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Nothing else. Not me. Not Ryan. And, to be honest not seeing him hurts almost as much as not being around Noah. Still, nothing else matters—not my brother or Tony. Nothing.
“Mommy loves you peanut. I’ll protect you,” I pledge. “I’ll love you,” whispers, tears clogging my throat once again.
“I’ll love you enough for a mommy and a daddy.”
Slowly I get up on my feet, turn off the water and grab a towel. I dry off before I go back to the bed. I climb in, giving my back to the wall.
Nothing else matters.42RoryI wince as I hear the pounding on the door. I’ve been sitting in my bedroom in the dark almost all day. Crying all night gave me a migraine. I got up early to go into work, but I couldn’t kick the headache. Then, I went outside and Ryan and Noah were getting into their truck. Ryan waved at me and I was a total bitch, but I couldn’t bring myself to wave back at him. I didn’t want Noah to use it as an excuse to rip me open again. I’m barely hanging on here as it is. If he started on me in front of Ryan… I don’t think I could handle it.
So, I pretended I didn’t see Ryan and I turned the other way. Guilt has been eating me alive all day. Ryan’s not to blame for the mess between Noah and I. He’s innocent. I shouldn’t have allowed it to affect how I interact with Ryan. I may have been—maybe still am—in love with Noah, but I love Ryan too. I’ll have to seek him out and apologize… If I can work around Noah…
I jerk, my stomach revolting as I do, when the pounding starts again. I look at the clock and notice it’s about an hour before time for Noah to go get Ryan. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out it’s him knocking on my front door. No one else ever comes by. I swallow, not really wanting to deal with this right now, but not exactly having a choice—because again, Noah’s not giving me one. I’m so tired of him deciding everything and just telling me how it’s going to be.
I walk to the door slowly, cursing my nausea as I do. It would serve Noah right if I throw up all over his shoes.
“I think we’ve said all there is to say to each other,” I growl opening the door.
“I think, we have a world of things to say to each other, little sister.”
My blood turns instantly cold. I stupidly thought I was safe here. Looking up at the evil in front of me… I know better now.
“King…” I whisper.
“Aren’t you going to invite me in?” he asks. My eyes travel over him. He hasn’t changed. If anything, he looks colder. I bite down my fear though; my brother can smell fear at the first scent of it… he attacks.
“Do I have any choice?” I ask him, silently congratulating myself when I manage to keep the fear out of my voice.
“None whatsoever,” he says and I back away from the door, making room for his entourage and him. My living room, which I once thought was huge, feels so small I can’t catch my breath.
I sit down in a chair by the door. I don’t really want to sit, but remaining standing is not an option. My legs feel like jelly and my knees are threatening to buckle. Sitting keeps me from looking weaker in front of King.
Timothy King has worked hard to make my life miserable. Until I finally broke free from his grasp, it was his favorite pastime. When he took over the family business, he had everyone call him King. In his head, he thought being called King made him sound invincible. I thought it just made him sound like a giant douchebag.
Whatever.
My brother is my complete opposite—in every way possible. Where I got my mother’s dark auburn hair and green eyes, my brother has hair of golden, dusty brown. He keeps it shorn on the sides, and only slightly longer on top. His eyes are brown, chocolate even and if they weren’t so cold they might be his best feature. He’s tall, but muscular and broad. He’s wearing a tailored suit and looks impeccable right down to the shiny diamond encrusted Rolex he’s wearing and the shiny cufflinks in the shape of the initial K. Those cufflinks probably cost more than my yearly grocery budget.
“What are you doing here, Timothy?” I ask, not that I’m expecting an answer.
I expected me using his name might have thawed out a little of his cold mask—or at least made it slip. That didn’t happen. Instead, King laughs—surprising me. Too bad that his laughter sounds chillingly evil.
“Awe, Rory. Always testing me. Have you not learned your lesson yet?” he asks, and by reflex my hand comes up to my jawline—which is King’s favorite place to hit when he is at his limit with me. Sadly, this is something that happens often… or used to… before I broke free.
