Page 143 of Wicked Brutal

Ryan frowns. “Showing off how?”

“Because Victor kept laughing. Which Tremblay explicitly said he liked.”

“So Roman punished you because Tremblay liked your personality.”

“He said he gave me one job. Sit beside the man who waited patiently for me for five years and show him his patience hadn’t been wasted.”

Ryan’s expression goes cold again. “What did he say after?”

“He said I’ve developed more attitude in the last few weeks than I’ve shown him in eighteen years.”

Ryan’s thumb moves over my hand. “What else?”

“He said Victor found me amusing today and I was fortunate. He said men enjoy novelty.”

Ryan’s eyes narrow. “What the fuck does that mean?”

“That a little attitude is charming when a woman is young and pretty and a man is trying to win her affection.” Ryan looks physically disgusted. “He said charm has limits. That when I’m Victor’s wife, Victor isn’t going to want to negotiate every decision with me.”

“Meaning obey him.”

“Yeah.”

“And Roman was teaching you that lesson.”

“I guess.”

“While leaving fingerprints on your arm.”

I look down. “Yeah. He made me say I understood. And then he squeezed harder.” Ryan’s thumb stops. His eyes lift. “I told him it hurt. He said, ‘I know.’” Ryan’s face empties. “Then he squeezed harder.”

Silence. Not calm. Nothing about him is calm. His hand slips out of mine. He sits on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, staring at the floor. “Ryan.”

“Give me a second.” I stay quiet. His shoulders rise once. Fall. Again. Then he looks over at me. “He heard you tell him he was hurting you.”

“Yeah.”

“And intentionally hurt you more.”

“Yeah.”

Ryan looks away again. “I am trying very fucking hard to remember that the most important thing I can do for you right now is stay in this room.”

My hand finds his where it rests against my waist. I move it. Down. Over my stomach. Ryan looks at me. For a few seconds, I don’t say anything. Then: “How much time do you think we have?”

His expression changes. “I don’t know.”

“Two weeks?”

“Ally—“

“Two weeks.”

“I can’t promise that.”

“A month?”

His jaw tightens. “I don’t know.”