Brand Me (Imagine Ink Book 2) (11 page)

“You don’t. You let me walk out that door, and you go on and live the best life you can. And if, when, we meet in the future, or you hear my name, remember the look in my eyes when you sang to me, and the honesty we shared. That’s real, Michael, and please let it mean more to you than anything else that may be assigned to me in the future.”

He did jump up then, severed all contact with his anchor, wanting to drift up and away, not stay down here where his fantasy girl was rejecting him over something that made zero fucking sense. “What is that cryptic bullshit? Fuck, woman, I’m a big boy. I can take rejection, but don’t blow smoke up my ass and tell me it’s sunshine. I may be younger but I’ve got more experience than you can imagine sending people on their way, so speak plain and simple. I can take it.”

Yep, the asshole of the year award goes to Michael Brande.
He didn’t know why he went for the cheap dig, he just lashed out. When he saw her spine stiffen so rigid that she grew three inches, he throttled back. Now he was glad he did, he almost threw out that he’d dumped prettier than her, just for a reaction.

“It’s not like that, Michael, and I think, deep down, you know it. You’re in reactionary mode and I will not be baited into losing my temper and joining you in an unhealthy place. It’s best for both of us if I just leave. I would like to check on you tomorrow, if that’s okay?” Michael rubbed the bridge of his nose in attempt to regain his temper and to ease the fuzzy feeling and raging headache the medicine had left behind. When he looked up, she was headed toward the door.

Michael swiftly followed, spun her around and pinned her there against it—his stronger hand above her head. Involuntarily, his other was cradling her cheek, as best he could with a bandage, while he glued their bodies together in every other possible way.

“Tell me, damn it. Tell me you don’t want me and I’ll let you walk out that door, out of my life right fucking now, just tell me.” What started as a whisper quickly rose in volume. Yelling wasn’t his plan, but being this raw, he was doing it all the same. And finally, so was she.

“I can’t do that, Michael, you know I can’t. I already told you how badly I want you, but I can’t, we can’t.” She shouted right back in his face.

Voices and tempers continued to rise. “Why the fuck not? Is it your boyfriend? I thought that was over as soon as you got back to your cabin? I don’t see the fucking problem, unless you were lying, and it’s more serious between the two of you than you let on? Is that it, Tori? Just say the word, I have no desire to be the other man. I’ve been on that side before, and wouldn’t do that to another man, no matter how much of an asshole he is.”

The look that crossed her face was wholly unreadable. Michael tried to decipher it but couldn’t. So, he soldiered on. He needed to get her to drop her cool and collected demeanor and say whatever it was that was holding her back.

“So, is that it? Your boyfriend? Is that what has the restraints on you?”

“Yes, damn it. Yes.”

That did it. His tone went from high volume anger to low and menacing. He could hear it and wanted to pull back, but couldn’t. Not if she was like Tonya. No fucking way. Nothing was worse.

“So, it’s not over, you would cheat, Hell, you already have. Not in body, but in heart. The things you said. The…”

She interrupted him with explosive anger. “That’s fucking low and way off the mark. I am nothing like that you asshole.”

“Then what? What about your boyfriend is keeping you out of my bed them, hmm?”

“It’s Richard, okay. It’s your fucking asshole brother.” Tori shouted at top volume, then breathed, “Richard is my boyfriend.”

Everything, every fucking thing in the world stilled for Michael. Earth, planets…time. Sound didn’t exist, neither did sight. It was black and cold, like a fucking vacuum. Nothing existed, nothing but pervasive pain.

He was wrong, there was something worse than being like Tonya. His hand had stilled the moment he comprehended the words she spoke. Now, he jumped back, rubbing his hands on his jeans like they were coated in something vile that needed to be washed away immediately. The rubbing stung his injured hand like a bitch, he hissed and brought it to the other one to examine it, but not really.

All he saw was Richard’s hands all over this woman, a woman who almost had him believing in love at first sight.
How could she? How could she do that to him?
Give him so much hope, the promise of healing, and then fucking pull it away.

