Nicky the Driver (Underboss Insurrection, #2)

by Cate C. Wells

I should be squirming. My sleep shorts are barely long enough to cover my ass cheeks. My nose is running. I’m standing next to a puddle of puke. And a man in an impeccably tailored suit is looking at me like I’m the only thing in the world.

“Is this when you rape me?” I squeeze my balled fists tighter, so hard my knuckles ache. He rolls onto his back and stares at the ceiling, his mouth twisting in the corners. “Not tonight. I got a headache,” he says.

Hot tears leak down my cheeks. How long had he been wanting to break up with me? When did he figure out that I’m damaged beyond repair? I thought I’d hid it so fucking well. I thought I had it on lock.

Is this turning me on? I’m so fucked up.

Some men have Jesus. God and country. A dream. Ambition. I have Zita.

He’s so beautiful that sometimes you forget what he is. What he must have done. What he’s capable of doing to you. And you don’t realize you’ve forgotten until you suddenly remember, and it’s terrifying, every single time.

She’s a good thing in an ugly world, you know?”

I’ve never had time for mean girls. I was always much too busy tormenting myself.

His eyes are closed—finally—in concentration, so I can watch him fuck my pussy like he’s driving the devil out of me, watch his cock plunge in and out, flushed and slick with my juices.

He raises his firm chin. “The house, the yard, a dog— Why can’t we have that?”

I know that he’s obsessed with me. That he’s been stalking me for years. I know that he fucks me like a starving man, reverent while he crams me in his mouth.

She is everything I knew she’d be. Soft. Hungry. She takes me perfectly, clenching my hips with her sweet, strong thighs, holding my body as tight as I’ve held her all these years. It was just like I knew it’d be, but also, more—

More than fine. She’s beautiful. Her smile fucks my heartbeat up. Her body haunts my dreams. I know she doesn’t see it that way, though.

If it makes it easier for her to believe she’s doing this against her better sense, that’s fine. When she comes on my face, her scream’s not gonna sound the least bit conflicted to the neighbors on the other side of the wall.

Nicky fucks like he’s lost his mind, and he’s trying to find it between my legs. He fucks like I’m hiding something that he’s desperate for.

I don’t know what I really, really want. Right now? I want the thing he does to me, how he mutes the ugly shit in my head, takes it all away.

Sometimes it feels like he can read my mind. Sometimes it feels like he’s politely refraining from doing it.

I don’t know if she’d forgive me if I told her now what I’d done. She’d understand though. Violence haunted that house. You did what you had to do. But would she forgive me for not being brave enough to let her take the risk? For choosing her safety over her happiness?

I’ll always be crueler to myself than anyone else could ever be.

My heart falls, panic bursting from my chest, but I don’t let myself lose speed. I did this to myself. It’s my fault. Because I’m weak. Stupid. Disgusting. Worthless. If I can’t even keep myself pretty, I’m nothing at all. If I’m nothing, I can disappear, and no one will even say my name again.

I know what it’s like to cling to the one good thing in your life so you can force down all the shit you have to eat.

That’s mine. His eyes belong on me. Suddenly, I’m uncertain on my feet. I’m standing in the surf, and the waves are rushing out. I’ve dropped something, and I’m reaching, but it’s slipping through my fingers. And I’m scared in a way I’ve never been before, not of something, but that if I don’t act—right now—I’ll lose something I’ll never be able to find again.

“You know I’d do anything for you,” he says.

It’s only fair, I think, since he belongs to me, that I belong to him. One of my good things in an ugly world.