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I refuse to go back to that memory, the moment I knew what he meant to me. At that point, he was everything. And I lost him.
No one fucks Stacey and gets away with it. I can’t have her, but nobody else will.
Surely I didn’t cause those bruises? I didn’t… Fuck. No, I wouldn’t hurt her. She wanted me to hold her firmly. I should pull over and apologise right now. I should tell her that I never meant to mark her. I’m not a psychopath that hurts the people I care about. Yeah, I’ve shot people in the head or disfigured them, and I’ve tortured people for information to help Bernadette, but never have I lifted a hand to Stacey.
“Fuck. I hate you. I fucking hate you.” I raise my hips. “You feel like you hate me.” He shakes his head, fisting my hair until I feel pressure on my scalp. “Who did you fuck?”
“When I find out who hurt you, I’m going to fucking destroy them. I’ll make sure to bleed them dry then fuck you next to their corpse. You got that?”
I had five rules I stuck to for two years. Rule one: Stay away from your toxic ex-girlfriend. Rule two: Don’t unblock her number. Rule three: If you’re both in the same room, don’t fucking look at her – it’s a trap. Rule four: Under no circumstances will you have any sexual interactions with her. Rule five: Never forgive Stacey Rhodes.
She’s like a fucking work of art of all my designs. I love ink; I love drawing tattoos, especially for her.
“You think I’m stuck here? That’s insulting, son. It would take me less than a day to be out of here and halfway to Scotland.” My brow raises. “You could escape?” “In a heartbeat. Now tell me what’s going on?” I ignore the second part. “Why haven’t you escaped then?”
Because fuck him. Losing your voice to everyone is one thing, but losing your voice to someone you loved – trusted – is ten million times worse.
For someone who claims to despise me, his actions are the complete opposite.
Am I extreme? Yes. But for my own fucking sanity, I need to know what she’s doing. Is that weird? To hate her yet need to know what she’s doing? Even though she’s a snake? A snake who still belongs to me.
She doesn’t take her eyes off her phone. “It’s fine.” It’s not fucking fine. Look at me. Yell at me. Do fucking something.
“Well, I’m drawn to you, Freckles. And it infuriates me that I am. I could be inside someone else, yet all I can see is you.”
Maybe it’s because she was once carrying our child and I witnessed the start of the swelling of her womb. I loved her already, but knowing she was going to be the mother of my child made me worship her in ways I had no idea existed. I wanted to marry her at the age of nineteen, for fuck’s sake. We were young, but we were fully prepared to take on every single hurdle that would’ve been thrown at us. Until that last one. I shake off my thoughts and stare at the beautiful woman in front of me – her freckled, tanned skin, the curves she hates but I love.
“Kiss me,” he says. “If you want me to beg, then I’ll fucking beg you to kiss me, Stacey. Please.” The last word is a whisper. My fingers brush through his hair as I contemplate pressing my lips to his. Just once. I can kiss him once.
This I can handle. This I’ll take to keep everyone safe. This is the price I’ll pay to make sure they never find out who Stacey Rhodes is to me. At least I got to kiss her.
