by Katie May
And I’m even beginning to care for Deluca and his easygoing smile. His protectiveness over me, a stranger.
I care for all of them in different ways.
Roman is as taut as a violin string beneath me, and I rub soothing circles into his pectoral, attempting to calm him. After a moment, he presses his lips against my forehead and nestles me further against his body.
“I don’t want to talk about this now,” he says. “At this moment, you’re mine. You should get some sleep, Baby.”
His.
I’m his. The prospect makes me feel giddy and light.
Wrapped in his arms, I allow myself to drift away.
Chapter 19
Roman leaves early the next morning to get to his first class. After kissing my forehead and rubbing his fingers down my cheek, he slips out of the room.
I wait until the late morning sunlight filters into the room before pushing back the covers and padding across the room to grab my silk robe off the hook on the wall. I have a class later this afternoon—Roman’s class—but until then, I have a free day.
I want to see Byron. I want to see him more than anything. There’s a physical ache in my chest, a gnawing pain, when I think of the stocky, golden-haired male. What is he doing right now? Does he regret his decision to turn himself in? Is he scared? Resentful?
Fuck, I miss him. More than I thought possible.
After a quick shower, I head downstairs to see Phillip leaning back on the couch, legs kicked up. A slight, knowing smile appears on his face when he sees me, and he pats the spot on the couch next to him.
“How did you sleep?” he asks as I move to cuddle beside him. His hand immediately wraps around my shoulders, palm settling just above my breast. There’s a mischievous glint in his eyes that tells me exactly what he means. My cheeks turn red, and I groan, dropping my face into my hands. “Hey, there’s nothing to be embarrassed about.” He leans forward to nuzzle his nose against my neck. Voice husky, he adds, “I don’t just like to watch, Angel. I like to listen.”
Now, my cheeks are burning for an entirely different reason. Liquid heat surges through me, setting me on fire.
Chuckling darkly, Phillip takes my earlobe in between his teeth and bites down gently. My body jerks, hands clasping around his arm—to hold him to me or push him away, I can’t decide.
I turn back to the movie Phillip had been watching—some classic eighties horror. I watch for a moment in enraptured silence as the murderer cuts off the girl’s head.
Movies fail to encapsulate how gory death actually is. How sickening. How you can feel both grief and anger afterwards. It’s not something you think about until you experience it yourself.
“Where’s Susie?” I ask, pulling my legs up onto the couch and settling them underneath me.
Phillip is silent for a long moment, lips pressing against my hair. He doesn’t have to say it for me to know.
She’s with Byron.
The man I got arrested.
The man who loves me.
The man who might never walk free again.
Stop thinking about it.
I’ll only drive myself insane.
“Now, how do you feel about watching a bunch of stupid movies and getting high off junk food?” I ask, changing the subject. Phillip pulls back from me, noticeably relieved.
“Your wish is my command, Angel.”
And for the next couple hours, we do just that.
We’re only able to finish up the horror movie and watch the first hour of the Notebook before I have to leave. Placing my bowl of popcorn on the glass table, I scramble to my feet.
Before I can make it more than an inch, Phillip gently tugs me back down to him and presses his lips to mine in a slow, tantalizing kiss.
“Hurry back to me,” he whispers when we finally part. Unable to help myself—and because he’s looking so damn kissable with his plush, swollen lips and tattoos crawling up his neck—I lean forward to kiss him once more, cupping his chin with my little hand.
“Always.”
After loading my backpack up with my textbooks, I skip outside. The snow has all but melted, leaving behind only a handful of sludge piles. Green grass and a clear blue sky greet me as I walk down the driveway to Phillip’s car.
I pause, catching movement in the familiar car across the street. My brows furrow a second before understanding dawns.
Glancing at my watch, I decide I have enough time to spare and hurry back inside.
“Forget something,” Phillip calls from the couch. He’s sprawled over it like an indolent, masculine cat.
