by K. V. Rose
We don’t speak on the drive to her house, not until I ask her if I should turn down her driveway or let her walk up to her house. I don’t mean it to be rude, and even though she doesn’t know it, I’d walk with her.
I just don’t want her to get in trouble.
But she shakes her head. “Dad will be asleep,” she says.
I’m not so sure. The love of his life is dying. My heart twists as I think of what would have happened if Rolland had hurt Ava. I couldn’t even look at her in that spare bedroom. If I had, I wouldn’t have been able to think clearly.
Turns out, though, I hadn’t needed to.
Ava took care of it herself. And for a girl who’s had things handed to her in life, who probably hasn’t had to fight for much—no fault of her own—it was fucking impressive. Thinking about it now, her driving that knife into his back, it makes my cock throb.
But I can’t do that again, either.
This is the end for us.
I pull up around the back of her huge house, and I open the door before she can do it herself, although I think she was just waiting for me.
I take her hand, and she hops out of the Mercedes, then I close the door softly behind her.
She starts to pull away from me, but I pull her back. Gently.
“Hey,” I say.
She turns to face me, my back against the car. I take her other hand, and it’s cold in mine. It’s chilly out here, fall finally come to North Carolina at last, nearly a month late.
“What you did,” I say, my eyes holding hers, “that was incredible.” I give her a small smile. “Bad ass, one might say.”
She doesn’t smile. She looks down between us, chewing on her lip. I feel her shiver against the cold, and I want to pull her into me, wrap my arms around her. But I’m pretty sure she doesn’t want that.
I wonder if she’s going to say anything at all. If this was a mistake, trying to talk to her about what happened. But even though I’m leaving soon, and even though we won’t be a part of each other’s lives anymore, I know that what she did, what I made her watch afterward, she’ll need to talk about it with someone.
She didn’t want me to cover for her. But I made her do that, too. As far as the cops know, she only watched what happened.
Is it my place to keep controlling her narrative?
I’m about to let go of her, to let her walk away, when she looks up, meeting my eyes again.
“Is that…is that what you do?” she asks me, her voice quiet in the darkness around us. I see her swallow. “Do you…do that to people? Is that your job?” She almost chokes on the last word.
So we’re going here.
But what does it matter, really? I at least owe her the truth. Besides, if I give it to her, she’s less likely to miss me. It’s why I made her stay in that room.
I nod. “Yes,” I say, letting go of one of her hands and brushing a lock of blonde hair behind her ear. She turns her head from my touch and I drop my hand, feeling that small gesture more than I should.
She recoils from me.
She should.
“But…why?” she presses.
So she wants all of it.
I let go of her other hand and fold my arms, leaning against the car. “I went to prison for Bianca, as you pointed out,” I admit, and she takes a step backward. But I can’t change the past, and besides that, I wouldn’t change what I did to Thames.
“But turns out,” I laugh, sliding my hands in my pockets and looking up at the dark sky, a few stars visible above our heads, “I was missing something. About why he fucked her up.” I clench my fists in my pockets. “She was fucking Thames. And he didn’t like that she was still with me. Wanted to teach her a lesson.”
I hear her gasp, but I don’t look at her. She didn’t see that twist coming. I clear my throat. “I had cameras in our house. She didn’t know about them, and usually, I didn’t check them. They were for security, not spying on her.” Although spying is one of my strange proclivities, too. “But when I was released on bail from fucking up Thames after he fucked her up, I checked them. I don’t even know why.” I shrug, still not looking away from the sky, wondering if things would be different if I hadn’t checked. Would Bianca have waited for me?
But she hadn’t waited for me when we were together. When I was free.
“We had an unconventional relationship,” I continue, because I’ve got to at least admit that much. “We were kind of…open. We could sleep with other people, as long as we told each other.” I clench my jaw. She had definitely not told me about Thames. About her creeping addiction. I hear some crickets in the woods surrounding Ava’s house and close my eyes, pretending for a minute I’m not confessing my sins to a girl that I don’t deserve. A girl that’ll think even less of me when I’m done with this.
