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Why would he then be handing over so much money to Conor? Unless Conor is in on the action. Is that what it is? Is Conor getting a slice of the drug pie? Except he doesn’t strike me as the type to accept a single slice, plus this is his club. The only way that guy would be allowed to pedal his drugs here is if Conor approved it.
Still sorting through my jumbled thoughts, I make my way back to Carla. I construct up some excuse as to why I need to leave before heading outside to hail a cab. By the time I make it back to Conor’s apartment, I’ve decided enough is enough.
The lies, the secrets, the deflections. They end tonight.
I’m wide awake when I hear Conor enter the apartment several hours later. He startles when he walks into the kitchen, finding me sitting at the island, waiting for him.
“What are you doing up?”
“We need to talk,” I say, ignoring his question as I look him straight in the eye. “I found your guns.”
He stares me down for a long moment. I watch in horror as the lines along his face smooth out and his eyes shadow over. The Conor I know and care about disappears in front of me, replaced with the cold, angry man I’ve only caught glimpses of.
When he steps forward, it sends a ripple of danger coursing through the air. It slams into me like a forcefield, directing electricity to dance along my skin. Everything within me screams to run. To move. To get away.
Digging deep for courage I didn’t know I possessed, I spit out, “And I saw you tonight at the club.”
Yup, it appears I have a death wish.
“And what exactly is it you thought you saw?” His voice is low, the words coming out calm. It’s actually more terrifying than if he yelled and raged.
“A drug dealer handing you money.” I work hard to keep the tremble out of my voice. “Is that why you’re always working so late? Why you sometimes have blood on your clothes when you come home? Because you’re in bed with drug dealers?”
He barks a cold, callous laugh. “You have no idea who I’m in bed with, babe.” My eyes dart to the floor as he takes another step toward me, before snapping back to his face. “You think you’ve figured it all out? You haven’t even scratched the surface.”
With controlled steps, he makes his way around the island toward me. As he grows closer, I slip off the stool and back away.
“I suggest you forget whatever it is you thought you saw tonight. Forget about the guns, and stop sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong. Go back to being little miss oblivious, happy to ride on my cock and spend my money.”
My teeth grind against one another. I have never been that person. Okay, the sex with him is phenomenal, but I have never spent his money. In fact, I’ve gone to great lengths to stretch out the minimal savings I have left over from my job so I didn’t have to touch his money. Any money that’s been spent on me was because he was spending it.
Pissed off, I shake my head. “No. I’m not going to do this. I don’t care what you’re involved in. I’m not doing this”—I flick my index finger back and forth between us—“anymore. We’re over.”
I’m not sure what reaction I was expecting, but his bark of ice-cold laughter that sends chills skittering down my spine was not it.
When he takes another step in my direction, I attempt to rush past him, just as his hand snags out and grasps my wrist, pulling me back.
“No, this is not over.”
With rough hands, he shoves me face-first against the wall. My head knocks against the plaster and I yelp in pain. His hands roam my body, leaving stains that will never wash off.
“A good hard fuck will get you back in line again,” he snarls. His warm breath fans across my cheek, making me gag. “You see, I’m the one in control here. Not you,” he seethes. “Think you can spy on me, search through my apartment, and make demands? I’ve had enough. You’ll learn to sit there, shut up, and do as you're told.”
Large hands pull at my dress, tearing the straps and yanking up the hem until the fabric is balled around my waist, my tits and ass on display. Keeping me pinned against the wall, he tears off my thong and shoves rough fingers inside me.
“No!” I cry out. “Please.” Tears course down my cheeks. “NO!” I scream, my pleas a broken cry that goes unanswered as he kicks my legs apart and drives himself inside me in one brutal motion.
His grip is bruising as he fists the back of my hair, pressing me deeper into the wall as he fucks me from behind. Fighting him is pointless, and I quickly realize that pleading with him is also futile.
Silently, I stand there and take every second of his assault. Every grunt, every thrust I use as fuel for the fire simmering inside me. Occasionally that voice pipes up, telling me this is my own fault. Except I quickly shut her down, needing to direct every ounce of my hatred toward Conor.
I may have made some missteps, but I’m not the one fucking his girlfriend against her will. I refuse to be that woman. I refuse to let him tear me down and shove me into a box, only to be pulled out and dressed up when he has use for me.
After what feels like a lifetime, he grunts out his release. When he pulls out, I feel the wetness as it slides down my thighs, and I realize he didn’t use a condom—again. Just one more thing to hold against him. Thankfully, I bought a pack of two morning-after pills last time, but this is becoming a habit I have no interest in continuing.
As he steps away, my knees give out and I sink to the floor. I land in a trembling heap, unable to fully process what just happened and how tonight went so wrong. How my life went so wrong.
How did I end up here?
