Chapter 42
“Wake up, red. We have unfinished business.”
This cannot be happening.
“Brad?”
“Shut up, you’re too fucking loud.”
“What are you doing here? You’re not allowed in my room.”
“Get pulled from a gutter by Max, and you’ll have his one singular emotion tied to you for the rest of your life. I can do whatever I want. He doesn’t actually give a fuck what happens to any of his toys, as long as we don’t break them.”
“What do you want?” I whisper-shout. Across the room, the panic button that was installed glows in the darkness next to the door. It’s too far, I’ll never make it.
Sitting up, I rub the sleep from my eyes, attempting to make my surroundings less blurry.
Brad’s hand slams into my throat, coiling tight as he shoves me back onto the mattress. Climbing atop me, he leans in close. “Ready to fess up the truth yet?”
Not this bullshit again. How fucking damaged is Brad that he can’t fathom a world where a woman does something because it’s the right thing to do, not because they want to hold it against you later?
“What?” I rasp as his palm eliminates my air.
“Why did you save me, red? After all I did to your sister. The way I tore her apart for my own pleasure. Did she tell you? Do you regret it? Risking your life for me?”
Easing up slightly, he lets me respond. “If I knew this would’ve been the outcome, I’d have let you die.”
“So you do want something in exchange. I knew it.”
I slap against his arm as his fingers dig into the side of my neck, restricting the blood flow to my brain. “C-ca-can you not…” I fight to speak, to pull him out of this rage filled fog rolling in. He glances down, taking in the way my face reddens from pressure.
“What, red? Need to spill more lies?”
Fuck this. “I couldn’t live with myself if I just abandoned you—or anyone.
” Brad lets me heave in a full breath, and I cough.
My throat aches something fierce, and the way my voice scratches is going to linger.
“I knew the guilt would eat me alive if I left you there, helpless. Not dead. Not attacked. Just bobbing in the ocean, waiting for fucking death. So, sure, maybe it was selfish of me to save you so I wouldn’t have to live with the memory of you being pulled under, blood staining the waves.
But you didn’t leave me to the sharks either. ”
“It was my fucking job.”
“Was it? You had Chelsea. She would have just incurred double the work. That’s what you said, isn’t it?”
No response. Just Brad’s wide brown eyes, observing me through the darkness, only the light creeping under the door to illuminate his features. His solid black uniform obscures him from detection.
Shoving him back, I sit up while he straddles my hips.
“Believe what you want, asshole. But you didn’t let me die anymore than I let you.
You shoved me onto that raft, knowing the threat you incurred by staying in the water.
And don’t even get me started on the fact you didn’t fucking tell me about the sharks in the first place. Trying to keep me calm and shit.”
“I did what I thought was right to accomplish the mission.”
“Mhmm. And in doing that, you protected me. Did you expect some sort of pat on the back in the moment, or did you just react?”
“I just did it.”
“Exactly. So, why is it so hard for you to believe I did the same? I didn’t think, I reacted.”
“No,” he growls, low and ominous. “Women lie. Always have, always will. Playing innocent when they are the evil that infects the earth.”
The words are weird coming from Brad, like they don’t fit who he is, who he projects. He speaks like it’s a mantra. The foundation on which he built his personality. The phrase honed and drilled into the very core of his soul.
He really can’t wrap his head around me being a good person. In some ways, I’m not. I’ve got a sickness. An addiction. But the urges come few and far between. Maybe I can help him, help myself, and Chelsea.
“Brad…who hurt you?”
“Shut up.”
“You can tell me.”
“No. Shut the fuck up.”
“I—” Both his hands grab my throat, forcing me onto my back once more.
“Did you know your sister has the softest fucking skin? The prettiest fucking cries for reprieve I’ve ever heard. It really works to Chelsea’s disadvantage that she looks like her.”
It’s on the tip of my tongue to ask ‘who?’, but I can’t imagine having him revisit the origin of his woman-hating persona will help me at all. Not with my life clenched in his large, furious hands.
I jerk and spasm beneath him as the pressure in my head increases. “Ah-ah-ah. Be still, or I’ll pay her another visit.”
I fight my instincts, lying immobile as he grants me a smidgen of breathing room.
“Sam almost killed Cynthia the other day, you know? He went to break up with her—for you.” His eyes lock with mine, dilated and crazed.
“The bitch damn near lost her mind after being his pet for the past three months. She attacked him with the desk lamp, and split his head open. He almost strangled her to death in self-defence. She was promised an escape, and he strung her along until he met you. Sure, she was reacting to the situation, but even desperate women can’t be trusted. ”
Guilt pulses beneath my skin. If I hadn’t gotten on that ship, would Sam still be working on a plan for her?
Brad clocks the downturn of my features. “Don’t blame yourself. Sam’s done this so many times I’ve lost count, remember?”
I do remember, somewhat. “It was…kind of hard…to focus on anything with you…fucking my face,” I rasp.
Brad chuffs a quiet laugh, tightening his fingers once more, extinguishing my air flow. “I suppose you’re right.” A sickening smile spreads across his mouth. “Speaking of that, you need to finish what you started.”