“Your cock,” I tease, having the pleasure of watching his eyes heat. Before he can grab me, I dance into the kitchen and grab the ingredients for a sandwich.
Five minute later, I carry a plate loaded with grapes and a turkey and cheese sandwich out to the car. In my other hand, I carry a cup of black coffee.
Deluca has the window pulled down before I arrive, an almost sheepish twist to his lips. When I offer him the sandwich and coffee, a brilliant smile lights up his face.
“Thank fuck. I’m starving.” He moans as he takes the first bite of the sandwich, the noise practically orgasmic. I’m not going to lie. A sudden ache blooms low in my stomach traveling to my core, and I rub my thighs together to alleviate the ache.
As he devours the sandwich, I take a moment to observe him. His hair is disheveled, and he’s wearing the same clothes he wore last night. His eyelids droop as if it’s a struggle to keep them open.
“Have you been here all night?” I ask in concern. There’s three empty coffee cups on the passenger seat and a coffee stain on his shirt.
“Why? Do I not look as sexy as usual?” His voice rises in mock offense, and I roll my eyes.
The man could be wearing a dildo costume and still be every female’s wet dream.
“You’re exhausted. Go to sleep.” When he hesitates, eyes flickering from my face to the sandwich, I add, “I’m going to school anyway. Get a few hours of shuteye.”
He grumbles something under his breath, too low for me to hear, before taking another bite of his sandwich. Another one of those low groans emits from him, and like before, my stomach twists. It’s my body’s visceral reaction to him. To his perfection.
“You’re coming here straight after school?” he asks. Well, more like demands. I have a feeling that “no” isn’t an acceptable answer.
“Yes,” I assure him. “And Roman is my professor.”
Something flares in his eyes at that revelation, but he nods slowly.
“Okay, well, have fun.” Just as I’m turning to leave, his quiet voice stops me. “And thank you for the food.”
“Thank you for making me feel safe,” I reply just as softly.
I don’t understand what is going on between me and Deluca. On one hand, I barely know the guy. But what little I do know clues me in that he’s sweet and funny. Protective and passionate.
You already have three guys in love with you. Quit being greedy.
As I drive to the college campus, my thoughts wander.
I don’t know how they expect me to choose. As I told Roman before, I can’t. The prospect is inconceivable. Each of the men are so incredibly different, but each holds a sliver of my heart. Maybe Nat’s right. Maybe I should get a harem.
I can just hear her now…
After class, I’ll call Nat, I decide. My talks with her help me tremendously. She’s my best friend and understands me like no one else. I’ll tell her about Byron, about my breakdown, about Phillip being a Dragon’s Boy, about my night with Roman. I’ll tell her everything because I know she’ll listen without judgement.
And then, I’ll listen to her smug “I told you so” when I casually mention wanting to keep all of them.
Pulling into my usual parking space, I grab my backpack off the passenger seat and hurry out of the car.
The campus is beautiful at this time of day, when the sun highlights the gable roofs and brick turrets.
Students laugh up ahead, the jovial sound a contrast to my dark, conflicted mood.
What would it be like to be one of them? To be happy and carefree? To only worry about something as trivial as which party I want to go to or what outfit I want to wear?
My stomach churns with yearning.
“Excuse me,” a tiny voice says, and I glance down with a startled yelp. A young girl stands on the pavement, the wind causing her cheeks and nose to turn red. She shoves her hands into her ratty winter coat to quell the chill. “Can you help me?”
She’s cute, maybe around eight years old. Her red hair is haphazardly tied into two pigtails, and her jeans have holes on both knees. Freckles dot her cheeks and nose.
I search the parking lot for anyone who seems to know the little girl. There’s a young man exiting a car a few spaces over, but he doesn’t bother to look in our direction before hurrying towards the main academic building. The other students hurry down the slick pathways, oblivious.
“Where are your parents, sweetheart?” I say, crouching down so I’m level with her. Her eyes are glossy with unshed tears, and her lower lip trembles.
