She took a step forward, dropping the knife as she did so. “You took him from me.” She poked a finger in my chest. “You took Rayden from me. He was mine first and you took him,” she hissed, her finger digging into my flesh exposed by the open buttons of my shit. “And nobody takes anything from me.”
I met Rayden’s stunned features over the top of her head. “Zena,” he rasped, choking on the word.
She looked at him, tears now rolling down her cheeks. “You know why I did it, Rayden, you were there,” she whispered. “He took what was mine, you were mine,” she repeated. “I saw it all—” her voice broke.
Once more, Rayden’s gaze locked with mine as her words slowly registered. I knew that look in his eyes. The one of utter destruction. I’d seen it before, and I’d attempted to get rid of it. Whether it had worked or not, I wasn’t sure, but I was certain the repercussions of then and now had just collided and I could only hope to bring him out of it again. if he’d let me.
Chapter 41
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NINE YEARS AGO...
Rayden (18yrs)
Pain built up in my throat as I tried to swallow. How could Lorenzo do that to me. How could he take Zena from me, how could he fuck her. I hated him. I hated her. They were fucking welcome to each other. Still sitting with my knees bent and my arms hugging them for the last fifteen minutes, I rubbed my nose against my shirt sleeve in attempt to stop the sniffles. Crying was for pussies. I sucker punched myself mentally. Not that it did anything.
I stared at the opposite wall, hating myself, hating Lorenzo, hating Zena, hating everything that had happened since I walked into a club I should’ve never gone to in the first place.
Then something clicked—Lorenzo’s words clicked. If I wanted something I should take it. I shouldn’t let people walk over me, was essentially his message when we’d talk.
I shot to my feet. Damned if I did. Damned if I didn’t. Armed with those words, I swiped the tears and walked out my room. Only when I reached the other door, with my hand raised to knock, did I falter. This wasn’t me. I didn’t take. I didn’t fight. I was raised differently. I had a father who taught me to respect.
Muffled sounds on the other side of the door, kicked my thoughts in the nuts. Fuck that. Without giving a shit. I grabbed the doorknob and pushed. The door swung inward with a soft bang. I wasn’t sure what I was expecting. A dungeon maybe and definitely not soft music. The room was huge, with a massive bed draped in black on the opposite end to where I stood, floor-to-ceiling windows but no Lorenzo.
I was about to turn away when he walked out of the bathroom, a towel tied low down on his waist, another in his hand drying his hair. He stopped short, hand frozen mid-air as we stared at each other. Without meaning to, my gaze traveled the length of his body and I internally cringed when I realized just how good-looking the man was. Women fell at his feet. Who was I kidding? I’d never be able to swing Zena’s attention my way after she’d just fucked him.
Without thinking my gaze lowered again, taking in the impressive bulge beneath the towel and I startled when my cock gave a twitch of appreciation. Fuck, that didn’t just happen. Maybe it was knowing he fucked Zena that made me horny, I debated. I didn’t realize I was staring until I lifted my eyes to find Lorenzo looking at me before his gaze drifted downward to my crotch. I prayed like fucking hell he couldn’t see my suddenly semi-hard cock through my black sweats. When our eyes met again, there was a change to his expression, almost inviting. Encouraging? I couldn’t tell.
Confused, I pivoted to leave and his words stopped my feet. “Are you a pussy, Rayden?”
Renewed anger swirled its way up my spine reinforced by the abrupt arousal I shouldn’t be sporting. Clenching my fists, I swung around sharply. “You know what, Lorenzo, fuck you,” I advanced on him, giving no thought to my actions, “and fuck your psychoanalysis fucking bullshit.” My first blow landed on his chest and the fucker didn’t even flinch. “She was mine...” Another hit. “Mine first...” Another. “You took her...” Another. “Fucked her...” Another. “I fucking hate you.” I was there, I was getting it, getting my fucking revenge and then, the fucking tears fell, and hate poured through my body. I balled my fists tighter, barreling his chest with the force that would knock a normal man off his feet. But not this man. Not Lorenzo fucking Rossi. He just stood there and took it. Took every one of my hits without flinching.
Blinded by tears, I wasn’t prepared when he grabbed my wrists and swung us around, pinning me to the wall with his large body and my wrists locked in his hand above my head. “Look at me, Rayden,” he demanded. Defiance in my eyes, I lifted my head yet internally cringed at the fucking tears that wouldn’t stop. I ground my teeth and my jaw hurt but still the tears wouldn’t stop. “Do you really hate me?”
“Fuck you,” I hissed out.
