Page 86 of Weston’s Treasure

Weston didn’t answer verbally, he didn’t need to, not when his big hand came down on my ass with a thud and shocked me into silence.

The door slammed behind us and Weston continued stomping through the living room toward the stairs.

A raucous peal of laughter came from the couch and Chasin glanced over at us and mumbled. “It’s like déjà vu.”

“Screw off,” I returned.

The shock of Weston’s slap on my ass now thankfully wearing off, I doubled my efforts and was met with a steel band around my back pressing my belly into his shoulder as he held me in place.

“You’re seriously an asshole, Weston. I cannot believe you’re doing this.”

Silence.

“I’m really, really, fucking mad at you.”

His bedroom door opened, then it slammed, then I was on my feet face-to-face with a really, really, pissed off Weston.

That was precisely the moment I should’ve checked my attitude and caught on to the feel of the room. But stupidly I didn’t.

I was Silver Coyle, stupid, stubborn, and thoughtless.

“You’re not the only one, sweetheart,” he snarled.

“But I am the only one with a sore ass.”

Weston’s head cocked to the side, his eyes narrowing. But I didn’t stop to take that in either.

“We’re done,” I announced.

“We’re far from done.”

“We so are, Weston, you hit me.” It was safe to say, Weston’s eyes were now burning but I ignored that, too. “I’m not even stupid enough to be with a man who puts his hands on me in anger.”

“Did I hurt you, Silver?” Not even Weston’s voice vibrating with anger pulled me from my snit.

I’d set the course and I was fully prepared to follow through. Though it was safe to say, I wasn’t sure what the course was or why I was willing to follow it. My insides were burning, warning me I was pushing too far about something that meant nothing. And it meant nothing because currently I couldn’t even remember why I was mad in the first place. I just knew I was and I was stubborn.

“Yes,” I blurted out even though it was a partial lie. He didn’t hurt me as much as he’d stunned me.

Weston’s body jerked like I’d landed a physical blow. “You’re a piece of work. You just can’t help yourself, can you? You get pissed, and all reasonable, coherent thoughts fly from your head. Straight up, I smacked your ass with the intention of making you stop wiggling before you successfully made me drop you resulting in you hurting yourself. I got your attention, you stopped thrashing. So you cannot stand here in front of me, with a straight fucking face and tell me I hit you in anger with the intention of hurting you. And if you try to, you’re a goddamned liar and you know it.”

“You shouldn’t—”

“Second thing,” Weston spoke over me. “In the car, when you suggested we stop talking, I should’ve listened. I should’ve remembered that when you get something twisted in your head, there’s no untwisting it while you’re pissed. I was wrong then and I was wrong when we got home. I should’ve let you leave.”

At that, I flinched and my stomach dropped. I’d pushed too far, I didn’t listen to that voice inside my head that told me to calm down and think about what I was saying before I just let words I didn’t mean fly out of my mouth and now I was going to pay a hefty price.

I knew it.

I could feel it.

“I didn’t want you to leave pissed. I wanted to talk it out and explain what I was thinking about your apartment. But you’re all fired up to leave. You’re pissed. I’m tired as fuck-all. So there’s the door, Silver. Use it.”

And with that, Weston went into the bathroom and calmly shut the door behind him.

It was that calm that worried me. He didn’t stomp, he casually walked across the room. He didn’t slam the door like he had the other two, he simply shut it quietly.

Shit.