“Bullshit.” I squeeze her fingers. “He didn’t just look like he came to talk business.”
“He’s a cutthroat.”
“He’s a psycho. That’s not the way you look at competition.”
Her eyelids flutter. “How did he look at me?”
Like prey.
“Like he wasn’t done with you. Like you just broke up yesterday.” I go with the second-best answer.
Also, the bitter truth.
That man looked at her like he wanted to devour her, and not in some kind of sadistic, sexual way.
More like he wanted to destroy her. Like her tears amused him. Like he wanted to take her apart, piece by piece, purely for the joy of leaving her shattered.
Too far? Maybe. There’s still no way in hell I’m letting that happen to her again.
“Did he ever hurt you? Tell me the truth.” It’s a heart-wrenching question I hate to have to ask.
Lena’s nostrils flare as she drags in a deep breath.
“It’s a long story,” she whispers. “We dated in college, like I told you. A couple messy years where I didn’t know any better. I really lost myself, Brady.”
Outwardly, I’m steel. Inside, my blood boils at the thought that the fucking thief stole two years of her life.
I raise her hand softly to my lips and kiss her knuckles. It’s all I can do to keep my yap shut.
I’m dreading the rest of this, but I have to know.
This isn’t the kind of story that ends well. I just need her to know I’m with her as she walks me through it.
“We were just kids, even if he was a couple years older. I always thought he was brash. One of the popular boys who liked to party. At first, he had a little depth. But he was always hanging out around my mom’s ice cream shop in the summer with his friends. Right when I’d take the night shift.” She takes a deep breath.
“Easy,” I murmur. “Take your time.”
“It just happened, I guess. He seemed bright, and he made me laugh. He always tipped ludicrously well. Plus, he had a sweet tooth—what bad guy has a sweet tooth?”
“The real sickos,” I growl.
She almost smiles.
“Anyway, yeah, when he finally asked me out, of course I said yes. It was just ... so much. Our first few days, he spent so much money on me. I was shocked because I didn’t have much growing up. My parents didn’t either. We were always on thin ice, just trying to get by.”
I can’t relate.
But I don’t need to in order to understand that life is hard without money, and we never choose how much we start with.
“It was a whirlwind. The first few months were magical, as cheesy as that sounds,” she whispers. “Like a movie, almost. I didn’t know howI got so lucky. He made me feel small with his money, his mind, and all the folks who knew him.”
Jealousy stabs my heart.
I pull her closer, into my arms.
“When did it go bad? I’ve heard of this before, and the guys who go hard from the start always turn.”
She nods. “Yeah. I mean, it was overwhelming for the first year or so. Coffee dates, museums, fancy dinners. His parents even had a—a large boat.”
