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His phone rang in the other room.
Neither of us mentioned it until he cursed and hit the door, shutting it, muting the sound a little.
“I can take a day off—”
I shook my head. “No. You’ll get fined.”
“Then I’ll get fined.”
“You’re not taking a day off.”
“Billie…” His arms flexed. He was about to launch into an argument.
“No.” I was so tired, so weak. “No. I’m going to the farm. I want to be with Vicky and Howard. I want to hold Miss Sylvia Rivera.”
There was exhaustion in my voice but also resolve.
Brett heard it and didn’t fight. His chest seemed to deflate behind me. “Are you sure?”
“Yes. That call was leaked on purpose. He’s trying to tell the copier not to move on me, but it won’t work. He’ll be even more determined now. I’m going to spend time with the people who love me. I’ll be there when you’re done.” I turned to look at him but quickly moved away, conscious of what my breath must smell like. I leaned forward, hanging my head between my knees.
Brett continued rubbing my back.
“We’ll sleep there tonight.”
I didn’t argue because as the nausea shifted aside, a new burn took its place. A scalding burn. Anger.
The Midwest Butcher. This new guy. Everyone else.
They wanted to break me? Well, fuck them.
No one was going to break me.
45
BRETT
I was leaving the stadium when I saw the detective in the lobby area.
“This is where they put the ‘unwanted’ visitors. You’re not wanted. How’s that feel, Detective Dickhead?”
He tensed, catching the extra meaning behind my words, before rolling his eyes. “Such a class act, Broudou. Like always.”
“That’s me. So classy and sophisticated, I’ve been to the White House three times.”
He shook his head, some of his real anger flaring for a moment before he concealed it. “Does she know your past? Your real past? Does she know about your brother?”
This went serious real quick. I took one step toward him, knowing he’d feel the implied threat from it. “It was one of the first things she found out about me.” I waited, seeing some of his anger slip out again. “Let’s be clear here, Billie may not know every single bad thing I’ve done in my past, but she knows I have a past. She knows that if football hadn’t come into my life, I might’ve ended up in a cell next to my brother. And guess what?” I flashed him a hard smile, a cruel one. “I still get to make her scream on my dick, every fucking night.”
All the pretense vanished between us. He might’ve been here for his job, or some other reason, but he still wanted what was mine and he couldn’t have her.
Because she was mine.
I raised an eyebrow. “I got the girl, Dickhead. When are you going to accept that?”
He scowled. I could see all the loathing, the disdain. It didn’t matter what I did for a living, how much money I had, I was beneath him.
I almost laughed. “You just see me one way, don’t you?”
