“This can’t happen again,” I whisper, still looking at him in the mirror.
“You let that piece of shit touch you, and I’ll kill him,” he growls.
“Yeah, well, if we were playing the same game I’d have to kill hundreds of women,” I announce.
Sloane’s jaw clenches and his eyes narrow on me, but he doesn’t respond. He pulls out of me, and I feel his cum slide down my legs. I turn to face him, tired of looking at him through the mirror, and then I reach back and slap him across the face. It stings my palm as his head flies to the side.
“You get one pass, Genny, but only because I deserve a hell of a lot more. You hit me again, and we’ll have words,” he growls. I’m too fired up to care.
“How dare you come here, to a party, and try to piss on me like this, and then tell me who can and cannot touch me,” I grind out as I pull my panties up, trying to ignore the fact that Sloane fucked me with no condom just a few minutes ago.
“You have my last name. You’re legally my wife; and if I lift your dress, my brand is assuredly still on your hip. I can tell you whatever the fuck I want,” he growls.
“Fuck you, Sloane Huntington,” I whisper as tears fill my eyes. He takes a few steps toward me and my back presses against the door.
With his nose practically touching mine, Sloane wraps his hand loosely around the front of my throat. His lips are just a hair’s breadth from touching my own.
“You are mine, Imogen. That fuck touches you, and I’ll kill him. You are not marrying him. You are not having his kids. I won’t allow it,” he whispers harshly.
My eyes widen in surprise, “Allow it?”
“Yeah. You have any kids, they’ll be mine,” he murmurs.
“You have got to be kidding me right now. Is this some kind of joke?” I laugh out humorlessly.
“Fuck no, it’s not a joke,” he says, straightening but keeping his hand around my throat.
“I don’t see you for three years, and for the decade before that you stick your dick into any wet hole you can find, and I’m supposed to, what, just accept that and start a family with you? I don’t think so,” I snort.
“There she is,” he growls stepping back from me.
Narrowing my eyes, I ask, “Who?”
“That bitch you like to bring out. That bitch inside of you that you save just for my pleasure,” he shrugs.
His words cut deep, and for the first time in years, I don’t throw up a shield. I let him see just how deeply he’s cut me with them. I know he notices when his brow furrows and he runs a hand through his perfectly, albeit a little too long, hair.
“I’m a bitch because I won’t fall at your feet? I’m a bitch because I don’t accept you fucking around with a smile on my face? I’m sorry, Sloane, I’m sorry you don’t think I’m good enough to be faithful to. Most of all I’m sorry that we’ve both spent years wasting each other’s time.”
“Genny,” he whispers, his head tipped down but his eyes open and focused on mine.
“We don’t work, Sloane,” I choke. “I’ve loved you since I was fifteen years old, but you don’t love me the same way,” I murmur.
“Imogen,” he growls as he crowds me against the door again, his hands slapping down on either side of my head.
“It’s been twenty years. We haven’t been happy for a long time. I don’t think it could ever be possible at this point.”
“And Graham will make you happy?” he says, sounding disgusted.
“He wants to have a family—children,” I shrug.
“Offered to give you those more than once, baby,” he says, sounding cocky and pissed off all at once.
“Yeah, while you were out getting blitzed and fucking every whore who would spread for you. Sorry, that doesn’t really put me in the mood to have your baby.”
“Fucking shit, Genny. What do you want from me?” he asks. To his credit, he looks serious.
I lift my hand to cup the smooth skin of his cheek as a tear falls from my eye. I haven’t cried in front of him in at least ten years. I refused to show him how much he hurt me, or any emotion at all. His eyes track the tear as it falls before they clash with mine again, and I can see the obvious concern on his face.
God, if he’d only looked at me like this ten years ago.
“There was a time where I wanted you to grow up and leave the club, but that’s not you. I get that now, and I’m sorry I tried to change that part of you, Sloane. But in the end, the cheating killed us, killed our chances,” I whisper as more tears streak down my face.
“You’re still legally my wife. We aren’t dead yet,” he growls.
