Bastian shook his head. “Don’t make this bad, baby.”
“Don’t ‘baby’ me!” Enraged, Jayne took a bold step forward, invading Bastian’s personal space in the same way that his had been invaded time and time again. The unspoken truth emerged from the words Bastian chose, and the message gripped the anger twining Jayne’s fear and panic and spun it sickeningly tight. “Tell me what you mean!”
Jayne was a second away from jabbing his finger at Bastian’s chest when Bastian caught him by the wrist. His grip was not kind.
“Keep talking like that and you’re going to get yourself into trouble,” Bastian warned. His grip tightened, crushing Jayne’s wrist until his hand lost sensation. Jayne pushed a cry of pain through his teeth and did his best to endure. The pain was incredible, but it was better than hanging his head and letting Bastian take what he wanted. “All I meant was that after the fire, you were supposed to come home to me. You, your brothers, and the baby. I know I didn’t handle it well when you got pregnant, but what was I supposed to do? I love you so much that you drove me crazy. Knowing that you’d cheat on me and make a baby with another man pushed me off the deep end, but I pulled myself out of that head space, and I’m ready to forgive you. I want you, Jayne. I’m going to take you home and keep you safe—make all of this right.”
“You were the one who did it.” Jayne tried to pull his wrist away, but Bastian held him tight. “You set the building on fire.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You set the building on fire,” Jayne repeated, incredulous. “You were batshit insane enough to set my apartment building on fire so you could swoop in and try to save me.” Another ripple of truth. Another moment of understanding. Jayne’s eyes widened. “You didn’t drug me so you could kill me, did you? All of the harassment, the threats, the attempted break-ins… you were doing it to tire me out and wear me down so I’d take you back when you swooped in and pretended to be my savior. You thought that if you rescued me after I was drugged, you could pull me back into your life.”
Bastian shook his head, but even as he did, his grip tightened. Jayne hissed in pain.
“Baby, you’re talking crazy.”
“You’re not denying it.” Jayne laughed. It was a dry, crazed noise rooted in desperation and disbelief. “You thought that if you ground me down, I’d come back to you. Was that why you were stalking the clubs? Why you never left me alone? I thought that you were going to kill me, but all along, you just wanted to keep tabs on where your favorite fuck-toy was, and what he was doing. You are literally fucking crazy.” Jayne tried to yank his wrist free, but Bastian’s grip was unrelenting. The more he struggled, the tighter Bastian’s grip became until Jayne could take it no more. He cried out in genuine agony, but his cry was muffled by Bastian’s palm—he’d slotted his sweaty hand over Jayne’s mouth. His skin smelled of copper.
“Stop.” Bastian yanked Jayne’s head up, forcing Jayne to meet his eyes. The syrupy-sweet expression he’d used to try to hide his true intentions had cracked. Beneath his saccharine mask was anger—vile, spiteful anger that corkscrewed through his person like a parasite. It was the kind of anger that Jayne had seen boiling beneath Bastian’s skin when he’d shown up at the old apartment drunk and looking to stir shit—the same look he’d seen that night, through the dark, as Bastian rattled Jayne’s bedroom window after having scaled the fire escape. There was no mistaking it.
Bastian wanted to hurt him.
He wanted to twist and tear and take away from Jayne until there was nothing left of him at all.
Panic spiked in Jayne’s gut and momentarily shut down his brain. The time he’d spent under Bastian’s thumb had taught him to be quiet and compliant—to shrink away instead of engage the beast. If he was small and still, Bastian’s rage would pass him by, and even if it didn’t, the smaller he became, the less of a target he would be.
But that wasn’t right.
It wasn’t right.
An image flashed through Jayne’s panicked mind. Then another. And another. First, Everett, whose cheerful smile and charming disposition had given Jayne butterflies, and who’d put Parker and Shep’s safety above the very expensive car he’d borrowed from his lover, then Caleb, who laughed and joked about everything, but who’d sat with Jayne on the kitchen floor as he broke down and offered all the support he could. Another flash. Another image. Everett and Caleb, together, as they surprised Jayne with makeup when he’d turned down their help getting his life back together.
There were some people who tore their partners down and forced them into rigid roles, but that wasn’t love. It wasn’t. Love was falling asleep on the living room floor, cheeks crusty from tears, next to the man who’d listened without judgment, and who’d made Jayne feel safe. Love was taking Jayne’s little brother out on an impromptu fishing trip when he needed guidance. Love was waking up too early to drive someone in to work not because it was necessary, but because it was important.
Jayne didn’t have to cower anymore. He didn’t have to tolerate abuse. There was no love between himself and Bastian, and no matter what Jayne’s once-broken heart had believed, there never had been. There was no universe where Jayne had to shoulder pain for anyone, for any reason.
Bastian could hurt him—he could break Jayne’s bones, rend his skin, and spill his blood—but no matter what he did, Jayne would not let him continue to break his mind.
“You’re too smart to fall for bullshit conspiracy theories like that,” Bastian sneered. There was a fetid quality to his breath—not beer, like Jayne had smelled on him when their paths had crossed after Jayne had cut contact, but something equally sour and foul. “Use your head. Why would I go through all of that trouble to get you back when I could have moved on to someone new? Do you really think I would have wasted all that time and energy to play mind games with you? I did what I did because I love you—because I love you so much, you make me angry, and I can’t get over you.”
No.
No, no, no.
It wasn’t love. Over the last month, Jayne had seen what love could be, and it wasn’t the suffocating, over-the-top highs and the isolating, depressing lows that Bastian had driven him to. What motivated Bastian was greed. He didn’t want Jayne back because he loved him, but because Jayne had found the strength to tell him no. Bastian wanted his power, not his heart.
Jayne wouldn’t give it to him.
“But I’m done being angry now,” Bastian restated, his voice walking the tightrope between cloying and severe. “I know what you’ve been living through—what you’ve had to do to keep your brothers and your baby safe. There’s no shame in being a whore, but you don’t need to keep selling your body to those two bastards to keep a roof over your head. When you come home with me, I’ll take care of you. I’ll always take care of you.”
Jayne tried to jerk his chin to the side, but Bastian thwarted his attempt by slamming his head against the wall, locking him in place. Bright pinpoints of light dotted Jayne’s vision, and involuntary tears streamed down his cheeks, chased out by the injury he’d sustained. To his disgust, Bastian brushed one of the glossy trails away with his thumb.
“Don’t cry,” Bastian whispered. “It’s been a tough time, I know, but it’s all over now. I’m here. I’ve got you. I know you’re not going to make the same mistake again.”
No, he sure as shit wasn’t. The biggest mistake Jayne had made was staying with a man who treated someone he claimed he loved with such violence, and he wasn’t keen to repeat it.
Wanting his voice, Jayne tried to open his mouth as wide as he could in an attempt to bite Bastian’s palm, but as his teeth brushed Bastian’s skin, Bastian caught on and cupped his hand. It didn’t matter. Jayne had other plans.
