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“You’ve become one of them.”
She could have said anything else to get under my skin, but she didn’t. She used the words she knew would bring out the devil inside.
She wants a war.
Reese
He’s the assistant district attorney!
His title shouldn’t have surprised me. I’ve always known Van Gogh to seek justice, but I never thought he would do it legally, not when the system he works for was the very system that failed him.
At least, that’s what he led me to believe. Now, though, seeing him move through the courthouse halls like a worshipped tool, I’m not so sure.
Van Gogh looks very much like he belongs here—with these men who deal with the wicked.
“Make him look at you again, and his family will spend their evening gathered in the morgue instead of at the dinner table.”
I’d grown so used to Van’s grip on my arm as he dragged me down the hall of his admirers that I didn’t realize he had stopped walking, let alone had caught me scrutinizing his coworkers.
“I beg your pardon?” I tear my gaze away from the man lingering in the doorway. His nearly black eyes follow our every step, directed at my soon-to-be husband.
Like most criminals, Van has mastered the psychotic look and doesn’t withhold it from our curious onlooker. “My pardon you have. Though, I encourage you to save your begging for the next man that draws your attention.”
Have you ever just been so fucking confused that you need to stop and stand still so you can properly digest the mess you’ve heard? That’s precisely what I do.
“Are you mad?” I finally ask, not bothering to keep my voice down. These people need to know the demon they employ here. “Are you seriously threatening to kill the next man”—I shake my head in disbelief before I say the next part—“that looks at me?”
Van’s face is stoic. He doesn’t even seem ruffled that I’m being loud, but I suppose arrogance and a box of matches taught him confidence. He knows no one here will dare question him. Somehow, he’s instilled fear in the fearless, and I’m so over it. Van Gogh may set fires to appease his sense of justice, but he’s not a killer—no matter how much he’d like me to believe he is.
“I’ll tell you what, Van,” I snap when he chooses not to answer. “I’ll look at whomever I want. And you won’t do a damn thing about it. You want to know why?”
I’m playing a dangerous game when I stand on my tiptoes, drawing in the very air he breathes through his parted lips. “Because, Mr. Cain, you don’t know what it’s like to see the life drain from a man’s eyes, but I do.”
His cheek twitches and everything inside me rejoices. The infamous Van Gogh likes to be the baddest motherfucker in our demented relationship, but unfortunately, that title belongs to me, whether he likes it or not.
“I’m not like the other prisoners, darling.” With a smile that shouts fuck you, I lean in and plant a rough kiss on his lips. “Your empty threats won’t work on me.”
My body is humming with adrenaline at provoking the devil. How many times have I dreamed of lashing out at this man who pretended to be my friend, only to leave me waiting like some sad little girl?
Well, I’m not that same girl anymore. I learned who valued me, and it damn sure wasn’t Van. “I don’t know who betrayed you, and I don’t care, but when you finally figure out it wasn’t me, I’ll be waiting for you with more than an empty threat.”
Fuck him.
Van doesn’t know what I’ve been through. We all have bad memories and crappy childhoods. He’s not the only one. “You should have stayed away, Van. Because I won’t forget this.”
Heaven help me, the man smiles. No frown, no annoyed squint, just a raw and genuine smile that sends real fear into my spine before he even responds.
“While I loathe being threatened, I am a man who can admit when he’s wrong.”
I scoff. “Since when?”
Those dark brows arch with amusement, but I can’t share the sentiment.
“Oh, darling, don’t be so quick to judge. Men can change.”
Not him. I’ve never seen Van Gogh admit he was wrong or even apologize. He lives his life by cause and effect. I issued him a threat, and he will call me on it, no matter what.
Van Gogh doesn’t lose, and I will never follow through on my threat. I didn’t plot it for years like he did. I just reacted, but Van doesn’t know that. He believes I’m a killer, and if I’m going to make it through this marriage, I need to think it, too.