“We’ve been dead for a long time.” Even I don’t believe the finality of my words. They’re weak as hell.
“Nope,” he says, popping the p before he presses his lips to mine in a hard kiss.
Moving me over to the side, he then walks out of the bathroom, leaving me alone. I take a moment to clean up and then look at myself in the mirror. I can’t hide the fact that I look freshly fucked, but there’s more that I can’t hide—and that’s the hope I stupidly feel.
Why I’m allowing myself to feel hope toward Sloane? Why do I have a small smile curved on my lips just thinking about him, I don’t know—but I do.
It’s probably foolish, and he’ll probably break my heart again; but the truth is, Graham won’t make me happy. He was never going to make me happy. Only one person can truly do that, and that’s Sloane McKinley Huntington, III.
My husband.
Fuck.
I hate him right now, but most of all, I hate my fucking self.
Making my way out of the bathroom and slowly back into the party, I take a deep breath. My eyes glance around the room, and I don’t see Sloane anywhere.
I let out a heavy sigh as I walk toward Graham, who is glaring at me. Once I reach his side, he wraps his hand around mine tightly before he mutters something to the man he’s talking to and he tugs me hard behind him.
“Imogen,” a woman’s voice calls out. I turn to see Kalli Huntington wobbling toward me.
“Graham, stop,” I plead, pulling hard on his arm.
He stops, but his lips are in a straight, angry line, and his eyes are focused on mine.
“Kalli,” I say softly as I smile. Unless she’s drinking at a party, she’s usually locked up in her room, drowning in a bottle or five of wine.
“My daughter,” she slurs as she wraps her arms around me. “Don’t let that son of mine treat you badly, now, you hear me,” she mutters as she always does.
“Kalli, Sloane and I have been separated for three years,” I gently remind her.
She sways, her eyes widening slightly before she waves her hand at me in a dismissal.
“You’re good for my boy. He’ll get you back. He always does,” she murmurs, causing Graham to growl behind me.
“How about I come by tomorrow afternoon and I bring brunch?” I offer, knowing the woman probably won’t even eat tomorrow and simultaneously trying to shut her up. In all honesty, she’ll probably still be drunk.
“Oh, I would adore that, simply adore that. You know you’re one of the only good girls to come out of all these society sluts,” she cackles.
I can’t help but smile. I bite the inside of my cheek, so that I don’t burst out in laughter like her. In a different world, if Kalli weren’t such a complete disaster, I have always thought that we would truly get along wonderfully.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, Kalli,” I say gently as I take a step back from her.
“Not too early now,” she warns.
“Of course not,” I agree.
Graham doesn’t let me say another word. He tugs me along and doesn’t stop until he’s throwing me in his car. I cry out as I fall into the back seat, twisting my ankle slightly. “Go to my place,” he growls to the driver.
“No, please, take me home,” I call out.
The driver nods as his eyes flash to mine in the rearview mirror.
“Yo
u fuck him?” Graham asks.
I turn to him in surprise. “Excuse me?” I say, trying to stall. “Graham, this isn’t going to work.”
“You needed that closure, that’s fine. You’re mine now, Imogen,” he announces. I scrunch my nose up.
“Graham, did you not hear me? This isn’t going to work,” I announce.
“Because of Sloane?” he asks on a growl. “Because he’s a worthless fucking piece of shit. You’ve done nothing but waste your life with him. He’s trash, Imogen.” I flinch at his hard words.
“No, it has nothing to do with Sloane. It isn’t going to work because I can’t force my feelings, and I’m not attracted to you,” I blurt out.
“I don’t care. We’re getting married, and you’re having my children,” he announces, acting completely unruffled.
“Graham, no. I’m telling you no,” I say standing firm.
Then his hand flashes out and slaps me across the face, sending me across the back of the car. All of a sudden, the car stops. I’m frozen in place, my eyes focused on Graham’s aloof ones.
His hand reaches out to wrap tightly around the front of my throat. “I’ll let this slide this one and only time, Imogen. But if you know what’s good for you, you’ll come to heel, and do it like fucking lightning,” he grinds out.
