He exits the highway and pulls into a parking lot. Getting out, he opens my door and takes my hand. We walk up a short flight of steps and enter a glass door. “Have a seat,” he orders, going over to a desk while I sit down. Looking around, I try to decide where the fuck we are.
Kashton speaks softly to a woman behind the desk, and she glances at me a few times before putting her attention back on him. It makes the hairs on the back of my neck rise. What the fuck is he doing?
“Miss Sinclair?” a woman calls from an open door to my right.
Kashton looks at her and then to me. He strolls over, grabs my hand, and pulls me to stand. “It’s okay,” he assures me, brushing my hair off my shoulders. “I’ll be right here waiting on you.”
“I don’t…”
“Hello, Everett.” The woman smiles brightly at me, and I’m confused as fuck.
Kashton ushers me through the door, and the lady closes it behind me.
I tense. There’s a couch, two chairs, and a love seat, along with a desk, and it smells of vanilla. I must be going crazy.
“Please have a seat.” She gestures to the couch.
I remain standing, trying to come up with a logical explanation for whereI am and why. Kashton wouldn’t do this to me.
Her soft-brown eyes trace the Steri-Strips on my face from where Evan hit me with my gun so hard it cut my cheek. Then they drop to my bruised neck, and I swallow nervously. “It’s okay, Everett. I’m here for you.”
My chest begins to burn at her words. I’ve heard them before, and it was a lie.
I spin around, yank open the door, and rush out of the room. “Asshole,” I snap at Kashton, rushing past where he still stands at the desk, then out the front door.
“Eve? Eve, wait. What happened?” he calls out, chasing me down the steps.
I come to a stop, turn, and punch him in the face, ignoring the way my hand instantly throbs.
His baseball hat falls off his head in the process. “Fuck,” he groans into his hands, cupping his nose.
“Oh my God.” The lady from the front desk gasps from the top of the steps. “I’ll call the police.”
“No. No. No,” he rushes out, waving at her. “It’s fine. We’re fine.” He turns back to look at me, looking confused and wounded. Bending over, he picks up his hat and slides it on backward.
“But she?—”
“I said we’re fucking fine,” he snaps at the woman over his shoulder.
I’m fucking shaking. “How could you?” I scream, slamming my fists into his chest.
“What?” He sighs. “What did I do?”
“A therapist? Really?” What in the fuck was he told? What would make him think this is okay?
“I’m trying to help,” he grinds out.
“Well, stop,” I shout.
He tosses his head back and laughs—a manic, body-shaking laugh—before running his hand down his bloody face. “I don’t know what to do, Eve.” His eyes frantically search mine. “Tell me what to do, and I’ll do it.”
“I’m fine.” I take a step back from him. There’s nothing he can do, and the fact that he wants to help proves that he now sees me as broken. What happened to the man who wanted to collar and chain me up in his basement? He’s no longer here. Now this man wants me to seek professional help? He wants me to allow a stranger to cut me open and bleed. For what? Redemption? To be whole for him?
“Quit fucking lying to me,” he snaps. “And for God’s sake, quit lying to yourself.”
I go to slap him, but he catches my hand and yanks me toward the Escalade. At least it’s not back into the building.
I pull free, turn, and start to run in the opposite direction, but he’s quicker. Wrapping an arm around me from behind, I yelp when he picks me up and places me in the SUV before slamming the door. He storms around the hood, rips open his door, and falls into the driver’s side.
