CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

AVERY

WHEN TRISTAN AND I WALK back into my study, I grab the scotch and pour us each a glass. “So what’s up with you and Chloe?” I ask.

“Don’t,” he says in warning.

“Just curious.”

“Well, don’t be,” he snaps.

She means something to him. I saw it in the way he spoke to her on the phone. The way he smiled when he heard her voice. But he had said she went through something similar to what Bunny went through, and it makes my chest tighten. Is that why they aren’t more? ’Cause she can’t have more? Is that how Bunny will be now? Will she ever be able to forgive me? I know I’ll never be able to forgive myself for not getting to her sooner. For not seeing that Darrell was a fucking lying bastard who betrayed me and my men.

“Hello?”

We both look up to see Chloe entering the study. Her eyes go straight to mine, and I straighten my shoulders at the look of judgment in them. “How did it go?” I ask her.

“I’m not allowed to discuss—”

“I think this is a little different than your other cases,” my brother interrupts her.

“It is,” she agrees.

“Then why don’t you help him out?”

She narrows her eyes on him, and he takes a drink of his scotch, eyeing her back. I’ve seen my brother in action with women. I’ve walked in on him fucking one of his whores before. And believe me when I say they fall at his feet. They lick his fucking shoes. But this one—I have a feeling she does no such thing.

She turns her murderous glare on me. “Do I need to call the authorities?”

“What?” Tristan barks out.

“No!” I answer.

She places her hands on her narrow hips. “Is she being held here against her will?”

I don’t answer.

“Did she tell you that?” Tristan demands.

She turns to face him. “She didn’t have to. The way he just totally ignored my question answered it.”

He lets out a long breath, running his hand through his hair. “Things with Presleigh … are complicated.”

“No, it’s not,” she argues. “She is either here on her own free will or she is not.”

“She’s not,” I state.

“That’s what I thought.” She reaches into her back pocket and pulls out her cell. “I’m calling the police …”

Tristan yanks the phone out of her hand and growls. “I didn’t have you come here to save her.”

“Then why did you have me come here?” she snaps.

He takes a step back from her, shaking his head as if he refuses to answer that question.

“Look, I don’t know what you two are up to or what you’ve done to her, but that poor woman has been physically and mentally abused. She refuses to talk to me, and I think that is because she is terrified of you two.”

“We saved her,” Tristan informs her. But I don’t feel that way. If I hadn’t brought her here, then she would have never been taken from me. I’m at total fault.

She gives a rough laugh. “Who did you save her from, Tristan? Because I know when I was saved, I was grateful.”

They begin to argue, and I remove myself from the situation. I couldn’t care less at this point what they have to say.

PRESLEIGH

I step out of the shower and grab the towel to dry off with.

“We need to talk.”

Looking up, I see Avery standing in the bathroom, leaning against the countertop with his hands in the pockets of his slacks. It reminds me of a few weeks ago when I first saw him in here. So much has changed since then.

“I don’t want to talk,” I say flatly.

He sighs. “You should have spoken to Chloe.”

I narrow my eyes on him. “A heads-up would have been nice.”

“You need help—”

“Excuse me?” I snap, interrupting him.

“No one can go through what you did and be okay. I saw the look in your eyes. You were beaten down. And now that I know he hurt you eleven years ago …” His words cut off, and he looks away from me. As though it’s too painful to face me.

My anger rises. “I don’t need help!” I’m in denial. We both know it, but I refuse to admit it.

He removes his hands from his pockets and crosses his arms over his chest. A sign that he’s getting irritated as well. “What is so wrong with admitting that you need to talk to someone?”

“I don’t need someone asking me if I dressed too slutty. Or if I had led them on only to change my mind at the last minute,” I snap.

“Chloe said that to you?” he demands.

I shake my head. “Forget it, Avery.”

“I won’t forget it.” He sighs. “I can’t forget it.” He runs a hand through his hair. His eyes plead with mine. “Please help me understand what I can do for you, Bunny.”

Tears start to sting my eyes. “You can’t do anything for me,” I say, and my voice breaks.

“There has to be something,” he urges.

I bite my bottom lip and then let the towel drop to the floor. “You can fuck me.”

