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For whatever reason, as I lay here thinking about it, I’m not feeling any sort of panic or even remorse. I don’t get a chance to analyze my feelings. Drago stirs, pushing his hard-on into me more as his arms tighten their hold on me. His face presses against the top of my head and I hear the pull of air through his nose as he breathes me in. Shudders ripple through his body as he exhales, coating the top of my head with hot air.
Without a word, he rolls away from me and gets out of bed, scooping his clothes off the floor as he walks to the bathroom, closing the door behind him.
Missing his touch and suddenly cold, I kick the covers to the bottom of the bed, then scoot out. After I have my bra and panties on, I pull up my pants and search for my shirt.
Drago comes out of the bathroom before I find my top, stopping me in my tracks.
Our gazes lock; my seemingly content eyes land on his wrecked brown ones. It’s our silent stare that I know. I know he’s already pulled away from me. The love I felt last night is gone—vanished.
“Oh, hell no!” I shake my head, not believing this right now.
“Bri,” he calls out.
“Fuck you, D!” I shout, not holding back.
“Bri, please hear me out. I—”
“No!” I yell, unable to contain my anger and hurt. “Just no. You aren’t doing this to me again, so I’m doing it to you first.” Like hell he’ll kick me out, breaking my heart all over again. I’m not going through that again. I can’t.
“Bri.” My name sounds like painful guilt on his tongue.
Too fucking bad.
I don’t want his guilt. I wanted him, but he apparently doesn’t want me.
“Shut up! Fuck you, Acerbi. Get out. Leave,” I demand.
This is technically his room, but I don’t care. I’m not allowing him to be the one doing the kicking out this time around.
After a few seconds of a stare down, he turns, walking away from me instead of to me. And it hurts. It hurts so much I think my chest is going to cave in on itself.
How could he do this?
I thought for sure I’d gotten through to him last night. I thought he felt the same. He told me over and over how much he wanted and needed me.
I shake my head, not believing how stupid I really am.
Sex.
It was just the raw fucking he needed—not me. He fed me all those lies to get me back into bed one last time. Multiple last fucks.
The door to the hotel room closes with so much ease it pisses me off even more.
How could he?
How does he not feel what I feel? This can’t be one-sided. It just can’t be. It’s too strong.
Spotting my shirt, I yank it off the couch and finish getting dressed. I need out of this room before I choke to death on the smell of us that remains.
My cell phone rings and I almost don’t answer it. The only reason I do is because there is always the smallest chance it could be about Gabriel. Grabbing it off the nightstand, I flip the screen to face me, seeing a California number I don’t recognize and don’t have programmed into my contacts.
“Hello,” I greet.
“How much is the boy’s life worth to you?”
The voice that’s continuously replayed since the day he shot me registers, heating my skin like someone has lit me on fire.
Hatred.
