She shakes her head. “I’m tired, and I’m ready for bed.”
She gets up from the couch, and she wraps her arms around my waist and squeezes tight. I feel her tears on my shirt.
“He deserves to know. He needs to know. He’s your boyfriend,” Raven says. “You can go to the police and make a statement.”
“I said no!” she screams at Raven, but Raven doesn’t flinch.
“Her boss tried to force himself on her. That’s why she’s crying. He shoved his disgusting dick in her mouth, and she bit him,” Raven blurts out.
Autumn turns around, balling up her fist. “Shut up. Get out of here, Raven! You ruin everything!”
“Leave us,” I demand.
She pats Autumn on the shoulder, but Autumn slaps her hand away, and Raven leaves.
“Tell me exactly what happened.”
“She already told you.”
I flop down on the cushion, and I yank her onto my lap. “I want to hear it from you.”
“I said no. Not right now.”
I cuff her face, wiping the tears with the pad of my thumb. “Someone hurt you and I need to know, angel.”
She doesn’t respond for several moments, and her eyes move rapidly. “He wanted me to kiss him and I told him no and he forced himself into my mouth so I bit him and ran out and I’m never going back.”
She cries into my arms, and I stroke her arm. Someone tried to hurt her, and I wasn’t there to protect her. Rage fills my lungs, and I carry her into the bedroom, where she takes off her clothes.
“I feel dirty, like I’m trash. I want to lie here and eat some ice cream and watch a rerun ofCatchingKillerson Netflix.”
“You’re not trash, and this isn’t your fault. It’s his fault. He should have respected your no. He abused his power.”
“Then why do I feel like it is? Why do I feel guilty for telling him no?”
“I don’t know, angel. I think because you respected him. And he abused your trust. I’ll be right back.”
I go into the kitchen and bring her a tub of strawberry ice cream. I’m going to kill this man for what he did to her. Every fiber in my bones tries to fight the urge to tear this fucking place apart, to not go ballistic. I hate seeing her in tears. When I get back to the bedroom, I school my features and lie next to her.
“Do you want to go the cops about it and file a report?”
“No, I don’t want to relive that event again, and it will be his word against mine, so I doubt they will do anything,” she says as she lies on my chest. I wrap my arms around her and plant soft kisses on her neck.
I grab the remote from the nightstand and put it on a random show to drown out her thoughts, and several minutes later, she sobs and falls asleep in my arms.
I want to make this bastard pay for what he did to my angel. The thought of another man touching her in a way she doesn’t like drives me up the wall. People like him need to rot in fucking hell.
I put on my black suit, and when I go back to the bedroom, she’s still sleeping.
I exhale, then go to my gun room hidden behind the walk-in closet in my bedroom. There, I grab my handgun, my silencer, tucking it in my holster.
After putting on my boots, I leave the condo and drive in my 1980s car registered under a fake name to the Arthurs’ townhome on Staten Island.
It’s an hour-and-a-half drive from our condo, and I put on my gloves, a blond wig, and green contacts in case his sick wife is at home. I go up to the porch and ring the doorbell, and he opens up, fresh out the shower with a towel wrapped around his waist.
He eyes me up and down, trying to see if I look familiar to him.
“Who the fuck are you?” he says.
