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I stood up, towering over him. My head was about to explode. Explode. “What in the fuck are you talking about?”
Casually draping his arm over the top of the couch, he raised a brow at me. “What, the part about other people cleaning up your mess? First, you refused to marry her, so I picked up the slack. Then, you fucking bond with her and refuse to marry her, leaving Slimy Simu to take the damaged goods off her father’s hands.”
“Don’t. Fucking. Call her that,” I spat out. God, I hated how obsessed our society was with women and sexual purity, like they were only as good as their hymen. Such fucking bullshit.
He rolled his eyes. “Okay, whatever.”
“I’m not a fucking puppet that you can pull by the strings. I didn’t marry her the first time around because I’m not Alex’s little fuck toy, unlike you.”
His eyes narrowed. “And what’s your excuse for not marrying her now? Don’t try to use the excuse that she rifled through your shit because that’s nowhere near a good enough reason to turn your back on a blood bond.”
That pulled me up short. My eyes shot away from his incisive glare. I swallowed and said, “I can’t marry her.”
He leaned forward, muscles coiled to pounce. “Why the fuck not?”
“There are too many reasons,” I grumbled.
I fucking ached for her. I was close to forgiving her, vacillating back and forth, back and forth. Hell, I hadn’t made it through one night without sneaking over to her house, arguing with myself as I paced beneath her bedroom window, only to creep away hours later. It was a miracle that I hadn’t already ended up in her bed, but I doubted I’d win the battle tonight.
I couldn’t admit to Nicu that I was fucking shaking in my boots from fear. I’d given my heart to her, and she’d hurt me. She’d made a bad mistake, and I believed she learned from it. Problem was, Cat left me exposed. Loving her had made me vulnerable to getting hurt again. After my father, I made an oath to myself that I’d never put myself in a position to get hurt again.
“Well, humor me. Since there are so many, why not name a few.”
I shook my head.
“Alright, let me come up with a few. You don’t want to marry. You don’t want to marry a mafie girl. You don’t respect our rules, even though you know the blood bond is as close to a sacrament as they come. You don’t want to make your family happy. You don’t want to make yourself happy. She snooped around on you because she’s young and stupid and easily manipulated by her sick fuck of a father and brother. But the real reason has little to do with any of that, does it? No, it goes much deeper. Something like you don’t feel worthy of love. Of happiness. Am I getting warm?”
Pow!And there it went. My head exploded. Fuck, since when was my little brother so fucking perceptive? I had dug in my heels, weaponizing my stubbornness and my fury at Alex to help me stay away. But the fever had broken with Simu back on the scene. That fucker was dangerous. Not only was there no doubt that she still loved me, but his motivations for wanting to marry her were highly suspect.
Yes, she could theoretically hurt me again, but instead of focusing on the potential damage, what if I focused on how she shielded me the other night? The remorse I read in her journal was real, and Cat was too intelligent to make the same mistake twice. The core issue was that I didn’t think I deserved love. It came back to my father. Knowing he was the source of that fear empowered me to fight it. I wouldn’t let my daddy-dearest fear win. Cat was in danger, and I wasn’t letting her go. I could resolve the Cristo problem. Cat might not know this, but Simu wasn’t the only one with clout with the Hagi clan.
My head whipped around, my glare boring into my brother. He gave me a nonchalant shrug as he persisted, “After what you pulled, I don’t think you’re wrong. You sure as hell don’t deserve her, even if she’s a Popescu. Hell, if I found a girl I wanted and I’d popped her cherry, especially if she was mafie, I’d run her to the ground and lock her down. I swear, I don’t understand you.”
“And you never will,” I thundered. “Now get the fuck out of my apartment.”
He gave a light shrug. Bracing his hands on the couch, he placed his beer bottle on the coffee table, got to his feet, and sauntered to the front door, leaving it open as he left. He knew that annoyed the shit out of me, but he did it anyway, the little punk.
Stalking to the entrance, I slammed the door hard, letting it shudder in its frame. A wave of guilt gripped me by the throat so tightly I struggled to breathe. I pushed her to this by throwing her out and leaving her to take care of the Cristo situation alone. By not taking care of her, I allowed Simu this entry point back into her life. And now he had power over her.
If Simu touched a hair on Cat’s head, I’d take a knife to his throat. Has he already touched her? Just the thought made me want to track him down and kick him to death. He didn’t deserve to breathe next to her, much less touch her or fuck her or, God forbid, marry her. My hands curled into fists at my side.
The image of him lying beside her in bed, lying on top of her—fuck! I couldn’t go there. If I did, I’d go hunting. Murderous intent pounded through my bloodstream, but I reined it back. Killing Simu would definitely make me feel better, but it wouldn’t solve the root of my problem. Getting Cat back would.
And with that, I knew what to do.
She was mine and I was going after her.
