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Instead of being grateful I didn’t hand her bratty ass over to a man who would chew her up and spit her out, she sasses me at every opportunity, constantly pointing out she doesn’t want to be here any more than I want her here.
The thing she hasn’t quite grasped is that she gets something out of her being here. She gets to be alive and not sold into a life of being defiled until such time her body gives out and she dies a slow, painful death.
What do I get out of it? A roommate I didn’t ask for that I want to put over my knee every time she opens her goddamn mouth.
Today was one of the few days in the last three months where I actually had nothing to do, and yet I got the fuck out of my apartment when it became very fucking clear Isla was avoiding me.
I’ve never pretended to understand the female mind, but I’m out of practice after all these years and I have no interest in buying into Isla’s petty bullshit.
So I stayed out all day.
I went to visit Wynter and Summer, while also tolerating Everett’s mother-hen routine. Then I popped in on Emerson after Rayne called about her being extra tired. Normally I would have told him to settle himself, but I needed another excuse to stay out of the house.
And then I spent an hour in my car reading over every detail of Isla’s file that Everett sent over.
The girl sure knows how to get into trouble.
In the last six months, she’s been out clubbing at least once a week, and before that it was college parties she had no right being at. She’s known to way too many drug dealers in Boston, her grades are average at best, and the more I read, the clearer I am on just how big a mistake I made bringing her into my home.
I rub my hand over my face and throw the file on the passenger seat. It’s too fucking late to go back now. I just have to hope her want to survive is strong enough that she won’t be a total bane of my existence.
My gaze moves to the clock on the dash. It’s late enough that there’s a decent chance Isla has already gone to bed, and tomorrow she’ll be off to class early. From there it should be easy to avoid one another, given the hours I normally work and her school hours.
I drag myself up the stairs, taking each one slower than I usually would until I reach the top floor. Normally at this time of night, I would take the elevator so my neighbors wouldn’t have to listen to my boots on the wooden steps, but that would mean getting back to the apartment sooner, and I don’t want that.
Before I can overthink it, I unlock the front door and find the apartment quiet, apart from the hum of the television in the lounge area.
Damn. If the TV is still on, she’s probably still awake.
I press my eyes closed and steel myself to deal with the little brat. I deal with some of the burliest assholes in Chicago ona daily basis, I shouldn’t be so irritated by a five-foot-nothing spitfire with a bad attitude.
And yet she’s proving to be the tiniest bane of my existence.
I creep farther into the apartment, hoping like hell I can avoid an exchange with her tonight. I need some time to make peace with this shit. And I won’t get that until she’s at school tomorrow and I can finally be alone in the apartment that was once my only refuge.
Now it’s a battlefield, just the same way the streets of Chicago are.
It’s not until I glance over at the couch that I realize Isla is asleep in a ball in the corner, a blanket pulled up around her chin like it’s the only protection she has from the rest of the world.
I find myself staring at her for long moments, the light of the television illuminating her soft features until my feet are moving of their own accord, and I’m just along for the ride.
I’ll be the first to admit the girl is fucking stunning and under normal circumstances I’d be doing just about anything to bury my cock inside her and fuck her out of my system, but on this occasion, sex would only complicate things more.
I turn away and make my way to the bedroom, stripping off my clothes the second I get through the door and walking into the bathroom to wash the day from my skin.
The hot water burns my scarred skin, but it’s not enough. It’s never fucking enough.
No matter how much pain I feel, it doesn’t take the edge off for more than a few seconds.
I towel off and pull on a pair of boxer briefs before making my way toward the bed. At least for tonight she’ll be out of my way, and if I play my cards right, I might be able to sleep through her getting ready in the morning.
I flick the light off and shove the blankets back. I run way too hot to be covered with anything at night, which makes the twoextra blankets on the bed even more annoying, even if they are neatly on her side of the bed.
My eyes drift closed, and I allow the exhaustion of the last few days to weigh me down, hoping sleep will come easily for once. Her scent lingers in the fabric of the sheets, even though she only spent one night in the bed. For fuck’s sake, am I ever going to be able to rid myself of her? Or am I destined to be reminded of her until I meet my maker?
Time passes slowly, even slower than normal, and I try not to allow myself to think about the tiny woman on my couch. I also try not to let myself think about how easily sleep found me last night when she was beside me or how my body is screaming at me to bring her to bed where she belongs.
Because she doesn’t fucking belong here.