“I saw her. Fucking Thames. In our house. Which,” I scoff, “was not part of our deal. She had fucked him for a week before he fucked her up. That’s as far back as the video went.”
I open my eyes and finally dip my chin down, to look at Ava.
Her eyes are wide, long lashes nearly grazing her brows.
“I went to prison. My adoptive parents cut me off after they paid for my lawyer. My father cut me out of his business. I still owned a night club, Shade, but in prison, I learned there were better ways to make money. A hell of a lot of money. And I’d grown used to it, being a rich kid. My real parents were addicts. My dad beat the shit out of my mom.” I blink back against those memories, trying to keep myself in the present. “He was shit. They’re both dead. I wasn’t going to end up like that.” I shrug. “So I do what I do. And I’m not sorry for it.”
She doesn’t move for a moment, but I’ve got nothing else to add. I could tell her I’m done with Bianca. That I’ve been done with Bianca. That two years in prison carved out all the feelings I ever had for her. We were lost souls looking for love and we found it in each other, for a time. But that was then.
I’m glad she can’t be with Thames, and I hope she never ends up with another guy like that, ever again. But she’s not my concern anymore.
Shocking me, Ava closes the space between us and grips my hands in hers, tightly. Something in my chest loosens.
“But Benji,” she says, “you don’t have to do that anymore.”
And there it is. The part she doesn’t understand. I want to do it. I like being deviant. I enjoy the feeling of a gun in my hand. I liked kicking the shit out of Rolland Virani. I wanted her to see that, to see how much I enjoy those things. And she did. She saw it.
But somehow, her big blue eyes looking up at me now, shining in the darkness, she thinks I can stop. That I can be reformed.
I don’t want to be reformed.
This is why I don’t let women in. They always have it in their heads that they can save me.
I don’t need to be saved.
I don’t want to be saved.
“This is my life,” I say, dropping her hands and stepping away from her, away from the car, my back to her. “You like the car? You like me following you? You liked that flight? You think you might like me? Because if you do, then you have to accept this, too.”
Her eyes narrow as I spin around to face her, distance between us.
“I don’t need your money, Benji Silva. In case you haven’t noticed,” she flings her hand toward the mansion of a house at her back, “I’m doing just fine on my own.”
I smile coldly at her, slipping my hands back in my pockets, faking calm once more. I nod my head, bite my tongue. “Okay, Ava,” I say, coddling her. “Okay. You’re right. You don’t need me.” I dip my chin, but I’m no longer smiling. “But I don’t need you either, Princess. Your daddy’s money is play money. You think this is impressive?” I nod toward her. “You haven’t seen shit.”
She crosses her arms, takes a step toward me. She’s so fucking beautiful when she’s mad. “So it’s pretty clear this,” she nods toward me, mimicking my gesture, “is never gonna work. My father is the
fucking mayor, Benji Silva.” I fight back a smile. “And I’m not down with whatever black-market bullshit you do and call a job.”
I look down at the pavement beneath my feet, trying to fight back my blood heating at her words, her anger. I want her, but I try to bury it down. She’s right. This shit would never work.
Finally, I shrug and slide my gaze up to hers again. “Fine. I don’t fight for girls, Princess. Not anymore.” I turn, headed toward the driver’s side door of the Mercedes.
I want to stop. I want to turn back, fist her hair in my hands, take her against this fucking car. I want to run my hands over her breasts, feel her fingers on my skin.
But I don’t.
I won’t.
This will never work and I don’t have the time or energy to try to force it. Clearly, neither does she. She has too much going on. I’m another inconvenience.
“I’m not a girl,” she yells, running around to my side of the car. “I’m a fucking lady!”
I open the driver’s side door, my shoulders shaking with quiet laughter. I glance at her, eyeing her up and down. It takes all of my self-control not to pull her ass into me. But I stay where I am.
