The door slammed behind him with a bang, and Sophie sat stunned. “What just happened?” she asked.
Hunter sat back in his chair. He was wondering the same thing himself. Grant had obviously experienced some sort of trauma reaction, but there was something else— something he couldn’t put his finger on. Hunter had the distinct impression Grant was hiding something. He glanced at Sophie worriedly, praying another Mafia man wouldn’t destroy her once again.
6. Conflict
A rash of goose bumps prickled her alabaster skin, and Sophie set aside her textbook and climbed out of bed, padding over to the thermostat on the apartment wall. Now that it was late August, the daytime humidity gave way to increasingly cool nights, and it was hard to keep the temperature just right.
After setting the thermostat two degrees higher, she turned back toward the bed, rubbing her palms over her arms. Wincing, she glanced down at her left arm and extended it straight out, taking stock of the ugly scar above the elbow. Despite the summer heat, she’d been wearing long sleeves to hide the circular wound, but she only owned a couple of nightgowns, and they were sleeveless.
She sniffed as she crawled back into bed, realizing her sudden chill had nothing to do with room temperature and everything to do with dread about seeing Grant for the first time since he’d fled Hunter’s office that morning. She had no idea what she’d say to him. After leaving him desperate voice messages all morning long, she’d finally received a text from him this afternoon:
At work. C u tonight.
Though curt, the message had relieved her immensely. She’d been worried his intense distress would cause him to do something stupid, but at least he’d made it to the architectural cruise; at least he wouldn’t return to prison for failing to show up at work. But her trepidation remained over what would happen when they did “c” each other tonight.
Sighing, she returned to her Theories of Personality textbook, trying to stay one step ahead of the students she’d begin teaching next week. This chapter covered one of her favorite theorists, Alfred Adler, a contemporary of Freud. Born in 1870 in Vienna, Adler was the second of six children and often had to compete for his parents’ affection, leading him to focus his own work on key concepts like sibling rivalry, birth order, and the inferiority complex.
As an only child, Sophie was intrigued by the role of siblings in personality development. She’d never been forced to fight over toys or felt jealous of siblings receiving more attention than her. On the contrary, she’d often craved siblings for the very reason of deflecting her parents’ attention.
Adler’s theory was that people who felt inferior typically behaved in a superior manner to hide their inadequacies. Reading this material with a fresh eye, Sophie immediately thought of Carlo Barberi. Upon taking his last breaths, Carlo had admitted to killing Logan, and then bitterly complained that his father, Angelo, had always loved Logan more than him. Carlo had acted cocky and brash, yet Sophie somehow knew that was to cover up his self-hatred.
Adler further argued that some people responded to feelings of inferiority by simply giving up hope, whereas others compensated by searching for a way to succeed despite earlier setbacks. Now that they’d emerged from prison, she hoped she and Grant would be in the latter category.
Thoroughly engrossed in her reading, it took Sophie a moment to realize someone was unlocking the apartment door. Once she heard the telltale soft steps on the carpeted hallway, she scrambled out of bed and tiptoed to the doorway of the bedroom to find Grant coming toward her. They both stopped short, and despite her nerves, Sophie was captivated by the way his light blue, short-sleeved uniform shirt brought out the gemstone hue of his tired, troubled eyes.
At the same time, Grant’s weary eyes took in the sight of his girlfriend, blocking the entrance to their bedroom and wearing only a sheer nightie, which did nothing to conceal her hard nipples pressing against the burgundy silk. Her hair, looking more strawberry than blond next to the deep shade of the short nightgown, tumbled across her shoulders, and his eyes trailed down the length of her graceful, slender limbs. God, she was beautiful. Warily meeting her forceful gaze, he swallowed, finding his mouth dry. He was at a loss for words.
“Thank you for your text,” she nervously began.
He nodded, embarrassed he hadn’t responded earlier to her pleading voicemails. “Ben told me to stop being a tool and at least let you know I was okay.”
