Hot tears sear the backs of my eyes. I never, ever wanted to cause him any sort of discomfort or mental anguish. Normally, I would walk away. But today, I need him to see me for who I truly am. And if that’s not enough…
“I’m sorry—” Cairo’s chest bumps into mine, causing me to stumble back when his long fingers grip my hip and tighten there.
“Don’t tell me you’re fucking sorry again,” he leers over me, his eyes narrowed. “You’re gonna make it up to me, aren’t you, Little T?” I bob my head, not too proud to deny it because he’s been there through some real reality-check moments. “That’s my good girl.” His palm cups the side of my face, causing my eyes to flutter from how warm and good his touch feels. “Get Wallace to agree to work with us. You know we need it. I need it. I want this shit done.” I nod, reveling in how comforting his touch feels. “And that doesn’t involvefuckinghim. Can you do that?’
Here we go…
I begin to pull out of his grasp, but he only tightens his fingers around my jaw. “I’m not going to say it again.”
“Getusedto him, Cairo,” I order with a sneer. “He’s not going anywhere.”
“Then maybe I should,” he retorts, just as pissed and annoyed. “We shouldn’t have gotten here anyway.”
“You want to whine about this like a baby and not be a grown-ass man? Don’t make me think you’re more of a bitch than I thought you were.”
“Maybe that’ll be the perfect turn-off so we can drop this shit.”
I shove at his wrist, finally getting him to release me. “Fine by me.”
“Don’t let the door hit your ass on the way out.” He turns his back on me, and I think that’s what does it—where my patience and resolve finally snap in half.
The only thing in my possession is my car keys, which just happened to be tucked away in the back pocket of my jeans before they flew at the back of Cairo’s head.
I miss, hitting him in the spine, but it still gets my message across.
I’m not taking this shit, and he’s going to deal with it.
Slowly, he turns around. The little scar on his left cheek seems to scream at me as his jaw twitches along with it.
“Was there something else?” he grinds out. “Or did you want to finally beg for my forgiveness?”
“Beg?” I repeat with a scoff. “Now, what I’ve done is forgivable? I thought we were breaking up?”
“You’d have to be mine for us to break up.”
“I am yours,” I retort. “Orwasuntil you just decided my loyalty to Levi was supposed to supersede yours. I didn’t know of the ranking system. My bad.”
“You fucking almostkilledyourself under the false pretense that Wallace was dead.”
“I thought hewasdead,” I argue. “I didn’t know he was alive until the day of the funeral.”
“Bullshit.”
“I didn’t. I fucking killed Nessa, Sinatra. Why the fuck would I do that if I didn’t…” My breath catches as it suddenly hits me Imurderedsomeone.
I murdered one of my best friends.
I unloaded half a clip, the whole clip…I don’t know, what did Hot Rod say again?
Does it really fucking matter? You actually took someone’s life.
My feet retreat toward the door, and I have a strong need for some air.
She betrayed Levi. She picked the wrong side. He could’ve died.
It could’ve been real, then what? She chose Matteo all over some rejection of a crush she had.
Is that really mature? That’s psycho bitch shit right there. Then what? She just keeps going at people? She keeps working with Matteo to destroy my family and?—
