Sweetie, where are you!” Petra bellowed from downstairs. It was followed by the loud thudding sound of the front door shutting right after her all too familiar heavily accented voice.

“Fuck,” I impatiently muttered under my breath, irritated my plans for sleeping in late today were not happening. Not a fat chance.

“Riverrrr!”

Damn it. Why can’t people leave me the fuck alone?

“I’m heading to shower!” I hollered back, instantly leaping out of bed as I hastily scurried into the bathroom to shower.

The last thing I needed was to deal with her, but here she was, in my damn place, acting as if she owned it.

Barely awake, I stepped into the black marble shower and turned on the dials, setting the perfect ice-cold water temperature to jumpstart my haggard physique. The immediate shock my body experienced when the icy water hit my skin made me inwardly cringe before a satisfying grumble roared out of my chest.

I just got back last night, and I had planned today to be a lazy day, but after hearing Petra’s voice, I knew that would be impossible to achieve.

Never had I met a person who would “borrow” my keys and end up making themselves a copy so they could happily barge into my life uninvited at all hours of the day. Imagine my fucking horror when I found the model sleeping in my bed when I got back home one weekend.

There were persistent women, and then there were the likes of Petra.

Admittedly, she had disclosed her borderline personality since day one, so it shouldn’t have come as a shock. There was always a first for everything, I guess.

If I hadn’t been too stoned that night, I could’ve just kicked her out. Add the fact that I had actually been kind of lonely after a few weeks being on the road, so I guess I hadn’t minded as much. BUT that was four months ago. The cuteness didn’t have the same effect anymore. I needed my damn privacy, but I couldn’t tell her straight up because the woman had a bad habit of crying. Not the silent cries, either.

This chick would go all-out bawling as if one of her loved ones had just died. She would make these loud, hacking, howling cries. It was fucking embarrassing. It didn’t matter if it was in a public place; she’d make a scene just to prove a point. If I said no to anything she enthusiastically suggested, screeching waterworks would ensue. Missed out on her fashion show? Cue the fat tears. Late for her dinner party with friends? You guessed it—pain in the fucking ass! So, little ole insensitive prick like me couldn’t even demand space when I needed it without looking like a total jackass.

It wasn’t even about the sex anymore. Okay, sure, sex was good, I guess. I mean, if it wasn’t, I sure as hell wouldn’t be staying around. Sex was the only thing that made me feel human these days. But lately, I’d been feeling more than empty. As time went on, it was as if the emptiness rotted and transformed into something much more incapacitating—a great hole of barrenness, decaying me from inside out.

In these profound hopeless moments, even sex was useless to temporarily calm the chaos within me. Only music could silence the riot in my head. Through the beauty of sound, I could openly express my soul, letting the floodgates of misery run through me instead of letting it fester and stagnate. It was the only place I could find solace, hushing my poisoned mind, my damaged heart. It was a profound time to start thinking about new beats and writing lyrics. My fingertips craved to string new sound. Pen new songs. Music was the only way I could mute the voices in my head. But I couldn’t damn well tap into my creativity when Petra wouldn’t leave me alone.

Each day, I asked myself why I hadn’t moved on to the next … I supposed it was due to Petra’s warmth and easy personality (when she was in a good mood, which she was most of the time). Everything was surprisingly cool with her. She wasn’t the kind to demand commitment. I could date whomever I wanted, fuck whomever I desired, and she’d still be smiling the next day. So, it was kind of a win-win for me. What man wouldn’t love that arrangement? It was drama-free, my emotions were safe, and I didn’t have to deal with all the bullshit being in a monogamous relationship demanded. So, this was all good—well, except for the exaggerated crying. But then again, I needed all the distraction I could get … anything to lose myself in just so my mind didn’t wander back to Cara. And in some perverse way, waterworks was distraction enough.

Evil took embodiment in the form of this beautiful creature named Cara Quinn.

My Achilles heel.

My hamartia.

My kryptonite.

Yes, Cara Quinn was the conniving, back-stabbing, cheating ex-girlfriend of mine who constantly fucked with my mind. I despised her—no, I loathed every single fiber of her existence. She had made me into this feeble, spineless man, barely existing as I limped along in life.

I was wounded, scarred for life. She had played me for a fucking idiot. Oh, how I had fallen for the bait she cast. She was a damn good actress … and an even better liar at that.

There was no denying how I’d always been completely blinded wherever she was concerned. And I was paying the heavy price that came from wholeheartedly placing trust in someone unworthy of it.