Before I can respond, the driver opens my door and hauls me out by my bicep. His grip is firm, yet gentle, and I teeter on my heels before he places his body in front of mine, between Graham and me.
His voice is deep, but I hear him clearly, “Go inside, ma’am.” I turn around and see that I’m home.
“Th-thank you,” I stutter, holding my face.
“I’ll make sure you’re safely inside and he won’t follow you,” he says, pressing his back to me.
I turn and run, ignoring Graham’s angry voice, listening to him struggle against the driver and threatening to have him fired as he calls me a whore.
Once I’m inside, I set my alarm, lock my doors, and sink to my ass, my tears flowing down my cheeks. I press my shaky palm to my heated cheek as my body trembles uncontrollably. I have completely fucked this whole thing up.
I don’t drive back to the clubhouse after the party. Instead, I climb inside of my ‘67 Shelby GT500e Super Snake and speed back to my house. I haven’t stayed here since I’ve been back from prison. I came here long enough to grab my tuxedo and my car before tonight’s party. For whatever reason, I feel the need to be here tonight.
Walking inside after I’ve parked my car in the garage, I look around. It doesn’t feel like my home. I didn’t stay here often. I stayed at the clubhouse more, and that makes me feel like a fucking dick.
Genny left everything here; kitchen appliances, dishes, decorations, fucking everything. It’s like she wanted zero reminder of our life when she walked out the door.
Making my way to the bedroom, I notice that everything has a thick layer of dust over it, every single surface. I walk toward her closet, needing to see her space for whatever fucked up reason.
All of her clothes are hanging up perfectly, by color order. Fuck, she’s so goddamn anal. I laugh to myself as I open a drawer in her closet, it’s full of sexy little nighties and silk stockings.
My fingertips run over them and catches on something, a tag. In fact, almost everything in the drawer still has the tags on it. I don’t want to know what she was thinking when she bought all of this shit, but she never wore it. Knowing what was going through her mind would probably just make me feel like an even bigger asshole.
Furrowing my brow, I decide I’m going to get my wife back. No way in fuck am I going to let a prick like Graham take her from me. She’s not his, she’s mine, my property. I’ll do whatever it takes to ensure that I’m the victor, just as I always am when it comes to him.
I can’t deny the pull that I have toward Genny. She’s much more than just some conquest for me. Spending three years to think about all I did wrong with her, made me truly appreciative of the woman I had at my side, all those years.
When I got out, I decided I was going to let her go and find her happiness; but I’ll be damned if it’s with Graham fucking Bayard. She’s mine, being inside of her tonight proved just how much that is still true. I’m bringing my baby home, where she fucking belongs, as my wife and my Old Lady.
No man touches Imogen but me.
Looking at myself in the mirror, I grimace at the sight before me. My cheek is swollen and there is bruising just underneath my eye. I still can’t believe that Graham hit me. He has always seemed indifferent; patient, but not angry or forceful by any means. We’ve been seeing each other for months, and he’s never tried to push me further than a goodnight kiss, until last night.
As soon as he saw Sloane standing across the room, he changed. He started groping at me a little more than usual, holding me closer to him, and his grip was firmer than ever. Then he hit me when I tried to end things. The anger that came pouring out of him was more emotion than I have ever witnessed in the years I’ve known him.
I feel out of sorts and frazzled—not just my face, but the rest of my appearance, too. I throw on a loose tank, tucking the front of it into my tight, dark wash jeans. I slip my feet into a pair of sandals and slide a big pair of sunglasses on my face to cover my bruise.
I promised that I would go to my future-ex-mother-in-law’s house today. While she probably won’t remember, I always make good on any promise I give. Plus, I want to see Kip again, find out if he knows anything else about Sloane.
Calling ahead to the place I know Kalli loves brunch from, I order for take-out. It’s not something they would normally do, but I’m a Huntington. I don’t have to even go inside. They send someone out to deliver the bags of food to me. My credit card is on file, so I don’t even have to pay for it right then. I hand the delivery girl a twenty, and then I’m off and heading toward the Huntington Manor.
