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“Rayne, I need you to listen to me, and I need you to listen really fucking hard,” I hiss. “I am leaving. I cannot stay here with you when you obviously see me as fucking whore. What? I sleep with you and then you pay me? Is that how this fucking works.”
His face drops slightly. “That’s not what this is, sweet girl.” Rayne reaches for me, his hand extending toward me as if our bodies connecting can make me feel anything other than dirty.
I flinch backward, slamming harshly against the counter. “Don’t touch me.” I hate the way my voice breaks when I say it, and the way I still long to throw my arms around him and bury my face in his bare chest, to feel the comfort I know he can offer me.
“I’m not going to hurt you, Emerson. I’ll never hurt you,” he says the words softly, but he doesn’t make another move toward me, sensing how close I am to losing my shit.
“You already have,” I whisper, and then I’m sprinting through the penthouse as fast as my legs will take me. I’ve never been much of a runner, but the idea of being anywhere near Rayne makes me feel physically ill, and so I press on. All I can hear is my feet slapping against the hardwood and my heart beating so hard it hurts, and it’s not until I slam the bathroom door closed and slide the lock in place that I allow the tears to fall.
I thought Rayne cared about me.
I thought I meant something to a man who was usually hard and ruthless.
I thought I deserved the happiness he could bring me.
But he doesn’t care.
I’m just another whore in what I’m sure is a long line.
32
Rayne
Ihad a feeling she was going to lose her ever-loving mind when she found out what I’d done. I had a feeling she was going to fucking flip when I told her she was moving in with me and there was no other option. But I didn’t expect her to look… hurt.
My experience with women is pretty limited apart from spreading their legs and fucking them until they forget their name. Aside from that, there’s my sisters and mother, but even then I usually just beat up or kill whoever caused them pain.
I chase after her, wishing more than anything I had taken some time to at least put on some pants. My cock is flapping free and reaching down to hold it still would only slow me down. She’s fast for such a little thing, and I’m only just coming through the bedroom door when the bathroom door slams shut and the lock engages.
Fuck.
The problem with my penthouse being the safest place in the city is that it’s not just safe because the elevator that leads to it only has one stop. It’s not the fact there’s security around the building twenty-four seven. It’s not even that the entrance door is basically pure metal and even a grenade would likely only leave a dent. No. The problem is that every single room in the whole place can be used as a safe room.
I’ve never cursed my ridiculous need for safety until this very moment, and the only bright side I can see is that while she’s locked in there, there isn’t a hope in hell of Russo getting his grubby paws on her.
“Emerson, why don’t you come out here and we can talk.” I keep my words gentle, not wanting to spook her any more than I already have.
A ragged sob on the other side of the door only makes me tempted to trial the grenade idea, the need to hold her so strong I almost can’t bear the fact I can’t touch her.
“Sweet girl, I’m sorry if I’ve upset you. That was never my intention. I never want to upset you.” The truth in the words almost shocks me. I’ve never given a fuck about anyone’s feelings before, but Emerson’s were the first I didn’t want to hurt.
“Go away,” she gasps out as she slides down the door.
“I just want to talk. Come out here so we can talk.”
“No. I don’t want to look at you right now.” Her cries are muffled and I imagine her curled up with her knees pressed to her chest, her head resting on them. The thought makes me a mixture of furious and scared. She shouldn’t be alone. She should never be alone when I can be here for her, when I could be holding her.
I’ve never been known for my patience and it’s taking everything in me to not lose control of the beast fighting to break free from within me. I look at my phone on my bedside table and reach for it, perching on the edge of the bed and keeping my eyes on the door as I dial the only number I can think of that might be able to help me.
“Rayne, I thought you were taking today off?” Everett chuckles on the other end of the line.
“I am. I’ve locked myself out of my bathroom, how do I get in?”
“So it’s going well with Emerson then? Have you seen the tabloids? They’re losing their fucking minds over that kiss.”
I huff out a laugh. “I’m sure they are. I’ll keep her away from her social media, I can’t imagine that’s going to help my cause at this point.”
“There’s an emergency override in the panic room. It disengages all the locks in the apartment,” he tells me.
