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Not that I would stop it.
A soundless sob hitches my chest.
“Frankie…”
Dammit. I can’t let him see the mess unraveling on my face. I can’t handle him apologizing again or saying anything nice to me. I need him to continue threatening my life and glaring at me with hatred and reminding me who I’m fighting and why I’m fighting.
I need my anger back.
“Tell me about the devil’s bargain.” I wipe my wet cheeks against my shoulders, not looking at him. “Explain the deal Denver wants you to make. The one that ends in surrender.”
“I know what you’re doing.”
“Demanding answers?”
“Redirecting the conversation away from yourself.”
“I learned from the best.” Hardening my features, I tilt my face toward him. “What are you hiding?”
“I’m not—”
“You’re scared. Denver holds all the power, and you’re so fucking terrified you can’t even talk about it.”
“That’s where you’re wrong. Denver holds nothing, and as long as that doesn’t change, he has no power.”
Our eyes latch, grabbing hard, challenging, not letting go.
“Tell me about the bargain.” I grit my teeth.
“No.”
“Such a scared little boy.”
“Get fucked, Frankie.” With a scathing scowl, he shoves to his feet and turns to leave.
“That’s right. Run away.”
He storms past me.
“Run, run, run with your secrets, you childish, hot-headed prick.” My chest pinches with regret. This isn’t me. I’m not a mean person, and yet… “I won’t stop. I’m going to dig and dig until I expose this thing that scares you so much.”
He keeps walking. Leaving.
It’s what I wanted.
But as he strides away, my stomach sinks. I want him to stay. I want him to open up to me. Confide in me. Distract me.
Hold me.
I want impossible things.
With my back to him, two days of pain rush in with the crunch of his retreating footfalls. I’m so sick of men walking away from me. So sick of caring for assholes and wanting them to stay, no matter how badly they treat me.
I hate myself for being so weak. I hate the blistering ache in my throat and the tears falling down my face. It feels awful. To cry again after I promised myself I wouldn’t. I feel like a failure.
Monty never cried. None of the Hoss men cry. I watched Kody get stabbed with a fillet knife, and he didn’t shed a tear.
According to my mother, women are stronger than men. Higher pain tolerances. Tougher backbones. Sharper minds. Even when she was dying, she was dauntless. Brilliant and inspiring until the end.
I used to be like her. Strong. Competent. A force to be reckoned with.
Until the kidnapping. And the miscarriage. And Monty’s betrayal.
Maybe this is a trial, the universe’s way of testing me. Maybe this is the most traumatic ordeal life will throw at me, and if I survive it, I’ll know I can survive anything.
I’m trying. I’m trying to be strong like my mom. I bottle up all the anguish and fall silent, my shoulders pushed back and fingernails digging into my palms.
Then I hear him. His footfalls behind me, closer than before. Reversing. Advancing.
My pulse thrashes as he treads ever closer, every movement slow, speeding up my pulse. He stops at my back, his silence thunderous. Weighty. Intense.
I hold my breath.
Without warning, a hand curls around the base of my ponytail and yanks back my head. His eyes fill my vision. Gold and blue. Hot and cold. Smoldering and chilling.
Gorgeous.
Beware of the monsters with beautiful eyes.
“I know it hurts.” His other hand clasps my exposed throat, his stunning face floating above mine, upside down. “Don’t hide from me.”
“You told me never to speak of him.” My cheeks burn, itchy and sodden with tears. Humiliating.
“Since when do you listen to a goddamn word I say?”
Before I can answer, he bends deep and bites my ear. The shocking, punishing pain stuns me. When I finally regain my wits enough to flee, he’s already moved on, trailing kisses from my temple to my jaw.
I try to jerk away, but his fist tightens on my hair, angling my head so he can run his lips along my other cheek. Nipping, caressing, he kisses every crease, dip, and salty wet corner of my face while saving the most intimate part for last.
My breath bursts at the seams by the time his mouth drifts across mine.
Soft and warm, his lips melt against me, thawing my body and turning my bones to velvet. His palm spreads fire across my throat, gentle yet firm, controlling the angle.
Standing behind me, towering over me, his position dominates. Overpowers. Not to mention his grip on my ponytail. Every motion, every rumbling groan, everything about him is deliberate, commanding the gallop of my heart and the disintegration of my will.
I kiss him back, helpless to fight it, pouring all my grief and longing into the connection. He returns it in triplicate, bulldozing, ravaging, and sucking the anguish from my lungs.
