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“Sometimes,” she adds, “I felt like I wasn’t alone. It was almost like I could feel you sitting outside my window again.”
She tries shrugging, but I still have her in a firm grip.
“Did you follow me here, Van?”
She’s already my wife, and soon, she will have served her punishment. There’s no reason to lie to her now.
“Yes,” I clip. “I followed you.”
She lets out of breath, digesting my words.
I knew I had been careless. Sitting outside her window, studying, plotting, planning, discovering who she had become.
“I wanted a fresh start,” I lie.
“By stalking me and imprisoning me as your wife?”
I don’t hide my smile. “A wife looks good on the résumé,” I drawl, “and more importantly, her tears look great on my pillow.”
“How could you? I loved you!” she screams. “I cried for you. Called you all the time. And you’ve been here all along!”
Call it a surge of emotions. Call it temporary insanity. Call it my rock-hard cock making all the decisions. But I shove my tongue deep into her mouth, taking every ounce of lies and screams she gives me. She struggles against me for a moment. I hurt her earlier today when I didn’t kiss her at the courthouse. But I didn’t want a fake kiss from her.
I kiss her angrily for the lies she’s told and the betrayal she’s caused.
I kiss her for making me think that I could be loved again.
I’m consumed by taking out my aggression on her and she lets me.
Her fingers wrap around mine, her voice soft and comforting as she says, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
And just like she did us, she ruins the moment. I step back and put the match against my tongue to mask the taste of her on my lips.
“Come,” I bark into the darkness. “I’m tired.”
I’m also horny as fuck and would rather put eight miles between us than look at her anymore tonight.
She doesn’t move. “Flower,” I croon, “I would love nothing more than to spice up our wedding night with violence.”
She laughs. “Your threats are not violent, and neither are you.”
If she were any other woman, I would deliver on my threats to show her exactly how violent I can be when someone betrays me. But she’s my wife, and violence is too sweet of a punishment for her. Reese Carmichael deserves much worse. She deserves years locked away from the life she wanted.
“I’m calling your bluff, Van Gogh. If you want me to walk through the darkness with you, you’ll have to make me.”
I let out a sigh. “I believe I’ve already proven that I will make you do as I say, but since you’re struggling to catch on, I’ll make it a little more interesting for you.”
I fight the vengeance bubbling in my chest. I’m not this man anymore. These feelings of rage and hate shouldn’t flare in her presence. I’m an assistant district attorney. I represent justice. I fight for the people, not myself. But all it took was one look at Reese with Blake, and I lost sight of all the accomplishments I gained over the last nine years.
Reese
I’m not a morning person, nor am I a person who enjoys waking up to people who are. (I’m looking at you, Biscuit.)
Turning my head to the sound of obnoxiously loud purring, I find my traitor of a cat pacing back and forth in front of the bathroom. The bastard didn’t even bother closing the door.
“Just so you know,” I tell the ball of hormones, “he isn’t as charming as he seems.” Like I don’t even exist, Biscuit turns and sits, facing the opening that separates her from Van.
“Unbelievable,” I muse to no one since Biscuit apparently hates me. “He threatened to set you on fire! Twice!”