His eyes stray from my neck down to my ribs. They still show. I haven’t eaten much. The pain pills have taken away my appetite. His eyes go to the bandage around my upper thigh. “I can’t …” he says through clenched teeth.

“Is it because it was your dad was who raped me?” I ask, and he flinches.

“No.” He growls.

“Was it because …?”

“It’s because you’re not ready,” he interrupts me.

“Who are you to tell me what I feel?” I demand. “I’ve allowed you to control everything I do for three weeks now, but you’re not gonna tell me what I feel!” I shout.

“Oh, you’ve allowed me to have control?” he asks, arching a brow.

“Yes.”

He takes a step toward me. “I never gave you the chance, Bunny.”

My chest tightens because that is true. “You never gave me a chance at anything.”

“What does that mean?” he snaps.

“A chance to explain myself a long time ago.”

He uncrosses his arms and turns toward the door. “Forget it.”

“No!” I shout following him. “You wanna talk. Let’s talk.” I jump in front of him, blocking his way out of the bathroom. “After I was released from the hospital, after your father raped and beat me, I had one voicemail and it was from you.”

“I don’t need—”

“It was from you,” I shout, interrupting him, “telling me that it was over. That Mitch would treat me like the whore I am.” I shake my head as I look at him with disgust. “You never even asked.”

“Bunny …”

“You never fucking asked!” I scream so loud it hurts my own ears. “I knew you loved me. I knew there wasn’t anyone else, but you didn’t even bother to ask me what happened. If I was okay? How I could want to do that to our baby.” My voice breaks. “Do you know what that’s like?” I don’t allow him to answer. “No. You don’t.”

“Want me to say I’m sorry? ’Cause I am.”

“That’s not good enough!” I shout. “Where the hell were you, Avery? Where were you when I needed you?” Tears sting my eyes. “You said you loved me. You said you would always be there for me, but you weren’t.”

“You should have told me!” he shouts, getting angry.

“You wouldn’t have believed me.”

His eyes widen, and his lips part. “Of course, I would have.”

I snort. “Now, you’re just lying.”

He takes a step toward me, pressing his body into mine. “I would have believed you. Not one doubt. All you had to do was tell me.”

He makes it sound so simple. As if all I had to do was say hey, your father raped and beat me. I shake my head and wrap my arms around my chest. “I called you, Avery.” His hard eyes soften. “I didn’t know what I was going to say, but I called you. And you had already moved on. And changed your number.” He runs a hand through his hair. “I had to tell someone,” I say softly. “I went and saw a therapist after a year had passed. But I only went once. He asked me what I wore.” His nostrils flare. “He asked me if I led him on. And I started to think maybe I had.”

“It was never your fault, Bunny.” He growls.

“I let you touch me all over that house. We fucked in your pool. The couch. In the media room while we would watch movies. And he told me that he watched us.”

“That still doesn’t make it your fault,” he snaps. “This, right here, is why you still need help.”

“Quit acting like I’m fucking broken.”

He takes a step back from me. “You are,” he shouts. “It’s not hard to figure out that what my father did to you is the reason you drink like a fucking fish. Or why you spread your legs for any guy who looks your way.”

“Fuck you!” I scream.

“It’s true, and you know it,” he says coldly.

I slap him across the face so hard the sound bounces off the walls. When his eyes come back to mine, they don’t have the normal rage I see after putting my hands on him. Instead, they are soft. “Bunny, I just want to help you …”

“Quit calling me that! I’m no longer you’re Bunny, remember? I’m your slave,” I shout until my lungs hurt.

“You know that’s not true,” he says softly.

I slap him again.

“I know what you’re doing, but it’s not gonna work,” he says, shaking his head.

I slap him again. And then again. “Fucking hit me back,” I demand.

“No.”

Tears run down my face, and my body physically shakes with need. I fucking cut myself open and bled for him, and he’s giving me nothing in return.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he says, reaching out and wiping away the tears from my face. And it makes my knees shake with nervousness at the look in his eyes. He’s gone soft. He’ll never look at me the same. To him, I’m ruined. “I don’t want to be like them.”

A sob bubbles up, but I swallow it down.

“I love you, Bunny. I always have and always will. I can’t see you in pain anymore.” He leans in, gently kissing my forehead, and turns to walk out.