl who went a more political route with her media degree. She was working on Senator Diaz’s last campaign and became acquaintances, I guess, with his son, Antonio. She’s married and has been for forever—high school sweethearts. Anyway, it was through her that I met Antonio.”

“She set you up with him?”

“No.” I shake my head. “I met her for lunch, and he happened to be there. He asked to join our table and we said yes. He was very attentive with his attention, flirty, but not the gross kind. When he asked me to go out with him, I said yes. That first date just the two of us was good. Good enough for me to agree to another and another. And then we were a couple. I guess I fit the mold he needed for a wife, because he proposed. I thought I loved him, so I said yes.” Pulling the corner of my lip into my mouth, I pause for a moment. I’m so ashamed for the last part of my story, and I just don’tknow why that is. It’s ludicrous, really. I know that and yet…

“Sunshine?”

“He asked me to move in with him. I refused. I told him I wasn’t comfortable living with a man until marriage. Mostly, that was true. But in reality—I just—I think I knew intuitively—” I tap my belly. “That something was off.”

“How’d he take that?”

“He wasn’t happy, but he didn’t force me. He did try to move up the wedding, but again, I refused.”

“When was that supposed to happen?”

“Next summer.”

Kane swallows, nodding. There’s nothing but shadows in his eyes now. “Go on.”

“Antonio cancelled dinner plans with me one night because he had a sore throat, or so he said.” I can feel the sick beginning to roll in my belly now as I near the part of my story that makes me want to weep my heart out while also committing acts of extreme violence. I force myself to continue, “I made him Mom’s homemade chicken soup. I boiled bone broth and everything.” I drop my head into my hand, rubbing my brows. “I feel like such a fool.”

“You’re not.”

I let my eyes connect with his. “I walked in on him getting a blowjob from my best friend, Kane.”

A muscle in his jaw jumps. He says nothing.

“Do you know how much that hurt me? He could have chosen anyone else. Any other woman in this world, but he went for her—and she let him. She was my person. My soul-sister. The one I called for everything. She kneweverythingabout me.” The breath I suck in rattles in my lungs. “I was so hurt, so mad, I didn’t think. I threw the entire pot of soup on him when he came for me. Then I tossed my ring at him, told him it was over. Screamed I never wanted to see either of them again—and I ran.”

“What happened after?”

“He stalked me. Called all the time. Showed up in places where I was. Told the media the engagement was still on.”

Between his knees, Kane’s big hands curl into one big fist. “And your friend?”

“Kate? I haven’t spoken to her since.”

“Has she been trying?”

“Every day.” I hold his eyes and say firmly, “I won’t forgive her. Not ever. I’ll never talk to her again.”

“The attack? What was that?”

I close my eyes and see him there above me—the man in the mask. I can feel his hands around my throat, cutting off air—and I gasp.

Kane’s hands fall on my thighs, rubbing slowly up to my hips. My eyes drift open and I look at him through the blur of tears that have yet to fall. It’s amazing how I can be so close to losing myself in thetrauma only to be grounded by the touch of his big, hard hands.

Then I tell him everything. I replay every sordid detail. Every disgusting word the masked monster said to me that night. It’s not hard, I’ve replayed the nightmare every night while I slept since.

When I’m done, Kane’s lip curls as he growls, “Your ex is a piece of shit.”

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