Billionaire Brothers 2 : Love Has A Name (60 page)

I exhaled a heavy breath. That was something I couldn’t do, submit. Vince Blacksille along with Seleste D’costa-Blacksille’s blood was what streamed in my veins. Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t submit, because it wasn’t in my blood.

“What the hell are you two whispering about so long?”

Trevillo’s arm fell from around me as he grasped the door handle and opened the door. He turned around to address his brother. “Don’t hurt her again, Love. Or I swear I’ll —”

“Burn my house down?”

Trevillo twisted his lips as he tried to fight a laugh, knowing all too well that’s what he was about to say, and then he laughed out. “I’m serious, Love.”

The tension was gone from Lovello’s voice when he spoke. “Brother, seriously, I think you hang out with Natalio way too much. Too many violent thoughts.”

“Says the man who was about to have a famous athlete’s arms and legs amputated? Who’s more violent-minded, Bible Boy?”

“Bible Boy?!” Lovello roared in laughter. “Now I think you’ve been hanging out with
Axia
way too much!”

They were both cracking up with laughter and it was so infectious I couldn’t help grinning, too.

They said their goodbyes in a more amicable manner, and I was glad they’d finally made up. They’d been in malice for too long. All because of me.

Long after Trevillo had left and closed the door behind him, I stood staring at it. Too nervous to turn around and walk past Lovello back up to my room. And he wasn’t moving, he was still leaning against the wall at the end of the stairs. I could feel his eyes burning holes into my back.

Taking a deep breath, I turned around and was sure to avoid his eyes as I walked by him and started up the stairs. Three steps up, and then I felt his fingers wrap around my wrist, stopping me. I looked back at him and was sorry I did. He was
so
damn beautiful. It was a rare beauty that one could never be immune to. His night-dark eyelashes were unnaturally long and slightly curled at the ends. His peach-colored lips were just
right there
, parted, and I wanted so badly to kiss them.

He didn’t say anything as I waited on his reason for stopping me. He merely gazed up at me with eyes that revealed nothing. His thumb made small circles on my wrist as his eyes drifted over my face, then down my body. They stopped on my stomach area, and I heard him sigh, his eyes softening.

Then, on a heavy breath, he dropped my hand as if it scorched him, and walked away from me. Drowning in confusion, I watched him as he took long strides in the direction of his study without a backward glance.

For the first time in a long while, falling asleep was an unachievable task. I tossed and turned, puffed the pillows, watched television, listened to music, and sleep remained elusive. I was miserable. Unhappy. Unloved. Desperate.

Trevillo’s suggestion that I submit to Lovello kept running laps through my head. But why should
I
assume that position? Lovello wasn’t all that innocent. He’d slept with dozens of women immediately after our break-up. I’d slept with no one. I hadn’t any inclination to do so either, because I was far too strung-up on him. Why couldn’t we just cancel things out with each of our wrongs and start over? Why did anyone have to submit? Why did anyone have to seek revenge on the other? Why couldn’t he just forgive me?

With a frustrated grunt, I flipped over on my side again and glanced at the clock. It was almost ten. As Heather Headley’s soulful voice filled the room with her amazing
He Is
, my frustration began to subdue, but not enough for me to fall asleep. Growing thirsty, I clambered out of bed and slipped on my bed slippers, then headed down to the kitchen to grab a drink. The coldness of the house bit into my skin as I exited the room, reminding me that I hadn’t donned my robe. I continued anyway, knowing the house would be asleep by now.

After downing a large glass of orange juice in the kitchen, I turned to head back upstairs but then I heard soft music flowing from down the hall where Lovello’s study was. Maybe he was up working late. On their own, my feet jaunted in that direction. I wanted to see him.
Really
wanted to see him. I didn’t know what I would say to him, but I just wanted to see his face before I went to bed. As I got closer, I identified the song as Deitrick Haddon’s
I Need Your Help
. Shaking my head, I thought about how contradictory the man was. One minute he was “chucking up the deuces”, and the next minute it’s gospel?

The study door was left ajar, and I stood outside with my back against the wall, wondering if I should go in or not. I’d grown as spineless as a jellyfish since of late. It’s as if I’d already submitted and didn’t even realize it. I hadn’t been pugnacious or rebellious towards his treatment, and had allowed him to do whatever he thought he needed to do for vengeance. And that wasn’t me. The
me
that everyone knew.

So had I not already ceded all my power to him? Wasn’t he already
‘ruling over me’
? He had me locked up in his house, for Christ’s sake. What the hell more did he want from me? The masochistic part was, as much as he was hurting me, as much as I was pained, with all he was doing to spite me, and as exhausted as I was, I didn’t desire to be anywhere else. That’s the prime reason why I wasn’t fighting back. That’s why I’d traded in the bitchy Axia for some doormat girl I didn’t recognize. Any way I could have him, I wanted him. As long as I was with him.

He said he loved me, and I believed him. And I needed nothing more than that confession to stay. Stay throughout his abrasive treatment. Stay throughout his torture. I just wanted to stay. I wanted to be nowhere else, with no one else. Because I was madly, crazily, insanely in love with Lovello Nelson. And I
wanted
to be in love with him. Always.

After about five minutes of deliberating, I decided against going inside and turned to go back down the hall. Then the music stopped, and I heard Lovello’s voice call out, “What do you want, Axia?”