She smiled as she imagined the teenager saying those words. “Did you tell Ben about our therapy session?”
He shook his head vehemently.
“Roger?”
Another shake. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
Noticing Sophie’s frown, he seemed to make a decision, and he confidently brushed past her, heading for the bathroom.
Anxiously Sophie called after him, “I could make you something to eat?”
“No,” he said harshly, and then guiltily turned to face her. In a softer voice, he added, “I grabbed a bite with Rog before the evening cruise. I just want to take a shower and go to bed.”
Once he actually looked at her, the tension in her shoulders dissolved. But when he turned and closed the bathroom door in her face, the shred of hope that he’d forgive her quickly vanished. Miserably she returned to the bed, clenching her hands together before picking up the textbook once again. The words explaining the concept of sibling rivalry swam before her eyes and were then replaced by memories of angry accusations from that morning. How did it get to the point that you fucked my brother?
Her throat tightened, remembering Grant’s wounded glare. Then her own halting words, Your dad…he b-b-beat you. She held her head in her hands and told herself not to cry.
Inside the bathroom, Grant angrily jerked the spigot and water pounded onto the porcelain tub with a most satisfying sound. The energy it had taken to sustain his pissed-off mood all day long had exhausted him, yet he was scared to allow the rage to dissipate, unsure of what maelstrom of emotions lay underneath. He fumbled for the buckle of his belt and slid the black trousers down from his lean waist. As he peeled off and discarded his sweaty clothing, he wished he could do the same for the horrifying images filling his brain.
Unfortunately, the time alone in the shower only sparked more ruminative thoughts, seeming to intensify the disturbing pictures: flashes of his brother’s muscular back hovering over Sophie, humping her on some fucking therapy couch. Grant had earlier pictured her dressed in a professional suit, but now that image was replaced by the wine-colored nightgown he’d just seen. Logan laughed in his deep rumble as his big hands slid up her naked thighs, lifting up the nightie and sliding lacy underwear down her long legs. Sophie smiled lustily beneath him, urging him on with her characteristic moans. Grant balled his hands into fists as the gushing water streamed over his heaving chest.
He quickly turned off the shower and stepped out to yank a towel off the rack. His jaw clenched as drops of water dripped onto the tile. Sophie was his, goddamn it! Logan had already taken so much from him—how could his brother also have stolen the one and only good, pure, devoted thing left in his life? How could Logan have betrayed him once again? How could she have betrayed him? Before he knew what he was doing, his fist came crashing into the wall with a resounding thump, sending shockwaves up his arm and into his torso.
Immediately Sophie was at the door, knocking frantically. “Is everything okay? Grant?”
Grant dumbly stared at the small crack in the drywall before looking down at his throbbing right hand, slowly turning and examining it for any sign of bruising. At the irritating sound of Sophie’s continued knocking, he swiftly wrenched open the door and gave her a vicious glare.
Sophie gasped and took a step backward, her wide eyes trained on his, simultaneously fascinated and terrorized by a patina of green overtaking the typical palette of blues.
Her look of fear seemed to empower him, and he grasped her right elbow with his uninjured left hand, drawing her toward him. With a surprise
d cry, she felt herself pressed against his naked, dripping frame, scarcely daring to look up into his torrid gaze.
Once she did, without hesitation his full lips crashed onto hers, at once stealing her breath and her free will.
Attempting to steady her trembling, Sophie’s hands slid up Grant’s slick back, and she clung to him while he hungrily and breathlessly mauled her with kisses. Though she was kissing him back, it was impossible to match the intensity of his pulsating desire, and she found herself teetering between fear and excitement at his aggressive touch. Her mixed reaction was only compounded by the increasing force of his unclothed hardness pressing against her lower abdomen.
Somehow managing to pull away from the suctioning liplock, Sophie gulped for air and glanced down at his throbbing member. She sensed his rapid breathing and looked into his eyes—despite their continued intense green glare, she detected a hint of the cool, caring blue she knew and loved. Could she trust him? Would he hurt her? Feelings of fear and safety competed for her soul, her heart pounding and her body quivering.
