“I’m not afraid to die,” I lied.
“Maybe not. But you’re afraid of what will happen to your son if you die. Your mother is dead. Your father is locked up. Your only known family wants nothing to do with you….” He paused, waiting for me to react. After my aunt and uncle had refused to help me for the sake of my son, they became nothing to me just as I had always been to them. “I think you’ll cooperate,” he finished when I didn’t react.
“I hate you.” The declaration seemed childish in the face of evil. Angel had been guarded when we were kids, but this was more. Something had cut out his heart and locked away his soul just to take over his body.
“As opposed to what? Loving me?”
The thought of loving someone as cold and cruel as he was made me wish I’d puke on his expensive shoes, so I chose not to respond.
We both knew the truth. It first happened when I was twelve. He’d been eighteen at the time. It was impossible for either of us not to see. Since then it was promised that he’d do whatever it took to push me away and make sure it stayed buried.
But it never did.
Our years together had been ritualized. Some days, he’d treat me as if I were an infestation he couldn’t get rid of. He would barely muster the kindness to extend a hello or at the very least respond to one. He’d go out of his way to avoid me even though we both knew it would never do any good. Other days, when tip-toeing around each other hurt too much, he’d let me in. This was usually during the summers when we were stuck alone together all day for two months. He’d teach me how much fun trouble could be. Sometimes, I even pretended to like those movies filled with testosterone and bullets so he’d let me be alone with him in a dark room.
And then it always happened.
I’d get too close, and he’d pull away.
“You could make this all go away.” The cold calculation in his tone scared away our memories.
“How?”
“Give me back my property.”
“I can’t do that.”
His jaw tightened. “And why is that?”
I was tempted to gulp like some cheesy cartoon. “Because I sold it.”
*
His fingers pinched my skin as he dragged me deeper inside. I wrestled to get away, but it did no good as he manhandled me upstairs. He didn’t stop until we were in front of his father’s office. Flinging open the door, he pulled me inside an empty room and used his free hand to slam the door shut. But even trapped, his hand clutching my arm failed to let go.
“Explain.”
“I think I was pretty clear.”
His hand tightened, causing me to wince. I could tell by the muscles working his jaw that he was grinding his teeth. “Who was the buyer?”
“So you can steal his family and threaten him, too? No chance.”
Surprisingly, he let me go and stalked across the room. When he rounded the desk, he planted himself behind it and glared. “I’m just going to jump right in and remind you that I have your son and now I have you,” he boasted. “I’m willing to use your son to get what belongs to me. How hard I push depends on you. If you want to continue this game, know that I don’t intend to play fair.”
I pretended to think it over first. “Nice speech, but you forget I know you and I’m not afraid of you.”
He tipped his lips, smiling lazy, and said, “You still thinking that?”
“It’s not something I doubt.”
“Your mouth hasn’t changed.”
“So your pretty pink lips say.”
His frown deepened. “Come again?”
Shit.
I didn’t mean to repeat his words from years ago, but the heated whisper in which he spoke them were engraved in my memory.
“Nothing. Uh… It’s nothing.”
His stare grew more intense by the second and then suddenly he was a blank canvas again. “Who was your buyer? Don’t make me ask again.”
“There’s nothing you can do that will make me give up an innocent man.”
“Innocent?” His eyes blackened and narrowed as he stood up and planted his fist on the desk. “You think he’s innocent? What do you think he plans to do with it?”
The door bursting open interrupted my chance to answer. The two heartthrobs from the other night sauntered in.
Man Bun spotted me first. “Hey, you made it!” His grin was bright and honest as if he believed I accepted an invitation to a dinner party instead of rescuing my son. Under normal circumstances, I would have admired the two dimples residing in his perfect cheeks. His bone structure made me itch to sketch him.
The broody one acknowledged me with a head nod and a passing glance. His chosen trick of distraction was his open shirt displaying his bare chest. He wore dress pants, thank fuck. I might have had a stroke if they had been missing, too.
I had literally been handed every woman’s wet dream on a silver platter. I was alone in a room with three of the world’s finest specimen of men, and I wasn’t even enjoying it.