Blind to the absolute fury radiating out of Dexter, the brunette stands to her feet, rolls her shoulders, locks her slit gaze with mine, then sneers, “I called her a bitch.”
“Not that part, the bit before it.” Dexter stands to his full height. It is even more impressive when he’s fuming in anger. “The ‘S’ word. The one that implies youthinkyou’re better than her?”
The brunette laughs. “Puh-leeze. IknowI am better than her. She grunts like an animal, for crying out loud.”
“She’s mute,” Dexter informs her, shocking me with the understanding in his voice.
The snarky bitch drops her brown eyes to mine. The mock in them boils my blood. “You’re mute.” She’s not asking a question; she’s taunting me. “Aww, sweetie. Are you okay? Did naughty men doreallybad things to you that turned your brain to mush?” She talks to me like I’m a child, goading me in the same manner the girls at my school did when my mother arrived to pick me up without her clothes. “Is that why you’re stupid? Did your daddy play the banjo on your vag—”
Her ridicule is stopped when Dexter’s hand flies wildly through the air. He backhands her so hard, she crashes into the wall separating our room from the one next door. Her hand darts up to cradle her reddening cheek as she slumps to the ground.
I watch in reverence when Dexter bridges the gap between them, his steps drawn out and dangerous. “There you go with that word again.”
Pain erupts in her eyes when Dexter fists her hair. He drags her to my side of the bed, his clutch strengthening with every painful howl she releases. The floor space of our room is minimal, but I’m certain it feels like being dragged down a football field to the brunette.
When they stop in front of me, Dexter yanks her head back, forcing her eyes to align with mine. “Tell her you’re sorry.” He barks his order so violently, the window in our room rattles.
The brunette’s split lip quivers, but not a peep seeps from her mouth.
“Tell her you’re sorry!” Dexter roars, maddened by her delay.
“I-I-I’m sorry,” she stammers as fresh tears leak from her eyes.
The blood streaking her teeth matches the anger thundering through Dexter’s body. He is colored with rage, the clenching and unclenching of his fist as mesmerizing as his naked form.
“Say it again,” Dexter demands, unsatisfied with her pathetic attempt at an apology. “If it doesn’t sound sincere this time, I’ll remove your tongue with my teeth.”
Her throat works hard to swallow at the same time my body tightens with excitement.
“I’m sorry. S-s-so sorry.” The tear gliding down her purplish cheek heightens the sincerity in her tone.
I stop watching a blob of moisture slip off her quivering jaw when Dexter connects his eyes with mine. “Happy?”
His top lip twitches when I nod my head. He was hoping I’d say no. I should just to teach her a lesson, but I’m not a monster. She’ll pay for her sins soon enough. If the blackness filling Dexter’s eyes is anything to go off, it will be sooner than expected.
“Get dressed.” Dexter jerks his head to the shirt the brunette discarded in a hurry only minutes ago.
He growls my name when I shake my head, refusing his request.I am not wearing her clothes!His vicious rumble simpers to a purr when I slip off the bed and head for the bathroom to gather the outfit I was wearing earlier. Some of his simmer is from me offering an alternative to his suggestion, but most of it is from my budded nipples scraping his forearm when I slipped by.
When I return to the room dressed in a baggy white tee and knee-high socks, Dexter tosses a set of keys into my chest. “Wait for me in the car.”
The brunette squeaks out a sob, hearing the words Dexter didn’t express as loudly as I did. She is crouched on the ground next to his feet, his grip on her hair enough to keep her from speaking. If she hadn’t degraded me, I may have felt sorry for her. It is a pity empathy was the first thing my father stripped from me when my mother died.
After gathering my meager possessions, I head for the door. Before I lower the handle, Dexter calls my name. “I’m going to need that.”
He doesn’t need to say what he is referring to. The dip in his tone tells me everything I need to know.
When I spin around to face him, the brunette shakes uncontrollably. Plea after plea spills from her mouth as I slowly pace back toward them. I’m glad she’s found her voice again, but it’s a little too late for clemency. She was mean to me. Dexter is going to ensure it will never happen again.
“Good girl. Now go wait for me in the car,” Dexter suggests when I hand him the razor clutched in my hand. His voice isn’t the one he used on the brunette. This is a special voice, one he’ll only use on me from here on out.
The brunette’s pleas amplify with every step I take to the door, but by the time I cross the threshold, there’s nothing but silence. It is a beautiful noise when you have several voices screaming for attention at once.