Somehow his long fingers snaked under the elastic of her panties to knead and caress the tender flesh of her shapely rear end. Before she could speak he leaned into her and took her mouth into his once again, bruising her soft lips with insistent kisses while simultaneously tearing her lace panties down her legs until they puddled at her feet. His strong hands resumed cupping and clawing at her buttocks, now uncovered and exposed.
He had control over her entire being, and she felt herself guided backward toward the bedroom wall. Suddenly her feet lifted off the floor as he hoisted her up and back with a breathtaking thump, pinning her between his sinewy body and the wall.
Her heart raced as his relentless lips trailed down her neck, pulling and sucking, undoubtedly leaving bites and bruises on her that would be noticeable in the morning. He seemed to be supporting her only with his stalwart hold on her bottom, and she clung to his shoulders, panting and feeling a throbbing heat building in her core, despite his roughness. Not only did she feel his scorching hands digging into her butt, she also now felt the tip of his rock-hard penis brushing against her nightgown.
“Grant,” she cried, beginning to feel unsure. He had her slammed up against the wall, unsteady and laboring to get air. He seemed not to hear her and continued thrusting his body into hers with each assault of his lips. Should she stop him? Was she safe with him at this moment? Was he so mad he was going to hurt her?
“Grant,” she moaned, tightening her grip on his shoulders while tilting her head back, feeling his teeth cut into her collarbone. Should she listen to her fear and beg him to stop? Or should she listen to her desire and beg him to take her? Was he the compassionate man she’d fallen in love with or a green-eyed monster seeking revenge for her betrayal? “Grant—”
“What?” he barked, lifting his head and staring straight into her frightened brown eyes. His chest heaved, and his face was flushed.
Unable to look into those flaring green depths, Sophie closed her eyes, feeling perched on a high precipice. Whatever path she chose, she was going down. What did he want her to do? What did he need from her? How could she help him through his pain? Could she trust him?
“What?” he repeated, louder this time, still panting.
Meeting his powerful gaze, she made a split-second decision. She pressed up against him, creating grinding friction and feeling his body flinch in response. “Take me, Grant.”
His eyes narrowed as he inclined his head forward, impatiently bashing her inflamed lips yet again. She felt her back peel off the wall, and then they were spinning together. Grant managed to support her weight while not letting go of her lips as he staggered toward the center of the room.
Once he felt his knees against the mattress he roughly released her, and she felt a terrorizing falling sensation before landing on the bed with a bounce. She barely had a second to orient herself before he’d crawled on top of her, brusquely hauling her body up so her head rested on the pillow.
His left hand held her right wrist over her head while his other reached down and forcibly breached her labia. She gasped when his long fingers entered her, deeply stroking and massaging her wetness. Despite being alarmed by his surprising brutality, she could not deny her arousal. Grant’s probing fingers elicited an exquisite aching deep inside, and when she felt him poking at her abdomen she simultaneously felt desirous and apprehensive at the thought of him filling her.
Although Grant was blinded by a rushing, urgent need to consume her, regardless of any whimper or gasp she might offer in protest, his pulsing emotion did not totally void him of logic. Releasing her wrist, he reached for the nightstand, fumbling in the drawer for a condom.
Realizing what he was seeking, Sophie clasped his arm and pulled it away from the drawer. He looked toward her in surprise and was further bewildered to see her shaking her head. She could barely find the words to speak, but she gazed at him intently and simply said, “Now.”
His body throbbing for release, he didn’t argue. He’d barely said one word since emerging from the bathroom. Not only was he scared of what hostile, uncontrollable remarks might tumble out of his mouth, but he was also so tightly wound that he could only act with single-minded purpose: reclaiming her. Quickly he adjusted himself over her, sliding his fingers out a second before deftly sliding his penis in.
