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“Who’s going to like someone like me? I don’t know how to be a person. How to have relationships. So what? I’m going to buy a house and sit in it all day watching television? You’re all I have.”
The echo of Rodrigo’s statement about his drowning brother pulling him down to his death seemed suddenly all too real.
“I’ll still be around. We can figure it out together, but it’s time you moved into your own place.”
His brows drew together anxiously. “I wish you’d let me stay. I’d be good to you and I swear I’ll never poison your wine.”
Uneasiness settled over Severin. Did he mean...
“Loïc –”
His brother bobbed closer, the muted colors of sunset reflected in his eyes. “I love you. Please don’t send me away.”
Loïc’s hands slid around Severin’s waist and he pulled him close so fast that Severin didn’t have time to react. His lips met Severin’s, and he pushed his tongue into Severin’s mouth. For one horrifying moment Severin froze, helpless.
He was small and the man was big.
The man was shoving something was in his mouth. Something he didn’t want there. He couldn’t breathe.
Air.
He shoved, but the man didn’t let go.
>
He fought to get free.
The buzzing in his ears deafened him.
Chapter Eleven
He hadn’t said goodnight.
Sometimes he didn’t respond to texts or calls for hours, but at five in the morning Minnow woke, feeling antsy and wrong.
A dream maybe?
She checked her phone, but there was nothing from Severin. Anxiety made her queasy.
Arrogant bastard. He was probably working on something and didn’t feel like checking in – or he’d crashed for the night and set his phone to silent.
She smooshed her face against Rodrigo’s bare chest, inhaling his comforting, masculine scent, but the feeling wouldn’t go away, even when she tried to turn herself on by running her lips over his tattooed muscles. There was no reason to wake him – he had a long day of meetings coming up, and deserved sleep even after having been a cruel, belt-happy bastard the night before. Her ass still ached.
But what if...
Severin and Loïc living alone made her nervous. There was too much fucked-upness between them without anyone there to be the voice of reason.
She slid out of bed, tiptoeing over snoring dogs. Rodrigo’s discarded dress shirt was better than a robe, and it still smelled faintly of his aftershave. The hint of dawn floated, hazy orange and blue, up from the horizon. She sent Severin a text telling him that she loved him, but there was no response.
He was probably asleep, right?
A small, miserable knot formed in her chest, and she felt wrong. Tears welled, spilled over. She swiped them away, but more came to take their place, and then she was sobbing, curled in the chair by the front window, willing him to come prowling up the driveway on one of his ugly creations.
He didn’t come. Of course.
“What are you doing down here, preciosa?”
She hadn’t heard Rodrigo’s approach until his fingers traced a shivery path over her nape.
