“You don’t get to play dumb anymore, Kai. The truth is you wanted it.” Another step. “You wanted it, and youlikedit.”
“Stop—”
“Some part of you has wanted me since the first time I put my hand around your throat and watched your cock get hard.”
“Stop!”
My fist flies out, but he catches it midair in his palm like we’re in a fucking Marvel movie. He gives his hand a sharp twist, and my knees buckle at the stab of pain from my tortured wrist. I rip myself free, glaring at him as I cradle my throbbing hand against my chest.
The pain is a relief—something physical, something real. But it’s short-lived.
“Feel better?” he asks, smirking. “Or do you want to go another round?”
What I want is to kill him.
What I want…is to kiss him.
What I want is to claw my own brain out so I never have to think about any of this ever again.
“You—you drugged me. Put something in my drink. Made me?—”
“I didn’t touch your drinks, Kai.” Rooke sounds almost tired as he scrapes a hand through his hair and gives Haven a ‘can you believe this guy’ look. “You were already wasted when I got there. You grabbed my hair.” His hand comes up, touching the back of his head like he can still feel it. “Right here. Yanked so hard it hurt.”
My stomach lurches.
Because I remember that. The silkiness of his hair. The way he growled when I pulled.
“You pinned me against the wall,” he says coldly. “Told me to shut up. Ground against me like you couldn’t get close enough.”
“Stop,” I beg. “Please, just…stop.”
“And when you were done and spent with our cum all over you, you cried like the pathetic little simp you are.”
“Bastian!” Haven slips between us, one hand pressed against Rooke’s chest to hold him back. “Enough, okay? Back off!”
I stagger back, my hand flying to my mouth as bile rises in my throat.
…you gonna fucking cry now?…
He’s not lying. I remember kissing him. Rutting against him like a fucking animal in heat. Crying.
“He needs to hear it, girl.” Rooke’s eyes don’t leave mine. “He’s been torturing himself for days, convinced I violated him. He needs to know?—“
“He needs compassion, you fucking sociopath!” Haven shoves him hard enough that he actually stumbles back a step.
“You’re the one who insisted I tell him.” Rooke stares down his nose at her. “What did you expect?”
“An ounce of fucking decency,” Haven’s voice cracks. “But I guess you’re not capable of that, are you?”
“And you are? Because you sure as hell don’t give a fuck about his feelings any more than I do.”
“What the hell’s that supposed to mean?”
“He’s your safety blanket, Haven. Your shield, when you need one. But the second he’s not strong enough, or protective enough, or needy enough, you reject him. No wonder he’s so scared to show even a sliver of vulnerability around anyone.”
They’re arguing about me like I’m a broken toy.
My stomach heaves.