There was nothing gentle about this sexual encounter, and Sophie inhaled sharply at his swift entry and continued gasping with each hard thrust. The balance between pain and pleasure was tipping uncomfortably to one side, but she didn’t allow herself to cry out. Instead, steeling herself to his aggressive plunges, she just took it. She hoped his assault on her defiled body would somehow help them both heal.
Clenching her teeth, she sensed his slowing pace and hoped he was almost done. He’d refused to look at her the entire time, but finally she caught a glimpse of his eyes, and the vacant sadness there made her well up with tears.
But Grant was so intent on discharging the screaming tension crowding his mind and body that he didn’t notice her suffering as he limply rolled off of her. He didn’t notice he was the only one coming down from a high, the shuddering climax of orgasm.
Sophie lay completely still. She stared at the white ceiling as tears silently leaked from the corners of her eyes. Numbly she smoothed her hands over the crumpled nightgown, covering herself, but she did not feel the return of her dignity. She’d thought if he took it out on her, they’d be done with it, but she’d been wrong. Evidently they were not done with Logan yet.
Feeling his breathing begin to slow, Grant noticed something felt off. Typically when he and Sophie made love they’d remain entangled for hours afterward, their enjoined sweaty bodies eventually cooling as they snuggled together. But tonight it was different. He was alone. He glanced over at her and was shocked at the sight of her tears.
She looked away, but he quickly grasped her slender hand in his.
“Did I hurt you?” he asked urgently, his eyes scanning her body, wincing when he noticed the angry circular scar on her left arm. “Your arm—is it hurt?”
She sniffed and shook her head. When she opened her mouth to respond, a sob escaped, piercing Grant’s heart. “It’s okay,” she said, unconvincingly.
His eyes filled with sadness. “I hurt you.”
“It’s okay,” she repeated, crying harder. In a quiet voice, she added, “I deserve it.”
His mouth dropped open. “What? You deserve it?” He inched his body closer to her. “Talk to me. You deserve to get hurt?”
Wordlessly she rolled over, turning her back to Grant. She was silent for a few moments before whispering, “I’m a whore.”
Grant looked horrified. “No!” He attempted to roll her to face him, but she resisted, pushing him away and curling into a ball.
“Don’t touch me,” she cried, beginning to sob again.
“Sophie,” he pleaded, feeling sick. “Did I hurt you? Did I make you feel that way?
You are not a w-w-who…” He couldn’t say the word.
“Yes, I am,” she choked. “I’m so sorry, Grant. I’m so sorry about Logan. I’d take it all back if I could.”
He bristled, ignoring the truth. “This has nothing to do with Logan.”
She sat up with a start, wiping her eyes. “Of course it does! What you just did to me has everything to do with Logan!”
Grant felt a weight in the pit of in his stomach as he pushed himself into a sitting position as well.
“Are you done now?” she hollered, tears coursing down her face. “Or are you going to ravage me again—just like you’d treat a whore!”
Once she erupted into sobs again, he didn’t care if she pushed him away. Grant reached out and folded her into his strong chest. Mercifully she let herself be drawn into his embrace this time while her body heaved with weeping.
“Shh.” He hushed her softly, rubbing her back. “You’re my beautiful Bonnie, and I never meant to hurt you. God, I’m sorry.” Remembering the scar tainting her perfect arm, he winced. “All I do is hurt you.”
He was horrified. He’d brutally penetrated her, not worrying if it caused her pain, only caring about what he wanted. And he knew she was right—he’d done it to get back at her for Logan. He’d unfairly taken out his anger at his brother on her. He felt a sinking in his stomach as he realized he was no better than anyone else in his family. Just like them, he’d terrorized an innocent person to get what he wanted. He knew the pattern well—it was etched into his genetic code.
Utterly disgusted with himself, he experienced an overwhelming desire to flee. But as he tried to pull away, Sophie lifted her head and stared him down with glassy eyes.
She clutched onto him. “You’re not leaving me this time. I’m not letting you run out of here.”
He shook his head. “Please, I—I don’t deserve you.”
Bad Behavior [Confuct Series #2] Page 7
