Chapter 41
CHAPTER
FORTY-ONE
CHASSIS
The clubhouse is in the throes of a party.
It doesn’t surprise me. I’m pretty sure it’s always in the throes of a party of some kind.
I know my dad’s is, at least. But tonight feels different.
I survey the room, my gaze scanning the people who are around: men, women, nakedness everywhere, but that’s not what catches my eye.
I watch as that woman, Minty, walks out of the hallway, completely naked… my husband right behind her. My heart doesn’t slam against my chest the way I think it probably should, because it stops beating.
I’m not sure how in the hell I’m still standing. I can’t breathe, I can’t think, my feet are frozen to the floor below me. I don’t know what to do, but what I want is to vanish right here and now. I pinch my eyes closed, wondering if it could be possible to just disappear.
But when I open my eyes, I glance around and realize I can’t disappear. I’m here, in the middle of a room full of people. I remind myself to breathe, forcing my eyes to open and fight back the tears that threaten to fall.
With every ounce of courage in my body, I find Amos again. He’s standing, only his profile in view. He’s turned slightly, and that naked bitch is standing in front of him. She’s completely naked except for a pair of too-high high heels.
I watch as she reaches out, her fingers curling around his bicep. She leans in close, her gaze searching Amos’s. I can’t move. I don’t want to. I stare at them, waiting to see what’s going to happen.
Nothing does, at least not immediately. It’s as if everything is happening in slow motion. She lifts to her toes, he bends his head, and then their mouths touch. I suck in a breath, lifting my hand to my lips and taking a step backward before I spin around and begin to walk out of the clubhouse.
I don’t know if anyone can see me, and I don’t care. I need to get out of here. I need to drive home, lock myself inside, and pretend that this never happened, that I never witnessed this. I knew something was going on. I just knew it. And now I’m sorry I came down here at all.
Hurrying toward the door, I hear my name being called. I recognize the voice, and since I’m in his space, I should stop and listen to him. But I’m not thinking straight. Hell, I’m not thinking at all. Not a single rational thought actually floats around in my brain.
I don’t turn around. I don’t stop. Instead, I wrap my fingers around the door handle and wrench it open. The warm air slams into me, the darkness consumes me, but I step outside anyway. I hear my name again, but I ignore that, too.
I start to walk faster toward my car. I don’t want to run. I’m afraid I might trip, especially considering the tears that have started to flow down my cheeks are blurring my vision. Unfortunately, when I don’t run, it gives Amos enough time to catch me.
I feel his fingers curl around my bicep just as I reach for the handle of my car. He wrenches my body around, moving forward, and I’m forced to step backward until my back and ass slam against the side of my car.
Amos leans close to me, his arms outstretched on either side of me, pressing against the car, effectively caging me in. Then he shifts forward, his lips grazing mine before they slide across my jaw to my ear.
“Where the fuck do you think you’re going?”
Tears continue to stream down my cheeks, and I wrinkle my nose at the scent of beer and whiskey that consumes me.
I’m disgusted. He’s disgusting. I hate myself for believing there could be more.
That he could be different from the men I’ve known my entire life.
He’s just like them, and I let myself believe he wasn’t.
I’m the problem here, not them. I expected more than he could possibly give me. I’ve opened the door on something that I’m regretting. I’m not sure I can forget the way he touches me, the way he feels inside me, and I also don’t think I could accept him with another woman.
“Home,” I whisper. “I shouldn’t have come.”
His palm presses against the center of my chest, between my breasts, then glides up my throat, then my jaw, gripping me firmly there before he forces me to look directly at him. I don’t want to look into his eyes. I don’t want to look at his face.
“What’s got you so upset?” he asks, his words coming out in a slur.
I press my lips together, trying to decide if I should tell him the truth or lie. I’m not fast enough for his liking. He tilts his head to the side, his eyes searching mine, and then he smirks.
“Answer me,” he demands.
I want to lift my hand between us and slap him right across the face. I don’t do that, though. It would do more harm than good. He’s drunk, and even though he’s my husband, I don’t know how he would react after drinking this much.
“I saw you with her. It was just a shock. I wasn’t expecting it. It’s fine.”
Lies.
I am a liar, and probably a really bad one at that.
Because he only smirks. He leans forward, his mouth almost touching mine.
I can’t pull away from him. I’m trapped.
Then I feel one of his hands grip my hip.
His fingers are strong as he holds me. His arms haven’t caged me against the car, but now he’s holding me, and there’s no slipping away.
“Sweetheart,” he murmurs against my mouth, “you’re so fucking cute.”
I don’t feel cute. Not at all. He doesn’t give me the chance to say that, though. His mouth touches mine. I gasp. His tongue slides inside me and swirls. He tastes me, and it’s a deep, long, practically filthy taste.
It’s perfection.
This man is perfection, and I hate myself for thinking that right now.