“The student fucking her married professor?” I laugh. “Doesn’t really sound like a lady, Ava. Sounds like a fucking freak.”
Twenty-Four
When someone yanks on my arm as soon as I step foot onto campus Monday, having walked from my car with my head down and earbuds in, I don’t really react.
My first thought is Tess. She hasn’t wanted to talk since what happened in Riley’s apartment on Friday. I haven’t wanted to push her.
But the fingers clamped around my wrist aren’t soft and warm like my best friend’s.
I yank the earbuds out and whirl around, scowling.
Dumont is positively seething. His fingers dig a little deeper into my arm.
“What. The. Fuck?” he hisses at me.
I try to yank my arm back while simultaneously stuffing my earbuds in the back pocket of my jeans.
I only manage to do the latter.
I blow out a breath and glance around us. We’re kind of secluded here, just off the commuter’s lot, behind the massive brick buildings of Campbell, in a patch of grass surrounded by some shrubs. A shortcut I usually take.
One Dumont would know about, because he’s walked me to my car once before.
And, ya know, he works here.
“Let go of me.”
He doesn’t. He steps closer, fingers still digging in my arm. His eyes are nearly bugging out of his head and my heart picks up speed. Am I scared? Of Dumont?
Any other day, I would’ve said no. But that was before Caden’s dad...
I blink away the image of his lifeless body, blood pooling around him in the white carpet.
The feel of the knife ripping through his body.
Benji…
My throat feels like it’s closing up. I vaguely register Dumont’s grip on me has loosened.
“Ava?” he whispers. “Are you okay?”
I take a deep breath. I shouldn’t be thinking about this. I have this irrational thought that the more I think about it, the more likely Benji is to get in trouble. Although why I should care...he would deserve it. Even if he convinced the police he doesn’t.
I think of Thames. The feeding tube. My mom at home with one down her throat.
“Let go of me,” I say again, the words sounding distant to my own ears.
Dumont tugs me closer and I stiffen as he gently presses my head against his chest, wrapping his arms around me.
Bile threatens to come up my throat, but I’m frozen in place. And somehow, Benji knows about him, too. About what we’ve done together. But it’s no surprise Benji knows. He followed us to the bar. He cornered me in the bathroom.
He hurts people and calls it a career.
“I called and texted you all weekend,” Dumont says against my hair. I don’t hug him back, and I’m still stiff in his arms, but I’m too tired to try to push him away again. Dad woke me up in the middle of the night, thinking Mom was leaving us. But she didn’t. She held on, even though she hasn’t opened her eyes since.
I should have stayed home.
But I’m still a coward.
Riley has called me, too, and I haven’t called her back. I still don’t know exactly what happened with her and Rolland and a part of me doesn’t want to know. I don’t want to know how Caden said those things to his dad without a shred of grief or regret. How he pulled Riley to her feet and let his best friend finish killing his own father.
I don’t want to know any of it, and I don’t want to be around them, just like Tess doesn’t want to be around me. We all need space.
I definitely need space from Dumont, but I need to be away from my house, too.
“I was busy,” I manage to say, and Dumont holds me out at arm’s length.
He’s scowling at me. “You were ‘busy’?” he repeats, as if the idea is hilarious. Maybe it is. What do I actually do with my fucking life besides hide?
“Yes,” I say, and I duck under his arms and step away from him. His hands drop like lead weights to his side and he keeps scowling at me from behind his glasses. “My mom is sick, in case you forgot, and—”
“And she doesn’t owe you an explanation for anything.”
My thighs clench at that voice from behind me. Dark and low. Sensual. I can feel Benji’s body heat as he steps up beside me, but I don’t dare look at him.
Dumont frowns. “Who are you?” he asks, taking on his professor air. As if he can ask Benji questions like that and expect an answer. Benji might know him. He might know about us. But it’s very clear from the way Dumont folds his arms over his chest that he doesn’t know shit about Benji Silva.
