Then she turns to us and stabs us with a hard look.
Dahlia’s head falls in silent apology.
Fuck if I’ll allow her to feel sorry for loving me.
“Dahlia, look at me.” She does and I continue. “Remember who you are.”
She offers me a small but filled with assurance smile, and then I snap my head to my sister. “Sorry we messed up your plans,” I say, my tone condescending. “Now, take that hothead of a husband and leave us the fuck alone.”
“I’m not leaving without my sister,” he grits out.
Calla rolls her eyes at him as if saying, really?
His chest heaves with a sigh. “How long have you known?” he asks his wife.
Still in my arms, I tuck Dahlia to my chest. She is motionless, resembling a damn statue. It doesn’t sit well with me and only makes my anger worse. I barely control myself as it is.
“I realized from the first moment I saw them together,” Calla murmurs, her voice laced with apology.
He slants me a deadly glare that I hold firmly, staring right back at him. I need a damn outlet just as much.
“Was I the only blind idiot who thought you saw her as your sister? Since when?—”
“I would never have touched her like that,” I snap, interrupting him.
“And I wanted that really badly,” Dahlia whispers.
If it weren’t such a dire situation, I would have chuckled at her words. That’s my woman.
When our eyes lock, I forget we have company. And that company wants to end me.
“Stop looking at her like that,” he shouts again.
I march into his face and slam a fist to my chest. “Like fucking what? Like she’s my life. The only reason I wake up every miserable day of my life?”
Taken aback, he opens and closes his mouth for a moment before he throws a hook to my left cheek.
Dahlia shrieks, and my sister rolls her eyes.
Cracking my jaw, I spit the blood coating my mouth at his feet. He throws a punch like a pussy. It takes everything in me not to say that out loud.
Calla snaps her fingers, getting our attention. She sweeps the gun from me to her husband. “Don’t make me use it because I will, you stubborn idiots. You’re both in time out.”
“My fucking sister. The girl he watched grow up.” He eyes Calla as if to make her understand. My sister arches a brow at him, seemingly unimpressed.
I gnash my teeth so hard my molars might crack.
“He’s not a pervert.” Dahlia tries while I drag in a lungful of air. He’s pissing me off so badly that I am really struggling not to pummel his face.
“Fucking when was the first time?” he asks, staring me down.
I glance at Dahlia, needing her to understand I don’t want to lie anymore. I can’t regret the first time because that interlinked our souls forever.
“When she was eighteen,” I confess.
His eyes widen, figuring out, and my sister rushes to his side, the hard part only now commencing.
“It was your father who killed mine. He wasn’t a savior. He was a killer. And he kidnapped my sister for three fucking days,” he spits as if I need a fucking reminder.
