"So are you," I whisper, meaning it.
"Don't ever leave me," he whispers, stroking my hair, and I don't know if it's a request or a plea.
I don't think it matters either way. I can't deny the truth anymore. I'll never be ready for this to end. Not ever.
He has all of me—every single piece.
Chapter Fifteen
Brielle
When I die, I'm almost positive hell will look exactly like Rodeo Drive. Every stone is a set piece, and every goddamn storefront was designed by and for sadistic mean girls with luxury-brand obsessions.
But after bitching all week about not having anything I need, Asher gave me the afternoon off and his credit card to buy whatever I still need. The bastard actually smirked and told meto have fun before sending me on my way. I think he wanted to see just how much devastation I could wreak on his bank account in one day.
Turns out, quite a lot. I don't even know what I've bought, but it's all been ludicrously expensive. Maybe expensive enough to give him a stroke.
I'm sure he'll find a way to make me pay for every cent later. I'm looking forward to it, actually. The punishment is usually more enjoyable than the crime when he's involved.
I pause on the sidewalk, eyeing a silk scarf through the window of Hermès. It's the same pale blue as the tie he used to bind my wrists the first time he fucked me. Maybe I'll buy it to taunt him. Or to strangle him with it the next time he pisses me off.
"Pretty color," a voice says behind me, stopping me in my tracks. I know that voice. It's currently haunting damn near every nightmare I have.
Miles Andrews.
Fuck my life.
I spin around with my heart in my throat, confirming that yes, it is Miles, smiling that movie-star smile as he saunters toward me, dressed like he's walking the red carpet instead of Rodeo.
Asher is going to lose his fucking mind.
"Miles," I say, my voice wary. "Are you stalking me?"
He throws his head back, laughing like I made some hilarious joke. For the record, it was a genuine question.
"You're funny," he says, "but I was here for a meeting. Running into you is just a bonus."
I roll my eyes, refusing to play whatever game he thinks this is. Last time I saw him, I had Asher's dick in my mouth, and he desperately wanted it to be his. God only knows what he'll do to try to convince me. Will he go for blackmail? Threats? Who the fuck knows?
"What do you want?"
For a second, I think maybe he'll try a line, something about lunch or drinks, before he tries to talk me into going back to his place to buy his silence on my back. Instead, his gaze flicks to my neck.
In a split second, his whole demeanor changes. His smile drops, his brows pulling tight. He's no longer the devil-may-care movie star, but…pissed.
"What the fuck happened to your throat?" he growls, his voice flat.
I know instantly that he's talking about the necklace of finger-shaped bruises Asher left behind in one of his nightly exorcisms. I covered them with concealer, but apparently not well enough. Wonderful.
"Nothing," I say, blood rushing to my cheeks because I know exactly how it probably looks. Mina reacted the same way last week, didn't she? "It's nothing."
Miles tilts his head, his thunderous expression making it clear that he doesn't believe me. "That's not nothing, Brielle. That's fucking fingerprints."
"It's not a big deal," I snap, trying to walk away. Except he follows, keeping pace with ease. Why can't men ever take a hint? "And I don't need you to play white knight."
He puts a hand on my arm. Not hard, not even aggressive, but his touch is enough to stop me cold. I want to pry his hand off and slap him for touching me. No one gets to do that, no one except Asher. But the look on his face stops me.
"I'm not trying to start anything," he says, his voice soft and earnest. "I'm just concerned. I consider your brother a friend, and friends don't just walk away and pretend they don't see shit like that. So I'm asking… are you really okay with the way Blackstock treats you?"
