AllFreeNovel
Share Us
You snobby bitch. What gives you the right to think you’re better than me? She’d had the freaking nerve to yell in my face.
I’d responded in the only way all that pent-up anger in me was capable of. Because I’m not a fucking asshole who loves to hurt everything in her life. That’s why I think I’m better than you.
Aiden’s calloused fingertips suddenly brushed lightly over the bruising, lifting my wrist in the cradle of those hands that were an instrumental part of his multi-million dollar body. The tic in his cheek had gotten worse as I tipped my head further back to look at that hard line his jaw made when he was gritting his teeth. His breath rattled out, and the thumb and index finger of one of his hands circled the middle of my forearm as he said, “Did he apologize?”
“No.” I made myself clear my throat, uncomfortable, uncomfortable, uncomfortable.
I saw him gulp. The air filled with an unfamiliar tension. His swallow sounded loud in my ears. “Did he hit you?”
And just like that, I realized—I remembered why he might be so upset over the situation. I flashbacked to that memory I’d shoved to the back of my brain because I’d been worried about getting fired. How the hell could I have forgotten about it?
Almost immediately after I first began working for the man known as The Wall of Winnipeg, I’d gotten dragged to Montreal for a charity event that he’d donated to. Afterward, Leslie—who had since moved from Winnipeg—invited me along to his house with Aiden for dinner with his family. Aiden had seemed distracted that day, but I thought maybe I’d been imagining it. I hadn’t known him well then, hadn’t learned the little nuances in his features or in his tone that gave away an idea of how he was feeling or what he was thinking.
We’d been having dinner with Leslie, his wife, two of his sons, and one of his grandkids, who happened to be the cutest little boy. The four-year-old boy had been climbing from lap to lap throughout our visit, and at some point, to my shock, ended up on the big guy’s lap. The boy had reached up and started touching Aiden’s face, tenderly and casually. His hand strayed to that heavy, thick, scar that stretched along his hairline. The boy asked him, “What happened?” in that blunt, cute way little kids were capable of.
The only reason I heard his answer was because I’d been sitting next to him. Otherwise, I was sure I would have missed the whispered, casual reply.
“I made my dad very mad.”
The silence after his answer had been stifling, suffocating, and irrepressible all in one. The little boy had blinked at him like he couldn’t comprehend the answer he’d been given; why would he? It was obvious how much he was loved. Aiden’s eyes slid over to my direction and I knew he realized I’d overheard him, because I couldn’t look away fast enough and play dumb.
Aiden didn’t say a word after that; he didn’t remind me of the non-disclosure agreement that I’d been forced to sign my first day on the job, or threaten my life or future if I told anyone. So I sure as hell didn’t bring it up either. Ever.
Blinking away the memory and the sympathy that filled my chest because Aiden was so touchy over an incident like this, I dropped my eyes to his beard. I didn’t want him to see me because I was sure he would know I was thinking about something he wouldn’t want me to. “No, he didn’t hit me. He’s still alive.” I cracked a little smile.
He didn’t return it. “Did you tell anyone?”
I sighed and tried to pull my arm back. He didn’t let go. “I didn’t need to. Everyone heard.”
“And they did nothing?” Was his cheek twitching?
I shrugged my shoulder. “I don’t have that kind of relationship with my family.”
That sounded about as fucked up as it was.
The betrayal that had pierced through me in that moment stabbed me again, fresh and painful. Tears pooled in my eyes as I relived the incident when I was eighteen that ruined what was left of the fractured bond I’d shared with them. Even my knee ached a little at the memory.
Those large fingers eased their grip on my hand just slightly, and in a smaller voice than he usually used, he asked, “She’s your real sister?”
Real sister. I’d mentioned my foster parents, hadn’t I? “Yes.” I messed with my glasses. “We’ve never gotten along. She’s about as far from what a sister should be as you can get.”
“How many do you have?”
“Three.”
“You’re the youngest?”
“Youngest girl.”
“They were there?”
“Yes.”
“And none of them did anything? Said anything?”
Why did I feel so ashamed? My eyes started to sting, and that made me force my gaze upward. I wasn’t going to feel bad. I wasn’t going to hide. “No.”
His gaze switched from one of my eyes to the other. “They live in El Paso?”
“I think.”
His nostrils flared and he gently let go of my hand, my skin immediately missing the warm touch of his fingers. “Okay.” He took a step back and turned his head over his shoulder. “Zac!”
What the hell? “What are you doing?”
He didn’t look at me before yelling Zac’s name again. “I need to borrow his car. If I fly, there will be proof I was there.”
Holy shit.
“You—?” I choked. “You—?” I coughed that time, floundering. “What the hell are you planning on doing?”