How did he know I was … Were there cameras in the house? As I swiveled my head from side to side, searching for hidden cameras, I heard him say, “Yes, there are cameras in the house.”

Well that’s something I was ignorant of. Were there cameras in the bedroom, too? Did he watch me daily? Dios, talk about being imprisoned and under surveillance.

I turned back and pushed open the door to his study, leaning my shoulder against the door frame. “Hi.”

Lovello was sitting bare-chested around his desk, his attention focused on his computer instead of me. This was the first time I’d ever been in his study. It was unnecessarily huge, painted a hunter-green and was decorated with dark-wood furniture and classic leather chairs. A portion of the wall on the right was covered in monitors that showed every crevice and corner of the house. Christ. He sure as hell was keeping a close eye on me.

“What is it?”

Ignoring his lackluster tone, I said, “You’re so hypocritical … and lukewarm. One minute you’re telling me ‘deuces’, arranging to have people’s limbs chopped off, and the next minute you’re meditating on gospel?”

His eyes left the computer monitor and found mine. Though the lighting in the room was dim, I knew those eyes were glowering. “What I have with my God is not a religion, Axia. It’s a
relationship
. I’m not perfect and he knows it. He loves me and I love him. Sometimes I do things that piss him off, and he punishes me how he sees fit — majority of the time he just loves me anyway. I don’t live for people, because people can’t bless me, heal me, or give me shit. All they can do is talk. That’s all humans have at the end of the day: words. God’s the one with the power. So he’s the one I commune with. To hell with you and anyone else who thinks I’m lukewarm. God caters for the broken, not the perfect.”

Me and my damn big mouth. I was only messing with him, but the guy seemed to find me so despicable that he had to blow something this simple out of proportion. There was nothing left for me to say to him without getting some acidic response, so I just told him the real truth. Told him what he wanted to know. I was submitting … “I’m hurt. I’m pained.”

Lovello stared back at me standing bare and vulnerable in his doorway. Nothing came from his lips for a count of sixty seconds. “How bad?”

“Bad enough to make me hate me … Bad enough to make me hate you.”

His shoulders lifted in a careless shrug that belied the heat in his eyes. “You never did love me anyway, so…”

Was he serious? I pushed away from the door frame and walked further into the room. “You don’t truly believe that, do you?”

“If you were in love with me, you would’ve
asked
me if I cheated. Confront me. Confront Nicole. Demand to know the truth. Scream. Shout. Fight me. But you did none of those things, because you were always waiting for me to screw up so you could run right back to your ex.
He’s
the one you loved. Not me. You made that loud and clear earlier tonight, didn’t you? You begged for him. So don’t play the ‘I love you’ crap with me.”

“You’re
such
an asshole! Fuck!” I exclaimed in disbelief. “How did I not see you for the major
dick
that you are before now? How had I overlooked it? How did I ever allow myself to fall in love with a fuck-faced asswipe like you?!”

“Axia, please —”

“I love you this much!!” I cried out, ripping my lingerie open and revealing my tattoo. “This fuckin’ much, assfuck! How
insane
I am!”

Lovello sat up and leaned in closer, his eyes squinting. Then he reached for the switch of his table lamp which instantly filled the room with a bright yellow glow. Roiling with anger, I stood glaring at him as he got up from behind his desk and rounded to the front and sat on the edge. With his eyes still on my tattoo, he quietly whispered, “Come here.”

The real me didn’t want to go anywhere. The real me wanted to curse him, cut him, kill him. But the new me willingly went ahead without a moment’s hesitation. The new me wanted nothing more than to be close to him. The new me had wholly and completely submitted. I stood before him, raw, open, passive, my hands dangling at my sides. My lingerie hung ripped and limp on my shoulders and my nipples hardened as the cool air whispered across them.

Lovello hooked one finger in the front of my lace underwear and pulled me closer to him, his gaze transfixed on the tattoo. Lifting a hand, he gently trailed his fingers over the indelible letters of his name. His eyes swam with wonder … and love.

Love had a name, and it was his.

“When … when did you do this?”

“Three weeks after our … break-up.”

“But
why
?” His voice was lower than a whisper.

Wasn’t it obvious? “I just told you: because I
love
you. I know, we were no longer together and I accepted that fact. But I wanted to keep you with me somehow. Knowing I’d never love anyone else as much as I love you. So I branded your name into me. Like slave owners branded their slaves. And those slaves, even long after they’ve been emancipated, were always reminded by that mark that they were once owned by someone. I wanted you to be permanent. I wanted to be reminded by this mark, for the rest of my life, that I was once owned by you … am still owned by you. Until my body rots to dust, these four letters will prove that I’m
forever
yours.”

Lovello was lost for words. He looked torn, hurt, contrite.
What
now? “I didn’t…” He trailed off and ran a hand over his face. “I didn’t know. You had it all this time? I’m-I’m confused.” Bringing his hands to my shoulders, he pushed me back a few inches away from him. “If you loved me all this time as you say, enough to brand yourself with my name, then why,
why
would you try to get rid of my child? This is what I’ve been trying to figure out. Wouldn’t a child be just as permanent? More real? Wouldn’t having my baby be the best way to always have me in your life? Why would you try to abort it — me — then?”