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“I’m many things, but a woman-beater is not on the list. My battles with you are exclusively mental with no physical violence involved—unless they’re sexual in nature, of course. Besides, if you really believed I hurt you, would you have come to me, of all people?”
“I meant to go to Nate,” she mumbles under her breath and I nearly forget why I shouldn’t be wrapping my fingers around her throat and choking the shit out of her.
“And yet, you’re here because you had nowhere else to go, as you so eloquently told me, remember? Such a lonely little thing.”
Her lips part, then close before she hisses, “Fuck you.”
“Gladly. But we need to wait for the bruises to heal because this scene is oddly similar to a snuff movie and I’m not a fan.”
“You’ll be a fan of my tongue when it’s healed enough to chew you out. Or my teeth when I bite your dick off, asshole.”
I chuckle and that takes her aback since she stares at me as if I’ve grown a third red horn.
Fuck me.
Or her.
I don’t care which at this point.
Well, at least she’s back.
I reach to the bedside table and point at a bowl of oatmeal that’s been kept in a heated container. I had my housekeeper, Martha, make it and three flavors of herbal tea for her.
“Eat this, then take the painkillers and rest. If you need anything, ask Martha and she’ll get it for you.”
“I don’t eat breakfast. Besides, why are you talking as if I’m staying here? I’m going to work.”
“You’ll eat breakfast today, and there’s no way in fuck you’re going to the firm looking like a poor imitation of a zombie.”
“But I have meetings!”
“That your assistant will reschedule.”
“But…”
“That’s final, Aspen. No work in your state. Don’t be a baby.”
“I’m not a baby.”
“You’re throwing a tantrum like one.”
“I just want to do my job!”
“And as your boss, I’m putting you on a vacation. Mandatory, not optional.”
And with that, I leave the room, her frustrated groan the last thing I hear before I close the door. I remain there for a few minutes, then I steal a peek inside. The stubborn little shit loses the battle and falls back to sleep.
Martha, a kind middle-aged woman with a plump figure, who helped me raise Gwen, hands me my briefcase. “Any special instructions?”
“Give her food, some of Gwen’s clothes, and assist her in showering if she needs to. She’s prideful and won’t ask for help, so offer it instead. Don’t let her out under any circumstances. You’re allowed to use any methods necessary to ensure that—locking her inside is one of them.”
She nods and points at a phone that’s dancing on the table. “That one has been vibrating for a few hours.”
Aspen’s.
I tossed it and her wallet somewhere in the entrance when I carried her inside and haven’t checked it since. Correction. I haven’t left her side since, except when Martha came along and I took a quick shower and changed my clothes.
Grabbing the surprisingly intact phone, I find the name “My Ride or Die” surrounded by ten hearts, flashing on the screen.