But, in some way, I could comfort myself that karma finally caught on to her. Sure, it was fucking tragic how the asshole had fucking died, but I couldn’t honestly say I was sympathetic about it. I guess she and I were in the same boat, mourning someone we loved, someone who had died. Her Juan Torres died, and my love for her died the second I found out what she’d been up to.

Her betrayal didn’t only sting. It downright eviscerated me. It robbed me of so many things, but worst of all, it made me question my worth as a lover, as a man.

Her infidelity fucked me to hell so badly it deprived me of sleep for weeks. I had to cancel a show because I couldn’t fucking function after drowning myself in alcohol and drugs. Heck, if she had wanted him that much, so much that she couldn’t control herself any longer, she could’ve broken up with me. I wouldn’t have been all that welcoming about her breaking up with me, but at least she would’ve come clean of her intentions. Instead, she chose to betray me.

Spotting those little red fuckers marking her neck … God, that feeling was indescribable. It was such a dark, destructive feeling—an ugly all-consuming void seizing your body, your soul. The viciousness didn’t creep in. It was a dark, vacuous, eviscerating, agony, desperation, mind and soul-crippling sensation hitting me all at once. A tidal wave of catastrophic proportion. After growing up an orphan, I had imagined I was equipped with all the essential tools to cope with all levels of pain and rejection, but nothing—not a god damn thing—could ever have prepared me for this.

The all too consuming pain shut down something inside of me. Like a switch, it turned out the light in my soul, shrouding me in darkness. And without light to guide me, I was a lost man grappling for whatever I could hang on to in order to survive.

And survive, I did. But I’d never been the same since.

What pissed me off too was how I had actually begun to plan how to propose again, but this time, I wanted it to be perfect—with a proper engagement ring, violins, thousands of flowers, the whole shebang.

Thank fuck I hadn’t, because had I done so and she’d accepted my proposal, I’d have flown to Barcelona myself and wrung her pretty lying neck the moment the news had come out about her getting fucked in the bedroom in the middle of a damn party.

Fuck, what a cunning whore!

And to think I almost married her! If it wasn’t so tragic, I’d be laughing my ass off.

Damn him.

Damn her.

They both deserved their fates after the torture they’d brought me.

No man—no person—should feel so worthless, so unloved. To feel so devalued, so belittled as if our long history didn’t matter at all.

My pride, or whatever was left of it at that time, wouldn’t let Cara make a fool out of me twice. As a result, I had done what I did best—played the fuckboy they loved me to be.

She had never dared reach out after she’d returned my grandmother’s ring. I had been informed she saved my life during the accident. Upon learning the fact, I hadn’t even felt a damn thing. Not a pang, not even a faint twitch—nothing. I was dead inside. A decent person would’ve sent a thank you card with flowers, at least, but no, not with me. She should’ve done me a favor and let me burn along with the car. Guess her conscience wouldn’t let her kill two men whose only mistake in life was falling in love with her.

She had been the love of my life. I had no happy childhood memory that didn’t include her. She had been the reason behind the drive to succeed, to become a better man for her. A man worthy of her. Of her love. To be the deserving man she chose to share her life with and to feel honored that she was the woman I had chosen to bear my children and to the future I had been willing to work hard for.

I had loved her, with no rhyme or reason. I simply … just …

Like breathing, loving her had come naturally.

I had fallen, and I had fallen hard.

And for a time, Cara had completed me.

Like a man finding himself powerless in the middle of a sandstorm, memories fully engulfed me. In a dizzying, heart-stopping moment, I was brought back to that beautiful yet hellish space in time.

The past.

Hell.

Her.

Images of the promise tree annihilated my senses. The dead look she pinned me with—the unmistakable hatred in it—was indisputable. I was certain its existence was simply because I was alive, and her precious Juan was dead and buried six feet under.

How could she stab me in such a way? What had Juan Torres had that I didn’t? All I did was love her. She knew I lived and died for her. Wasn’t I enough?

I obviously wasn’t, because had I been enough, she wouldn’t have chosen him over me. However, she did try to convince me in Sweden … the tears, the promises, her words of love …

“Lying whore,” I gritted out as I ran a hand through my hair, savoring the bitterness on my tongue as I tasted the dripping water sluicing down my face.

When’s the last time I had a meal? The random question popped into my hazy brain. Rum and coke and coke sure as fuck didn’t count as a nutritious meal. It had been over twenty-four hours since my stomach had been fed. The party scene sure was fun, but food was scarcely noticed when one was surrounded by other things that whetted one’s other appetites.