“That’s what I need your help with,” she admits shakily, voice small and fragile. My heart breaks for the scared little girl—a little girl who reminds me of myself when I was that age. I had once been a broken child. The ghosts haunting her eyes are all too familiar.
“Okay, sweetheart. Are they professors? Students?” Without answering, she twines her fingers with mine and tugs me away from the parking lot.
“They were over here the last time I saw them,” she says.
“We’ll find them. Don’t worry.” I give her hand a quick, reassuring squeeze.
Her eyes flicker to me before lowering back to the asphalt. During that brief moment, I see such despair and anguish that my throat closes up.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers just as she leads me around the building and into the dark shadows behind it. It’s not an alleyway, but it doesn’t look as if it had been cleaned in years. Dumpsters line the walls, and numerous wrappers litter the ground. The pungent stench of garbage permeates the air. My heart pounds erratically in my chest, every instinct warning me to run.
Something isn’t right here.
The little girl removes her hand from mine, and, with a lowered head, goes to stand behind the man emerging from the shadows.
“Good job, Annika,” he says, and my body freezes. Icy terror slithers down my spine like a snake. Squeezing. Tightening. Poisoning me with its bite.
“You,” I hiss in a hurry, stumbling back a step.
Even in the darkness, I can see his flashing white teeth.
“Hello, Mallie. You’re looking as beautiful as ever.”
Gerald—the man who took me off the streets at thirteen years old, the man who used me and discarded me, the man who took away my innocence with a laugh—steps out of the shadows, the little girl one step behind him.
“We need to talk, Mallie. Now.”
Chapter 20
I always picture the bane of my existence—my monster—as taller. Maybe that’s deluded of me, but my mind had always conjured up images of a towering man.
Instead, Gerald’s short. Not as short as me, but only a head or so taller. His hair is greasy, longer than I remember and braided down his back. His mustache and beard combination has been recently trimmed giving him a clean-shaven look. But even with his flaws, the power he exudes in palpable waves is unmistakable. He may be shorter than I recall, but he stands taller than any man I’ve ever met. There’s a sort of confidence in his posture, an imperious set to his raised chin, that hints he has the power to save lives...or destroy them.
My heart beats so loudly I can hear it in my ears. A sort of numbness encases me, coats me, until my vision is glassy. I take a staggering step away, but I know it won’t be enough to escape him.
It never is.
The little girl peeks her head out from behind his legs, and horror swamps me. The shadows in her eyes are unmistakable...and all too familiar. I should’ve looked into her eyes, gazed at her dirt-smeared face, and immediately known her story. I guarantee you it’s similar to my own.
“It’s been a long time, Mallie,” Gerald says with genuine fondness in his voice. He almost sounds like a doting father reuniting with his long lost daughter.
It disgusts me. Crawls across my skin like a revolting green slime. I yearn to wash it off of me, to bathe away the filth his mere presence makes me feel.
“It hasn’t been long enough,” I say with a bravado I don’t feel.
He takes a step closer, and for the first time in my life, I don’t step away. I don’t fight. If it takes his attention off the terrified little girl, I’ll happily take the brunt of his anger.
His heavily scarred hand presses against my cheek. I have to give myself credit: I don’t immediately flinch away.
“I missed you,” he says softly. Tenderly. He brushes at an escaped curl.
“I can’t say I feel the same.”
His nails dig into my skin, but I hold his gaze steadily. The vow I made myself in the bathroom plays on repeat in my mind.
I won’t run from my monsters.
Gerald may be toxic, but my life with Jared has made me immune to all kinds of poisons. He can’t do anything to me that hasn’t already been done. I won’t cower, won’t scream.
“I hear you’re in a predicament.” His voice is intentionally nonchalant, but I can see the slightest tightening of his eyes. The news is new to him. If I had to guess, he only discovered it yesterday, when Byron had been arrested.
If there’s one thing Gerald hates more than anything, it’s being left in the dark.
