Page 59 of Beg for You

Whatever it takes.

Like sleeping with the daughter of the man you despise. Like pretending you care about her when all this time it was some sick plan to get back at her father for something he did to Cal ten years ago.

I stumbled to my feet, running on shaky legs to the door. I yanked it open, hurt and anger propelling me down the stairs to the shop below.

Cal was no different than anyone else. Using me for his own ends, to get what he wanted.

Dane was at the counter, and as I reached the bottom of the stairs, his head shot up from his phone that he was typing quickly on. Whatever he saw when he looked at me made him stand straighter.

“Cassandra—”

“Where’s Cal?”

“He’s just finished with a client. He’s cleaning up.”

I spun around, strode to the curtained-off room, and shoved the fabric back. Cal was already facing me, his eyes on mine, jaw tight.

“When were you going to tell me who you really are?”

“I can explain—”

“Well, Joel, I’m not really interested in the details of your sick, twisted revenge plan.”

He took a step toward me.

I shoved my hands up, warding him off. “No.” I shook my head. “Don’t you dare touch me. Don’t come anywhere near me.” My eyes started to sting, but I refused to cry in front of him. “So what were you going to do to get back at my family? Post pictures of me online? A sex tape on the Internet? Blackmail my father with them?”

“No…fuck…Cassy, just let me…I wasn’t…”

He was struggling with his speech, stumbling over words, and I took advantage of it, talking right over him. “Tell me you weren’t using me to get back at my father,” I fired at him.

His fists curled tight at his sides, his chest pumping. “I-I…it’s n-not…” He growled and spun, smashing his fist into the wall. “Fuck!” Then he started toward me.

I backed up. “To think I let you…that we…” I was about to cry, to humiliate myself in front of him. I wasn’t going to let him see how much he’d hurt me, that I had actually allowed myself to care for him like an idiot. I straightened my spine and hardened my voice. “You make me sick.” I refused to allow the pain I was feeling through in my voice. “Stay the hell away from me or I’ll file a restraining order.”

He curled his fingers around my bicep, completely ignoring me, and even after everything, his touch was like an electrical current moving from him to me.

I yanked free. “Keep your filthy goddamn hands off me,” I said, voice cold, devoid of emotion. I was reverting back to Cassandra, using her as a barrier like I had so many times in my life. Cassy had well and truly left the building.

Fire burned in his eyes—anger, frustration, and a whole host of other emotions I refused to even try to understand. “You need to…let me…”

“I don’t need to do a damn thing, except maybe go home and scrub myself raw. I can still feel your filthy hands on my skin and it’s making me sick to my stomach,” I said, delivering my final shot as coldly as I could while inside I struggled to stay upright as my heart bled, tearing in two in my chest.

He flinched, his hand shooting out, grabbing for the doorframe like he needed the support.

He was just angry his plan had failed, that his chance at revenge had been blown wide open. That was all that agonized look on his face meant. Nothing else.

I shook my head in disgust, turned, and ran out. I knew he’d follow me, so I ran as fast as I could, darting down between two shops, ducking behind a row of trash cans. The sound of Cal’s heavy boots pounding on the pavement, of him calling my name, came a short time later.

But he didn’t see me and walked past.

I stayed where I was for what felt like forever.

There was no sign of him when I finally left my hiding spot, but my phone, that was on silent, had been ringing nonstop.

I walked blindly down the main street of Rocktown. I was in my evening dress, the skirt torn, and bare feet, since I’d forgotten my shoes fleeing his apartment. I felt so much, was trying to process so much, I’d gone numb.

Was this what dying felt like? I thought it might.