I wasn’t one to appear to mope around and be depressed, and even though I was brilliant at hiding it, when I was alone, stripped of any pretenses, I was back to being the vulnerable moron again. I didn’t even want revenge; I just wanted her gone, out of my mind. Was that so much to ask for? I was almost certain in a year, Cara wouldn’t even cross my mind, or the very thought of her wouldn’t gut me as it did now. I hated being in this position—pitiful, helpless, and exposed.

Fuck her. Fuck ’em all.

My jaws locked as I silently repeated the words like a damn mantra before drastically shutting the shower off.

“Fuck you,” I grit out. My body slightly shook at the potency of the words.

It was what I deserved for being such a lovesick sucker who couldn’t let go of the one woman who’d left him without a word of goodbye. Too much ego, pride, and curiosity had gotten me to this broken place. Add the pathetic fact that I had a tough time controlling my dick where she was concerned, and it was a recipe for disaster. A beautiful disaster, but a disaster all the same.

Once a man submitted to being pussy-whipped, that was the inevitable outcome. Women lost respect once an alpha male like me gave in to their whims. The moment women got too comfortable in the relationship, they, in turn, become bored; their eyes start to wander; and it’s all downhill from there.

No faithful man should be treated so unfairly, but here I was, pondering the same problem every damn day.

When would this insanity end?

I’d done everything possible to numb the ache, to temporarily forget it all, but nothing worked. Each passing day, slipping the blasé mask on was getting harder and harder to do.

I winced at the pathetic sound of my thoughts. “Lock it down, you little bitch.” My jaw locked, disgusted by the pitiful excuse of a man I had become.

No woman will make a fool of me again, I silently vowed. She was the first and last one. Cara’s effect would last in me forever. A lifetime of regret. Of hatred. Of anguish.

Love had done this to me. An emotion so powerful, so profound, that it could be weaponized to be every man’s destruction.

I understood now why some men avoided marriage and long-term relationships. Somewhere along the way, long before they became these self-serving, egotistical jackasses, they fell in love. The only surefire method for men to preserve their existence was to avoid it at all costs. Moreover, I sure as hell didn’t have the capacity to nurture another person. I could barely do that for myself, so adding another into the equation would only mess with my barely hanging by a thread equilibrium.

As Arthur Miller once said, “Betrayal is the only truth that sticks.”

Damn right! So, with that in mind, definitely no more falling in love for me—end of story.

As long as there was breath in my body, I’d fight tooth and nail to vanquish Cara from my heart. The journey wasn’t going to be easy, but I would eventually get there even if it killed me.

Fat, heavy droplets of water hung onto my skin as I pushed the glass door open. The immediate gust of coldness from the air-conditioning directly hit me. My body felt its strong energy upon impact, zapping me to life, recharging my depleted batteries. It’s as if the man upstairs had just given me a good punch in the face, ordering me to keep moving forward, and it felt marvelous.

A dark, satisfying smile played about my lips as I deliberately avoided glancing at my reflection in the mirrored wall. For some Godforsaken reason, I couldn’t fucking look myself in the eye. There was too much going on in there. It was best to just ignore it, shrug it off, and keep on living as if nothing was bothering me, even though I was quietly battling a never-ending hollowness fixing itself into my system. It festered like an infected open wound, inflamed, as the continual pain lingered on, constantly mounting, exacerbated by each passing day.

Broken trust was the gift that kept on bleeding … a present I had to learn to accept some way, somehow.

I was lazily toweling my hair dry when I heard footsteps enter my domain. For a brief moment, I completely froze before realizing that it was Petra, not her. How the heck did I manage to forget Petra invited herself in? And why the fuck did I think it’d be Cara in the first place?

Diverting my eyes away from the bathroom door, I released a shaky breath, hopelessly trying to kick the painful pang heavily dwelling inside my chest.

Cara was the past. This was my present … as was the ever-loyal Petra.

Muffling a strangled groan, I muttered a curse for being a complete idiot. I was so caught up in my nostalgia that I had briefly forgotten my reality.

Get a grip, you idiot.

“Ah, you’re finally done!” Said the unwanted beaming guest. “I would’ve joined in, but I had to take an important call.” The stunning model sauntered into the bathroom as if she was strutting on a runway. From the determined steps, the unwavering stare to the sway of her hips, they were all done to tempt yours truly. Dressed in a short coral sundress, her toned stems were strategically showed off. She was beautiful, and she knew it. Petra certainly knew how to use her assets to acquire whatever it was she desired. And for the time being, what she desired the most was this nonchalant, ungrateful bastard.

