My head spun.

Was this a joke? I mean, I knew it wasn’t, but the Russian mob? Really?

It was like something straight out of Hollywood.

Heart racing, I pushed against Hendrix’s shoulders. “Move.” He didn’t budge. Shaking my head, I closed my eyes. “You’ve gotta move, Hendrix,” my stomach churned, “I’m gonna be sick!”

He sat up, giving me enough room to slide out from under him.

The moment my feet touched the carpeted floor, I took off running for the hall bathroom. Slamming the door against the wall as I crossed over the threshold, I dropped to my knees in a bone-jarring thud in front of the toilet. My stomach convulsed and the small amount of food I’d eaten spewed out of my mouth in a rush of acidic vomit.

Hendrix cursed as he moved into the small room. I heard him turn on the sink faucet, but I had no idea what he was doing. Didn’t care either. I was too busy focusing on not losing my dang mind to worry about anything else.

Gambling… Russians… Mafia… Fighting… Prostitution…

I felt like I was stuck in a perpetual nightmare that I couldn't wake up from. I'd—we'd—been ripped apart, endured hell and lost so much time and it was all because of other people's actions. I know life isn't fair, but this was ridiculous.

Finally, after what felt like forever, the heaves stopped, and my gut calmed.

Hendrix flushed the toilet as I sat back on my butt and stared at the far wall. I was angry. Angry at Pop. Angry at Petrov. Angry at Hendrix. I didn’t understand how this could happen to us—why us of all people? —but most of all I didn’t understand why Hendrix thought dumping me was the answer.

Because it wasn’t.

Wrapping my arms around my belly, I looked up at him. “How stupid could you have been?” Given Hendrix’s past with Pop, I shouldn’t have called him stupid. I know that. But I was so worn out and on the verge of losing my mind that I didn’t stop to think before opening my mouth.

He flinched before looking down at me in confusion. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

My legs shook, and I wobbled in place as I pushed myself to stand. “What you did, the solution you came up with, it was complete bullshit, Hendrix.” He furrowed his brow and looked at me like I was crazy. Irritated beyond belief, I glared at him. “I understand why you needed to leave, I do. I even understand why you couldn’t go to the cops. And, why you couldn’t ask anyone for help,” I pressed my finger into his left pec hard enough to leave a bruise, “but you could have told someone.”

His eyes hardened, and he sneered down at me. “Yeah? And who the fuck would I have told? Since you seem to have all the answers, tell me.”

This asshole! Straightening my spine, I stood tall and hollered, well, more like croaked, “You could have told me!" His entire body stilled, but I kept going. "You could have told me what was going on! I could have helped you stage a break-up between us. I would have known what was going on and it wouldn't have hurt so bad. Then I wouldn't have lost—” Crap. Don't think about that now! My bottom lip quivered, and my stomach churned once again. Push the memories back. Deal with them later. “But no, you did what you thought was best without once considering my goddamn feelings!”

Pushing past him, I stormed out of the bathroom.

I was done.

So friggin’ done.

Stomping back into his bedroom, I grabbed my shirt from the bottom of the bed and slipped it over my head. I didn't even bother with a bra. It didn't matter if I wore one or not, Shelby—who I was seconds away from calling to come pick me up—had seen me without one before.

Living in a tiny apartment above the shelter hadn’t afforded me a lot of privacy over the last couple of years. I can’t tell you how many times Shelby, Hope or one of the other girls had barged in without knocking. Swear to God, everyone—including Evan—had seen my naked boobs at one point or another.

Hendrix stomped up behind me. Reaching his arm around me, he clutched the front of my shorts with his right hand, and in one quick move, spun me around to face him.

Pain sliced through my head as my skull whipped to the side.

Dropping my phone—that I’d only just pulled out of my back pocket—I clutched both sides of my head with my hands. “Oh, my God,” I cried, as I waited for the pain to recede.

One second.

Two seconds.

Three seconds.

“Fucking Christ!” Hendrix scooped me up into his arms and laid me back down on the bed for the second time in the last twenty minutes. “Didn’t I tell you you'd hurt yourself? And look at what you’ve done,” he hissed.

You were the one who spun me around, asshole, I mentally retorted.

When the blinding pain had transformed into a dull throb, I let him have it. “Look at what I’ve done?” I laughed—loud and maniacal. “Look at what you’ve done!” Climbing over me, he pinned my arms to the bed. I gritted my teeth in frustration. Here we go again. “You’re the jackass who went about things the wrong way! You’re the one who didn’t stop to think about what he was doing! You’re the clueless bastard who broke my heart, setting off a chain of events that I still haven’t recovered from! That I’ll never recover from!”

Dipping his face towards mine, he snarled through gritted teeth, “I was only trying to protect you.” 

Deep down I knew that, but the crushing pain and red-hot anger running through me overshadowed any rational thoughts I may have had. "Well congratulations, Hendrix! I wasn't kidnapped by the Russian mob and sold into prostitution, so your plan worked." Pulling my legs up, I kneed his thighs to make him release me. He did, and I moved.  Once off the bed, I whirled around to face him.

“Maddie—”

I threw my hand up, cutting him off. “Don’t you friggin’ Maddie me!” I pointed at him. “You did this. You caused this.” Placing my hands on the side of the bed, I leaned towards him. “You may have protected my body, Hendrix, but you destroyed my goddamn heart.”

With that, I turned around and walked away.

I’d made it all the way down the hall before I realized I was crying.

How long the tears had been falling, I didn’t know.