21. Dante
Dante
F or the first time since I’d seen Juliette shaking her ass on top of her father’s bar, I understood her recklessness. I saw it in my brother during his teenage years. Even in Emory. It was their way of coping.
She didn’t say much about it. She didn’t have to. All I knew was that I’d make Travis fucking Xander pay. And it wouldn’t be a quick kill.
The vulnerability in my wife’s eyes gutted me from the inside. Every time I thought of the fucker who’d hurt her, rage rose inside me.
Juliette had always been too impulsive. Act first, think later. It’d get her killed. I was fucking surprised it hadn’t gotten her killed already. Like when she trashed my car in front of the hospital, with police and guards all around.
“Juliette is destroying your car,” Priest announced casually, like he was reciting the weather. “Keying it.”
“What?” I barked, striding toward my brother who was leaning against the wall.
His eyes studied the landscape of the hospital outside.
Bas and Wynter had been attacked by the psycho bitch, Sofia Catalano Volkov, and we got there right on time to save them.
Bas was injured badly, but thankfully Wynter was okay. She’d protected him with her body.
Lucky cousin. If I had found myself in a similar situation, Juliette would gladly step aside and probably offer them money to end my life. Fucking maddening woman!
Priest chuckled, then returned his attention back to the window. I followed his gaze. Juliette was indeed destroying my car. She dragged keys along the side of it, scratching the fucking hell out of it.
And what did my eye focus on? The sun reflecting against her thick dark hair, colors of mahogany under the bright sky. Jesus Christ, I couldn’t wait to wrap my hand around that mane of hers and have her submit to me.
She reached for a crowbar—where in the fuck did she get that—and lifted it high above her head before smashing it against the window.
“Are you sure you want to marry her?” Priest asked. “She’s a bit on the psycho side.”
I rolled my eyes. “So is your great-grandmother,” I remarked dryly. “Jules will fit right in.”
Priest folded his arms. “Sofia Volkov will be dead the moment I get my hands on her. And don’t ever call her my great-grandmother—or whatever-the-fuck she is—again.”
I shook my head. I still couldn’t believe it. Truthfully, I’d always known we were half brothers. His blond hair. The way my mother hated him even more than me. A sliver of hate sawed through me remembering that bitch. The shit she’d done to us.
Instead, I focused on the wild woman outside. Oh, lovely, now she was drawing on my car window.
Leaving my brother behind, I ran down the stairs, ignoring the weird glances thrown my way.
My steps echoed through the hospital hallway, my blood pumping wildly through my veins.
Every car was a hunk of metal but that one…
fuck, that one was special. It was my grandfather’s 1934 Hudson Convertible Coupe.
It was the only thing I had left from him.
I stormed out the emergency exit into the parking lot to see Juliette speed past me, almost fucking running me over, and flipping me the bird through the window.
My ears buzzed.
I ground my teeth as I approached my car. My windshield was smashed. So was the passenger’s side window. The drawing on the only unshattered window pulled my attention.
“Motherfucker,” I hissed.
Juliette had drawn a dick in red lipstick and then an arrow pointing to a stick figure with my name underneath it. At least she didn’t draw a small dick. It was the words underneath that captured my interest.
I’d kill you before I’d marry you.
Fucking shit.
My brother was right. The girl was a psycho. Yet, there was nothing I could do to forget her. Trust me, I had tried. It was as if she’d cast a spell on me binding me to her. From that first fucking moment I’d seen her.
“Ahh, that kind of resembles your dick.” My brother’s voice came from beside me and I narrowed my eyes at him, silently telling him to shut the fuck up.
Priest loved agitating me. It used to be the only pastime we had during those days at the goddamn convent when my mother ensured we got preferential treatment.
I couldn’t even fucking go there. “Are you sure she hasn’t seen it? ”
I shrugged. “If she had, she’d be coming to me willingly.”
“You wish,” he retorted dryly. “I don’t think that girl wants to touch you with a ten-foot pole.”
Without another word, he left me standing there, staring at my destroyed car.
He learned not to get attached to things.
I never quite succeeded. While our dad wasn’t looking, our narcissistic mother ensured everything we loved was destroyed.
First, the blanket we preferred. Then the toy, and it slowly progressed from there.
As I drove down the highway bound for Harry Reid International Airport, Juliette dozing quietly in the seat next to me, I pulled myself from the thoughts I rarely let myself cycle through.
The mid-afternoon sun reflected against her hair, colors of mahogany dancing under it.
Just like that day she destroyed my car.
I finally understood her—at least some of her.
The way we’d grown up had always affected Priest differently than me.
He’d learned to get attached to nothing and nobody.
I, on the other hand, had a hard time letting go.
Most of the time, I didn’t care for things, but every so often I got attached. To my grandfather’s car. To Juliette.
My brother was probably right. Juliette didn’t want me, might never want me. So why, oh why, couldn’t I let her go?
Today I finally got my answer. Because she needed me.