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She didn’t tell me to stop. But she did tell me I was crazy, unhinged, and what was that other one…oh yeah, pathological. Did she let me continue because she wanted it the way her dripping pussy claimed she did? Or—and I have to rub my chest to alleviate a foreign tightness—did she let me continue because she thought I would hurt her if she didn’t?
I’ve done terrible things in my life. And I’m not scared she’ll find out those things and think me a monster. Because I am and she’d be right. I realize with equal parts horror and fascination that I’m scared she’d think me a monster that would ever hurther.
I’m finally able to fall asleep with the promise that tomorrow I will show her that she’ll always be safe with me.
I wake up feeling good, feeling rested even. I’m buzzing withcarpe diemenergy and am ready to sweep my woman off her damn feet.
But then she comes in while I’m having lunch with my brothers and pulls shitlike that.And I lose it. I just fucking lose it. She puts on that fucking cheap-whore show, all while the smell of her cunt is still on my fingers?
I can’t control it. My fist slams into my office wall and the look of fear on her face is worse than being shot. So much worse.
But she does this to me. She makes me goddamn crazy. It’s all her fault.
“I’m going to go back out there now.” Her voice is so soft and timid it breaks my fucking heart. That I was the one to smother the spitfire from minutes ago into this frightened little angel.
“I think that’s a good idea.” The sound of the door closing behind her is like a punch to the gut.
To keep from spending the next several hours brooding, I distract myself by handling some business that I’ve been neglecting due to my newest obsession. It’s good, productive, and reminds me that I’m not some moping, sad sack. I’m a Fox, the top of the fucking food chain. Aking.
Chapter ten
Bullseye
Harlow
AfterCash’soutburstinhis office, the rest of the day moves along at a snail’s pace. Tuesdays are never the busiest, and today seems especially quiet. There are only two tables seated right now, so I’m sitting at the bar with Stella, twirling the straw in my glass. “I heard some shit went down yesterday…you alright?”
She levels me with her rich, brown eyes, and I know she’s too smart to bullshit. If she senses I’m withholding, she’ll just dig more, and that’s exactly what I don’t want happening. So, I tell her the truth. Well, a version of it anyway. “Cash and I have a…history.”She wiggles her eyebrows and takes a dramatic sip of her gin and tonic that says,tell me more.
“Well, it’s not really with me exactly. He knew my best friend, and their relationship was…toxic to say the least.” It feels like I’m spitting on Beth’s grave describing this fictitious relationship with Cash as merelytoxic.How about deadly, lethal, violent?
“You and Cash are still trying to figure out how to act around each other with everything that’s happened with your friend, huh?” She gives me a knowing look and tuts. “Like I said: drama queens.”
I’m saved from responding when a middle-aged white man walks in. Our hostess greets him, but he mutters something we can’t hear and points to the table of diners to his right.
“I should go grab an extra chair if he’s joining them.” Stella hops off the bar stool.
The man says something to the patrons, and they get up, but not before leaning over and saying something to the table next to them. I watch curiously as the two sets of people scuttle out of the restaurant.
The next thing I hear is the hostess screaming as the man pulls out a gun and fires at the corner booth. One of the brothers slumps down under a spray of red and the others starts yelling and firing back. Within seconds, the place is flooded with seven to ten men, streaming in through the front door, guns blazing.
Before I duck down, I see Beth’s uncle.
Bullets rain into the mirror behind the bar and glass sprays down. It’s so loud. I curl into a ball, covering my ears and head, and wonder why the fuck I didn’t climb over the bar instead. I’m too scared to stand up now. I hear bullets whizzing right above me.
There’s angry shouting in Russian, and then a body slams into me, knocking the wind out of me as it blankets me like a shield.
I recognize the rich sandalwood scent instantly.
There’s more incomprehensible shouting and guns still popping off, a noise that sounds suspiciously like a body being dragged, and then the distinct sound of the heavy, wooden front door swinging shut. The gunfire stops.
There’s more sounds all around me, but everything turns into a distant buzz as Cash unfurls himself from around me and cradles my face in his hands. His palms are rough and shaky, but they feel like the only thing keeping me from falling apart.
“Are you alright?” His voice is hoarse and strained, and I stare back in confusion at the earnest look of concern in his eyes. “Fuck, please say something. I need you to be—to tell me you’re alright.”
“I’m not hurt.” I don’t know how I form the words, and I honestly don’t know if they’re even true because I can’t feel my limbs except for a tingle of awareness that they exist. That I exist. That I survived.
“You’re gonna come home with me now.” Cash stands and pulls me up with him, tucking me into his chest. Just being back on my feet helps me come back to reality.
