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Me? I was never untouchable because of who my brother is. I was simply not ever touched by him because I’m not glamorous. I’m not beautiful, and I’m not the women he fucks and collects like butterflies.
I was never up there beyond the usual flirt and eye fuck.
And that’s before I was tortured and scarred.
Before I was kidnapped raped, and shot.
So why now? What in hell was all that?
A pretty new toy for him? Something new?
He’s probably never fucked someone like me. Scarred and used and less than what maybe I should be?
I punch the steering wheel with a fist and gulp in a breath. Then I start the mantra my therapist taught me. It’s all about I’m perfectly imperfect, like everyone else. I’m no less or more than anyone. And how my experiences both shape me and I can use them to shape my own path ahead.
It goes on.
I’m having trouble right now buying into it.
My eyes burn and blur, and I blink hard, swallowing the hot lump in my throat as I switch lanes to make sure I’m in the right one for my exit.
I need a big, stiff drink.
I need to forget this. Set up boundaries. Tell Christian that what happened is it. No more.
Tomorrow I’ll do that, but tonight, I’m going to forget it all. I’m just going to drink a bottle of red wine or maybe some good, old-fashioned bourbon, have a bath, and wash his touch from my skin.
If I could wash his touch from the intangible parts, things would be perfect.
When my turn comes, I take it, and there’s no car following on the private road leading to my sprawling home. I don’t bother with the garage. Instead, I pull up in front of the big wrap-around porch with its welcoming light that automatically comes on.
After I turn the car off, I sit for a minute and think about getting my gun, but I don’t. There’s one inside too. More than one, and they’re hidden in the open-plan mansion where I can get them if I need to.
But to carry when I enter?
That’s letting my demons win. Letting the real-life monsters, where they burn in hell, add to their scoreboard.
I’m not giving them a thing.
Maybe I can’t help the dreams, the nightmares from coming, but I sure as hell can help keep my waking life in my control.
This is my home, and I bought it with the money I earn and a portion of my inheritance. The De Lucas own properties all over, especially in Dallas and other areas across Texas, and they own my apartment in the city. But this? It’s mine.
A weariness settles in my bones, along with a tingling-like anticipation. I won’t ever call it fear. I get out of the car, taking my bag, and holding my keys in my hand. Apart from my father, maybe my brother, no one really knows about this place. At least, I haven’t told them.
It’s not until I climb the three steps to the porch and cross to the front door, that my heart starts to pick up pace. Like I’m not alone.
In my head, I tell myself as I reach for the door that I am and always will be.
It swings open, and I almost scream at the sight of the man towering there. My heart lurches and then begins to hammer hard.
Even as my insides start a slow, hot melt.
“You.”
Christian grins. “Me.”
“Get the fuck from my house.”