Is it possible that Gerald isn’t behind my late husband’s demise? I search his face for any indication, but beside that imperceptible tightening of skin, his face is blank.
“You have the potential to be in a lot of trouble, my sweet girl.” His body presses against mine. His bulging stomach against my flat one. His chest mere centimeters from my own. The toes of his shoes nearly on top of mine.
“I didn’t murder my husband,” I hiss, staring into his dark, piercing eyes. I imagine it’s similar to staring into a black hole—an abyss. You tumble and tumble and tumble until you lose yourself completely.
I want to hurt him.
Punch him.
Spit on him.
I want him to understand my pain.
“I know you didn’t, my sweet girl,” he purrs, brushing once more at my hair. “They already arrested the man who did it.”
“Byron didn’t do it either,” I protest adamantly before I can think better of it. When his eyes lighten with interest, I immediately wince. What have I done?
“Byron. That’s the man who was arrested?” His voice is casual, but I know that casualness is a double-edged sword.
I press my lips together, refusing to answer.
“You care about him,” he murmurs in fascination, stroking my cheek. It’s not a question, but I still refuse to speak. “I can help him, you know. I have a lot of resources and connections. I can have him out in a week.”
My breath catches as I tilt my head up, searching his face. There’s a slight smirk evident in his eyes despite his straight face.
“What’s the catch?” I whisper.
He stares at me in feigned horror. “Maybe I just want to help out my favorite, beautiful girl.”
“Because everything you offer has a catch,” I reply evenly, my mind flickering back to my teenage years.
“I missed you when Jared took you from me,” Gerald says abruptly, and my head spins at the subject change. “You were my favorite girl, my favorite toy, and I hated the thought of you with that monster.” His voice drips with venomous disdain—ironic, considering they’re equally monstrous in my eyes. “I thought we suffered a loss with the first boy—”
Phillip.
“—but it was nothing compared to what we felt losing you. I regretted my actions imm
ediately. Don’t you know that? Don’t you understand? We belong together.”
“So you killed Jared to get to me.” I’m fishing, I know that, but my mind is grasping at his baited words. It would be so simple if he was the murderer. It would make sense, after all. A motive. The power to pull it off. The cunningness. The cold-hearted intent.
And yet, I know in my heart that Gerald isn’t the killer. He hates Jared...possibly as much as I do, but in an entirely different way. He didn’t kill the man.
He will, however, attempt to reap the benefits of his death.
“I can set your lover free,” Gerald continues. “If you come back to me.”
There it is.
His poisonous sword stabs my heart, icing my veins.
I love Byron, but this…
Am I really willing to sell my soul to save him?
Meeting Gerald’s gaze defiantly, I ask, “What guarantee do I have that you’ll keep your promise?”
“My word, darling. Only my word. Isn’t that enough?”
His offer is tempting—an enticing package wrapped in barbed wire and sharp blades. For a crazy moment, I actually consider taking it. I know I’ll be cut—maybe even bleed out—but I can’t bring myself to care. Byron will be free.
At the same time…
I know if I go with him, I’ll never be able to leave again. My soul will be slowly chipped away until I’m an empty shell of myself. The Mallie that Roman, Byron, and Phillip know and love will be gone forever. They’ll hate me for my decision. Maybe not right away, but with time, they’ll grow to resent me. And I’ll deserve it.
Gerald must see the indecision on my face, for his smile broadens.
“You know where to find me when you make your decision. You’re alone, Mallie. No husband to protect you. In times like this—times of mourning—you need your family. Come home to us, my sweet girl. Let us be your family and take care of you.”
I tremble with barely veiled revulsion as he brushes his lips to mine. Once. Twice. Three times.
I hate him.
I hate him so fucking much.
“You have a week before I take away my offer,” he warns, finally stepping away. I immediately scrub at my arms, attempting to bring warmth to my rapidly cooling body. “But Mallie, you don’t want me as an enemy.”
