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"You couldn't handle me." It sounded defensive even to her own ears.
"More like you can't handle you," he said, all the gruffness in his voice replaced with a softness she didn't understand and sure as hell didn't want.
This wasn't how this was supposed to go. Then again, it never was with Marko. He was the one man who didn't fall prey to her con. Time for her to smarten up and cut her losses. She jutted out her chin and blew him a kiss.
"I'll leave you to your little therapy session then." She whirled around. "I'm taking a shower."
Years of practicing how to present just the right facade got her across the room and into the bathroom, where she could get her brain straight under pounding hot water before she admitted out loud just how on the money he'd been.
Chapter 21
Tamara
Not even the royal straight in Tamara's hand or the 300- point lead she had in rummy softened the hard grip of anxiety threatening to choke her. A golden glow from the lights in the motel's parking lot seeped in around the edges of the closed curtains. Wrappers from her vending machine dinner filled the trash can by the door. The third can of soda hadn't been a good idea for her nerves—not that anything short of having Essie back was going to do a damn thing to help.
"This is ridiculous." She tossed her cards face-down on the table.
"Your hand?" Isaac asked, keeping his own cards in his hand and his voice carefully neutral.
"No, sitting here playing cards while God-knows-what is going on at that compound." She shoved her chair back and stood up.
The need to move wasn't just optional, it was almost beyond her control. Frustration, worry, the lack of control, it all whirled around inside her, forming a tighter knot with every step she paced in the narrow space between the table and the bed.
Isaac laid his cards on the table, slow and steady. "We've been over this."
That tone. She knew that tone. It was the bitches-be-crazy-so-talk-calmly tone. Maybe she was crazy. In this moment, she didn't give a fuck. Essie was in danger and Tamara was stuck sitting in a motel room miles away, being told to sit and wait like a pretty little girl should. She'd promised Amelia—promised her—that she'd keep Essie safe.
"I know. Of course I know," she seethed, the anger rushing through her like a fast-moving wave of lava. "I'm just a calculating opportunist. If you’re looking for a sugar daddy then I'm your girl, but when it comes to doing anything important I am just another empty-headed blonde." She was yelling and she couldn't stop herself. The volume, the words, the emotion, they were out of her control. "Just look at the mess I've made of everything so far."
"What in the hell are you talking about?" he snapped back, tension stringing his shoulders tight. "Would it have been better if you'd just left Essie with her dad?"
"Hell no." That hadn't even been an option, not for a single second.
"You can't control everything, no matter how hard you try. Haven't you realized that by now?"
"I learned that a long time ago." She continued to pace as the memories came at her one after the other, making her scared that she'd drown in the bitter real-life nightmares of how she'd grown up. "My mother made sure I knew exactly what my limitations were."
Isaac got up and walked into her path. He stood there, a mountain she couldn't move. He didn't reach out. He didn't take her by the shoulders and shake her. He was just there like a constant on a map—exactly what she needed, wanted, craved. The realization jerked her to a stop and made her already racing pulse go into hyper-drive.
"She sounds like mom of the year material."
"You have no idea." The heat had seeped out of her, replaced by an almost eerie calm, an emptiness waiting to be filled. "By the time I was fourteen, I was in training—not for a pageant, but for landing a rich man. By sixteen, I had one of my own. By eighteen, I had several. Do you want to know how many men I've slept with because they were rich and looking for something pretty to hang on their arm? Too many. I was a rich man's trophy for too long to not know exactly what my limitations are."
This was why she built that cool reserve around her like castle walls, because once it started to fall, anyone could see all her vulnerabilities. That was the real lesson her mom had taught her—never let them see you weaknesses. Her mother had known Tamara's, and she'd exploited every one.
Isaac reached out, but Tamara swerved around him and resumed her pacing. If he touched her now, she'd fall apart. She wouldn't—couldn't—let that happen.
"You're more than that," he said, pivoting to face her even as she walked away. "It's time you stopped letting you mom's twisted opinion of you be your own."
Her step faltered and her head snapped up. The truth of his words slammed into her, shaking the fragile grip she had on her emotions. The moment the first angry tear slid down her cheek, she vowed to make him pay, make him hurt as much as she did. She spun around, hands on her hip and glared at him as he stood there all self-righteous. Too bad for him she knew right where to hit.
"Says the man who can't bring himself to admit that he's so desperate for a place to belong—a tribe of his own—that he hangs on the edges of his family and of the B-Squad just to get a glimpse of what he won't let himself have."
He started, his eyes darkening with fury. "Fuck you."
"Why, because I'm right?" She hurled the question back at him.
"You don't know what the hell you're talking about."