My eyes were unreadable. The mask shifted into place, like it always did with anyone around me these days. There were a chosen few I let my guard down, and Petra wasn’t one of them.

I stared at her for a brief second before forcing a tight smile. “Petra, how many times do I have to tell you to wait for my call before showing up?” My direct question didn’t throw her off. In fact, her cat-like smile brightened some more.

The model pouted, stopping right before my stark-naked body. She stood mere inches away, undaunted. With her six-foot figure and three-inch stilettos, my six-four frame was almost level with hers.

“I know, I know the rules … but I’ve missed you.” Her greedy green eyes sparkled with unparalleled hunger as they scrutinized my muscular figure, all admiring, all-consuming. “And this, too …” her mouth slightly parted as her eyes devoured my half-mast cock.

Should I fuck her? The question spun in my mind as I hardened my stare, knowing all too well how this woman worked. “Cut the crap, Petra. We both know what you really came here for.”

My hostile greeting left her unperturbed.

Petra raised a perfectly shaped dark brow, eyeing me mischievously. “What did I really come here for, darling?”

“To keep tabs on the women I sleep with.” My harsh stance didn’t thaw, not just yet, anyway. I liked to see how far I could push her buttons, testing if her inability to rouse any anger was real or not. “Doesn’t it bother you that I get to have it all?” I edgily added, unblinking.

“I won’t mind as long as you don’t stop fucking me, River.”

“I see.” I nodded. “You’ll only start caring if I don’t screw your brains out, then. That’s good to know, Petra.” Something unreadable flashed within her jeweled gaze, a mixture of defiance and jealousy. The woman wasn’t unaffected, after all. The bravado was a ploy to get closer to me, to hook me further into her trap.

Coquettishly crossing her arms over her chest, Petra slanted her chin then boldly glared at me, leaving no doubt how infuriated she was. “I’ve been very patient with you. I’ve done everything you wanted just to make you happy. Do you have any idea how many dates I have to turn down just to please you?” she snapped. “You just don’t care, do you, River?”

There was something about the way she said it that made me take a step back and fully consider her. The time to press on this issue could wait. My intuition called for a truce. For some insane reason, seeing her riled up reaction pleased me a great deal. It stroked my ego—my damaged, beyond repair ego.

“What?” she continued. “You have nothing to say to me?”

Ignoring her need for validation, I purposely let my dick press against her thighs, letting the mushroom-head slowly graze her skin while my lips nipped at her neck then her delicate ear. “You complain too much. Let me fuck it out of you.”

“You think I’m that easy?” She tried to sound appalled, but the breathy, low-octave voice came out as an invitation to ravish her on the spot.

Here she was, making it her sole mission to fuck-up my day. The woman had to be put in her place, or she would think she could run circles around me. Women were cunning creatures. This one chose the wrong guy to fuck with.

“You are that easy,” I succinctly stated. Her foul attitude called for it. “Now be a good whore and spread that semi-tight cunt for me, Petra.”

Roughly parting her legs, my right-hand sought her pussy before tugging her thong to the side.

My, my, the insolent woman was wet … as expected.

Reaching out for the box of condoms in my drawer, I ripped the foil between my teeth before rolling it down my hard shaft. I didn’t waste time fingering her or any foreplay, for that matter. My dick entered her sopping cunt in one swift plunge. Her pussy readily took me as her hands gripped my shoulders, hanging on for dear life. My cock rapidly pistoned in and out of her, aiming for one thing and one thing only—my own pleasure.

That was right, she knew this was her punishment. This fuck was all for me, not her comfort or pleasure. Petra had learned how to take it without complaint.

Deep down, I suspected she loved being treated like a whore—like a piece of meat to be used and abused—since most men rolled out the red carpet for her. She had quickly learned I wasn’t like most men, and that got the stunning model hooked. She liked me dirty. She craved me nasty. And that served us both well.

Her willingness to cater to my animalistic needs made me drive into her harder, faster, chasing the mounting ecstasy that was a few pumps away.

Grappling her hips tighter, I shut my eyes as the blood heavily rushed forth, solely focused on that one final, solid thrust. The arrival of my release made her growl into her hair. Ropes of cream spewed out of my dick as I held her down until everything was drained out of my pipe.

My chest expanded as I huffed air, satisfied my carnal appetite had been taken care of. Onto the next matter at hand.

Withdrawing from her pussy, I gave her blushing, disheveled appearance a quick once-over. “Now that we’ve settled things, how about some grub?”