“Want to beat the shit out of me?” he screams. “Do it in the fucking car. Not in public.” He throws the car into drive and squeals his tires.
“Fine,” I growl and reach across the center console to hit him with both my fists. I rip his hat off his head and grip the bill, hitting him with it before I toss it to the back and continuing with my fists.
He tries his best to block me, but I get a few more hits in before I give up. I’m trembling at what he did. It feels like such a betrayal. He thinks I’m broken. I am, but I thought he was different.
This is what my father—Garrett—required. He made me seek therapy. Made me sit in a straitjacket and talk about my feelings. It was a way to control me. To fuck with my mind. To convince me I was insane and that all fathers treated their daughters the way he did me.
Even Bill didn’t force me into therapy after he found me. He let me work out my issues my own way. Maybe that’s the problem. I never did work them out.
“Are you done?” he snaps.
“No.” I hit him one more time in the arm and then plop back in my seat.
My heavy breathing fills the car, and he runs a hand through his hair before letting out a huff of annoyance.
I’m trembling, and angry tears sting my eyes. I drop my head to see my jeans have blood on them. At first I think it’s from the hand I used to hit him with, but then I realize it’s from my cut. “Fuck,” I whisper, pressing my shaking hand on it. The pain causes me to hiss in a breath.
“What?”
I blink away the tears and look out the passenger window. “Fuck you, Kash?—”
He yanks my hand away and growls. “Goddammit.”
“If you wouldn’t have picked me up…”
He gives a rough laugh. “Me? If you wouldn’t have made a scene.”
“I was trying to leave,” I scream.
“I’m trying to help you,” he shouts.
Deafening silence fills the car, and he reaches down, undoing his belt. When he rips it free and hands it to me, he says, “Put it around your thigh. Nice and tight. It’ll hold until we get back.”
“I’m fine.” I cross my arms over my chest, refusing his help and hoping that I bleed all over his seat. That’s the least I can do after what he just tried.
He veers off the road and slams on the brakes, causing my seat belt to tighten on me. Leaning over, he lifts my leg, making me grind my teeth while he slides his belt underneath it and ties it off. I think it’s tighter than it needs to be.
I bite my bottom lip to keep from crying out. He grips my chin, placing his face in front of mine. “You might not care if you bleed out, but I do.”
Those angry tears return, and I swallow the knot lodged in my throat. He loosens his hold on my face and runs the back of his tatted knuckles along mybruised cheek. “I love you, Eve. I’m trying to show you how much. Tell me what I need to do. Tell me what I can do to help you, and I’ll do it.”
My eyes search his, but I don’t answer because I’m not sure what can be done. I can tell he sees me differently now, and I hate it. This is why I don’t get close to anyone. I prefer to live in my bubble, where I’m just a nobody. “Just take me home,” I whisper.
FORTY-EIGHT
KASHTON
We pull up to Carnage, and she growls. “I told you to take me home.”
Coming to a stop, I reach around my seat to the floorboard, grabbing my hat and slipping it on. “This is your home.” I get out of the car and go over to open hers.
“Kashton, no.” She tries to stay in her seat, but I pick her up and carry her up the steps and inside.
Entering the hospital wing, I bark, “Where the fuck is Devin?”
“I’m right here. What’s wrong?” he asks, coming down the hall.
“She ripped her leg open.”
