How can I stand by and watch my mother marry that monster? Does she honestly love him? Does she truly understand what she’s getting involved in? Or is she really that naïve? Or maybe, this is the byproduct of grief?
I lather shampoo in my hair as I ponder these questions. Steam envelops me in a cloudy haze as I drag my fingers through my hair, washing the product down the drain.
There is a way to stop this—I tell her the truth of what happened four and a half years ago.
But what if she already knows? What if she’s always known? What if it doesn’t make any difference?
I never would have considered these thoughts even a week ago, but learning my mom was previously engaged to Neo “Sinner” Lennox has diminished my confidence in her. I can’t possibly know the real her if she could spend years with such a disgusting human. She must know the things he’s done. The shit he’s involved in.
So why would confirming it change anything except showing my hand?
I can’t interfere.
I’ve got to let this play out.
At least, for now.
I rest my head against the tile wall, closing my eyes and wishing Dad was still here. Even if only as the voice of wisdom in my head, because I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with this.
Hot water rolls down my spine as I contemplate my options, but I’m no closer to an answer as I switch off the shower and step out.
A muscular arm covered in tats darts out, offering me a towel, and I scream as adrenaline floods my system and my body reacts automatically to the perceived threat.
Saint chuckles, stepping forward, his hungry eyes drinking me in as he shamelessly ogles every inch of my bare skin. “Get the fuck away from me.” I grab the towel and shove past him, charging into my bedroom with water dripping all over the floor.
I slam to a halt as three sets of male eyes flit to my naked form.
Whatever. It’s not like they haven’t seen me naked before.
Taking my time, I wrap the towel around myself, tucking it securely under my arms as I glare at Caz, Galen, and Theo. The latter is sitting on the edge of my bed, tapping away on a tablet while Caz is rooting through my bedside table, and Galen is—
“Give me that!” I march toward him, grabbing the new dress Mom bought for me to wear to her engagement party from his large hands. Water trickles from my sodden hair all over the hardwood floor, and my damp fingertips leave small wet patches on the black gown. I hold it up in front of me, grinding my teeth to the molars. “What the fuck did you do to my dress?” I give Galen the evil eye.
He lights up a cigarette. “Made some improvements. You like?”
I inspect the torn sleeves and the angular cut in the side of the dress extending across the midriff. “It’s ruined.” He smirks, and I snatch the cigarette from his lips, stubbing it out on a plate on my dresser. Caz chuckles, while Galen looks two seconds away from ending my life. “Your lungs will thank me some day.” I push my face in his. “And after you destroyed my dress, you’re lucky I didn’t stub it out on your pretty face.”
“No need to be so dramatic,” Saint says, stepping up behind me and gripping my hips. “It’s perfectly wearable.”
“I doubt Mom wants me to look like a slut at her party.” I scowl as I watch Galen light up another cigarette.
“Unless she plans on trading her daughter in for a new model, that’s what she’s stuck with,” Galen replies, deliberately blowing smoke circles into my face. He leans in close, breathing icky smoke breath all over me, and I jerk back on instinct, pressing up against Saint’s broad chest in the process. “What you wear won’t change that fact.”
“You’re a bigger slut than me,” I say, shoving his shoulders and trying to ignore the feel of Saint’s hard-on pressing into me from behind.
He straightens up, his smirk deepening. “Jealous,angel?”
I snort. “Hardly.” My lips twitch as I prod him in the stomach. “I was the one who rejected you, remember?”
He blows more smoke in my face, and it’s irritating as fuck, but nothing can wipe the smug smile off my face. A muscle clenches in his jaw as he loses the smirk, narrowing his eyes at me. Thank fuck, my fourteen-year-old self pushed him away that day.
“We’re wasting time,” Saint says, trailing his fingers along the hem of my towel. “Dad wants us downstairs before the guests arrive.” With the way he’s toying with the towel, I know he plans on exposing me to the room again, and I refuse to give him that power.
This is my bedroom, and these dicks don’t get to come in here and act like they own the place and me.
Without stopping to overthink it, I let the towel drop to the floor, standing assertively in front of them. I’m proud of my body, scars and all, and I’m not going to bow down before these jerks.
Theo tilts his head up from his tablet, his eyes locking on the scars covering my stomach and upper arms before his gaze meets mine. I flip him the bird, because fuck him for his too late pity. He looks at me with the saddest expression before lowering his head to whatever he’s doing.
