I took some medicine and then got in the shower. The water only trickles out, and it smells dubious. Like mildew and metal and I don’t even know. I’m not even convinced that this place is all that clean.
The dust bunnies are something to behold.
But I have the door barricaded, and now I can finally stop moving.
All the anguish and fear and pain washes over me in waves. It feels like I’m standing in the ocean and a riptide of emotion is pulling me under, threatening to drown me.
I don’t care about the money or the mansion or the fancy things.
I wantmy husband. The man who looks at me with so much affection and humor and lust. The man who fucks me like I’m everything he’s ever needed in his life. I want my best friend, my partner.
My love. God, I love him so much, even though he kicked me out so heartlessly. How could the universe be so cruel, tofinallyallow me to experience so much kindness and happiness, only to have it ripped away?
I roll onto my side and bury my face in my hands, crying so hard I can barely breathe.
“He should have just killed me.”
Twenty-Eight
JULIAN
Covered in blood,I make my way upstairs to the apartment I’ve been living in, and walk straight through to my bedroom and then into the shower.
I don’t even give a fuck that I’m still dressed when I turn the water on as scalding as I can stand it and let it soak me through.
It’s been a week of fucking hell.
Every minute without her is torment that I wouldn’t wish on anyone, even Ivanov. And I’m going to kill that fucker.
My brothers have all called me out on my shit, with Mateo even taking me into a boxing ring to kick the hell out of me.
I welcomed it, and I let him beat me until I almost passed out.
And still, despite the bruises and what’s likely a broken rib, I don’t feel a fucking thing.
The only thing that brings an ounce of relief is when I’m in the cell, terrorizing one of my enemies.
I mean, I knew I was a shit human. Might as well play the part.
Finally, I strip out of the wet clothes and wash the blood out of my hair, off my face. Arteries really spray like a motherfucker.Then I dry off, throw the clothes away, and dress in a T-shirt and sweats.
When I walk out to the kitchen to pour myself some whiskey, I pull the gun from the small of my back and aim it at Rome, who’s sitting at my island, already drinking a glass of his own.
He doesn’t even bat an eyelash.
“It’s just me,” he says, sounding completely at ease and not at all intimidated. “Also, your reaction time is slow as fuck. I could have killed you about a dozen times before you noticed I was here.”
Not answering him, I pour my own glass and swallow it down in one gulp before pouring another and then lean my hips against the countertop behind me and stare at him.
“What do you want?”
“First of all, why are you living here? This place is tiny, has nothing on the walls, no view. You like looking at the next building over?”
It doesn’t matter. I’m hardly here.
“What do you want, Rome?”
He blows out a breath and sips his whiskey.
