Page 150 of A Vicious Love

Marcel’s mouth twitched. I looked at the ceiling.

“Thank you, Emmie.”

She smiled, satisfied. “Good. And Jamison?”

“What?”

“Do not be cruel to her because you are scared.”

I held her gaze for a second, then nodded.

“I’ll try.”

“Try harder than that.” Her expression sharpened.

Christ. She was terrifying when she wanted to be.

“I will.”

That seemed to satisfy her. Marcel started to pull her back down the bed and rearranged the pillows. The man took way tok much fucking pride in her comfort, and now I was worried it was contagious.

“Call me before you make a stupid decision.” He called out after I walked out.

“I make those constantly. You’ll need a schedule.”

“I’ll clear my morning.”

I smirked, and kept walking. I, Jamison Crow the least safe thing in Harlan wanted to be safe for Sienna. I had no fucking idea how I would do it. But I would try. Repeatedly.

First I would end this review. My ego caused the situation. So, I deserved a level of consequences. I just refused for it to be a life time without Sienna. Instead, earning her trust after three years of pure cruelty seemed fitting.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

JAMISON

Ihad a medical problem. Some severed connection between my brain and my tongue that only activated when Sienna Bellemere stood in front of me with those hurt eyes and that mouth I had ruined by making her smile through too many things it should have been allowed to hate.

Because I knew what to say when she was not there. That was the sick joke.

Alone, I could build whole conversations in my head. I could tell her I had behaved like a bastard without justifying every injury with business, pressure, Damius, Harlan, or the hundred other things I used as armor because the alternative was admitting I had hurt her while she was only trying to love me.

Alone, I knew how to be decent.

Then she appeared, and my mouth turned into a weapon with no handler.

So now I was in my private casino office, sitting behind a black marble desk, trying to send a message to Sienna Bellemere like the fate of Harlan depended on it.

The city was fucked if it had.

My phone sat in front of me. Sienna’s name at the top. I had typed and deleted seventeen messages.

Sienna.

Deleted.

Are you home?

Deleted.