The mansion is quiet, nothing like the hustle and bustle of the party last night, and I know that Kalli has requested that cleanup not start until after noon so that she can nurse her hangover. Looking down at my watch, I shake my head. It’s eleven, so she shouldn’t be too angry that I’m here.
Ringing the bell, I shift the bag of food to another hand and let out a breath as the door opens. I expect to see a staff member, but instead, I’m met with Kipling. I smile and he shakes his head slightly as he opens the door to let me inside.
“You left with Graham,” he points out. I nod as I walk into the kitchen, Kip on my heels.
“I also broke up with him,” I say, reaching for a few plates. “You want some brunch?”
“Nah, I ate,” he shrugs.
I don’t remove my glasses as I move around their kitchen. I’m all too familiar with the Huntington home. I spent my entire teenage years rooting through this kitchen with Sloane. I try not to let the happy memories flood my mind as I look for all of the things I need.
“You and Sloane, you’re going to work all this out, aren’t you?” he asks, sounding far too hopeful.
“Probably not. There’re just too many bad years between us,” I whisper, the heavy weight of that knowledge settling in my chest.
“Genny,” he rumbles, sounding so much like Sloane it makes me ache.
“When do you leave for Hah-vahd?” I jokingly ask, trying to lighten the mood.
“Couple of weeks.”
“Kipling, sweetheart, why are you still here? Don’t you have Rugby at the club?” Kalli asks as she floats into the room, wearing a floor-length nightgown and robe, looking as though she belongs in a soap opera.
“Yeah,” he grunts before he turns and runs off without another word.
“He’s a good boy,” she murmurs. I nod my agreement.
Her gaze swings to me and I watch as her eyes are scrutinizing as she looks at me, “Why are you wearing glasses? Take them off,” she demands. I take them off but keep my head down. “Let me see.”
Lifting my head, I let my gaze crash with hers. She doesn�
�t gasp in horror like I expect. Rather, she grabs ahold of my chin with her hand and assesses my face.
“Bring those plates upstairs and I’ll fix your face,” she announces as she turns and floats away. I stand for a moment in shock, then do as she’s ordered.
I’ve been with Sloane for years, and yet I’ve never stepped foot inside of Kalli and Sloane II’s master suite. It’s lovely. A little cold for my taste, but very lovely. I know that she’s had it styled by an interior decorator and probably changes it every couple of years, as my mother does with her entire house. Except for my childhood bedroom, something she hasn’t touched since I left home for whatever reason.
“Come in here and sit,” she orders from her bathroom.
I walk in and notice she’s standing at a makeup vanity. I set the plates down before I sit in the chair as I watch her arrange her makeup.
“Sloaney’s father has been known to have a heavy hand from time to time. Let me fix this so that nobody notices,” she says. My eyes widen in surprise.
“Sloane didn’t do this,” I inform her. She nods.
“Oh, I know my boy didn’t do this. Why do you think he hates coming here so much? Why do you think he’s always rebelled? His father hasn’t hit me in years. Kipling doesn’t know he ever has; but when we were younger, Sloaney saw much more than a child should have,” she says, sounding sad as she dabs makeup on my face.
“He never told me,” I whisper, feeling sad, so fucking sad.
“I know he didn’t. He wouldn’t. Sloaney is like me. He keeps everything inside. Probably why I drink and he does the many things he does,” she says, giving me a knowing look. “Those things being the reason you left him, I’m sure.”
I bite my bottom lip and worry it with my teeth as she works on my face. I feel sad and guilty. How did I not know this part of my husband’s life? All these years together and I didn’t know he’d been raised in an abusive household.
I know that in society we don’t speak of such things. They run rampant and everybody just turns a blind eye and gossips behind each other’s backs. A husband’s hand that’s a little heavy, a wife asking too many questions and getting put in her place, it’s common, but nobody mentions it.
Rough & Rich (Notorious Devils Book 6) Page 5