“Fuck off,” Benji growls at him, not acknowledging his question. “She said she wanted you to let her go.” Benji steps closer to Dumont and I take in his broad back, the dark blue coat he’s wearing hugging his muscles. “And besides that,” Benji says quietly to Dumont, who takes a step back, “professors really should keep their goddamn hands off of their students, don’t you think?”
Dumont peers around Benji to meet my gaze but I just shrug. I could interrupt this, but I don’t have the energy. Nor the inclination.
Dumont faces Benji again and coughs in his fist. “You…” He swallows, trailing off, then sighs. “Okay,” he says, faltering, hanging his head. What a fucking pussy. He steps around Benji and glances at me, and I see his face is pale. I wonder if he’s regretting divorcing his wife. I’m sure his wife isn’t regretting it, wherever she is. “I’ll see you in class, Ava.” Thankfully, he doesn’t phrase it as a question, because I’m not so sure he will see me in class.
Not with the way Benji is looking at me right now as he turns to face me. He has his hands in his jacket pockets and he arches a dark brow.
“Wanna follow him?” he asks, nodding toward Dumont’s back as he walks away quickly, glancing over his shoulder once.
I almost laugh at how scared he looks as he disappears from view, but I bite it back. I don’t want to give Benji that satisfaction.
“Not really,” I answer.
Benji hasn’t contacted me since he dropped me off at home on Friday night, or early Saturday morning, as it was.
I had wanted him to, even though I hated that I had.
But turns out, he hadn’t left after all.
“You still walking Riley to all her classes?” I taunt him, annoyed my words come out with a hard edge. Like I care what he does with Riley.
The corner of his mouth turns up in a small smile. “Jealous?” he asks, closing the space between us, until he’s right in front of me and I have to crane my neck back to look up at him.
I shake my head. “Curious.”
He shrugs. “No,” he admits. “I didn’t walk her to class. Caden took care of that for me. I doubt he’s going to leave her side until she graduates, after his dad got to her again.”
M
y throat feels dry. “Again?”
He smiles. “You don’t wanna know.”
What he really means is he thinks I can’t handle it. He’s probably right. I already told him I couldn’t handle him, and what he does. Whatever that is. Not to mention he’s taking downers, which means he can’t really handle it either, no matter what he thinks. I think Riley thought I could help him with that problem or something.
But who the fuck am I to help?
And who the fuck am I to judge? I failed an entire semester because I couldn’t stop drinking, running away from my problems. We’re not so different in that regard.
“I do,” I protest softly. “I do want to know.”
Something in his gaze changes. Falters. A softness I’ve never really seen before. But it’s gone in a blink and I’m not so sure I didn’t imagine it. Didn’t just want it to be there.
“Why.” He bites out the word like a command. “You already admitted you can’t handle this.” He gestures to himself, hands still in his jacket. “We live in different countries. Different fucking worlds, Ava.” The last words come out hoarse and I watch his throat bob as he swallows and looks down at the grass between us. “You don’t want to deal with someone like me. And I don’t want to hide who I am.”
“You mean you don’t want to deal with someone like me,” I counter. “Someone on the right side of the law.”
He huffs a laugh and steps back from me. He looks like he’s about to bolt. Like he wants to put as much distance between us as he possibly can. “Exactly.”
That hurts, and I feel my chest nearly cave. But I straighten my spine, hold my head up high. “What’s going on with you and Bianca?” I can’t help but to say her name like it’s a fucking curse. I know it isn’t right, and it’s so cliché. Judging the girl I don’t know just because she used to be with Benji.
But it’s more than that.
She lied to him. She was the reason he went to prison. Became what he is now. Maybe he doesn’t regret it, because underneath all the darkness, he’s light. But more than prison, more than lying to him and fucking him over, she hurt him. And I think it’s that pain that stops him from even trying to be someone decent.