“You’re fucking kidding me, right. Tell me this is your idea of a fucked up joke.” Shit, Michael didn’t even recognize his own voice. It sounded threatening and filled with the pain of someone who just swallowed razor blades.

How could she? How could she fucking hurt me like that?

“No, Michael, it’s not a joke. I wish it was, but sadly it’s not. We’ve been together a couple of years now and…”

“STOP! Just fucking stop. I can’t take it. You know he’s married, right? You’re okay with that? Being one of his mistresses? I’d thought better of you.” Cruelty was his only point. He really didn’t want to be that kind of guy, but here he was, lobbing bombs hoping for a hit, and he got one.

“Stop, don’t be a fucking prick. I am not one of his mistresses.” She air quoted. “I found out about his wife months ago, but their marriage was over long before I met him. They just never divorced for the sake of the kids. He has his own place and…”

“What the hell?” Michael turned away from her to pace the small space. The burning pain in his hand was accompanied by a slow drip onto the bamboo flooring; he had white knuckled his fists so hard, he started bleeding again.

“I can’t decide if you’re ignorant or just delusional. He’s cheating on everyone, including you. And not just with his wife, oh no, that asshole has to spread that shit around. I’ve seen them you know. More than one has ended up at Planned Parenthood, and not just for abortions if you know what I mean.” He turned on her then, with righteous fury and another bomb to throw her direction.

“You should get tested for gonorrhea, or maybe it’s syphilis, I can’t remember, but he got if from some stripper about four months ago. I found out because my drummer got the call, they banged the same fucking stripper.” Just in case that wasn’t quite enough to hurt her, he added. “Thank God you turned me down, I would’ve had to take my own life if I got an STD from one of my brother’s whores.”

The reverberation from the fucking right hook she laid on him was deafening, or maybe that was the ringing in his head. Fuck, if this chick couldn’t give Rousey a run for her money. “You fucking prick. How dare you? You obviously wanted me pissed, so congratulations, the sandman granted you your fucking dream, asshole. First, don’t ever speak to me like that again. If you do, I will bury a knife in your gut then cry to the jury pretty enough to get off with time served. Secondly, I haven’t slept with Richard for over half a year because I knew this relationship was going nowhere. Thirdly, I’m not anyone’s whore, not your brother’s and
never
yours. Fourth, or whatever fucking number I’m on, his marriage has been over for years.” She started to storm out when she turned around to presumably, finish him off.

“And another thing. I could stoop to your level and be cruel because I didn’t get what I wanted, but I’m better than that, it’s not who I am, so I’ll leave you with this. Dr. Thomas Beckett, he’s a therapist that specializes in male sexual trauma out of Holmes County. Give him a call, he’s the best in his field, he takes volunteer cases, and I’ll make sure to leave your name with him as soon as I get home. He can make you feel whole again, Michael, and help you move past what you’ve suffered. That way, you won’t need to hurt someone else to make yourself feel better. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

No, no fucking way does she get to flounce out of here on the high ground after ripping my heart out.
She doesn’t get to be fucking nice and rob me of seeing her crumble.
Michael didn’t stop to analyze that fucked-up-six-ways-to-Sunday thought, or he might have realized what a fucking dick bag he really was. Instead, he grabbed her arm, halting her exit.

“You don’t get to just prance out of here and bury your head in the sand. I have no proof about the STD’s or the parade of young women he’s been keeping time with, but I do have something you need to see. If nothing else, it will make a point about his so-called ex-wife. Then you can gather your shit and run back to the cocksucker for all I care.”

Not giving her time to respond, Michael rushed to the coffee table for his laptop, towing her by the wrist—the same coffee table where she’d sat and tended his wound, where he’d glimpsed her fucking beautiful cunt. Now, where he would break her spirit. He opened up his laptop, cued a video, and turned it toward her. He rose to his full height and pointed, “Just push play. I dare you.”

Yep, he had pegged her correctly. She was not one to back down. She walked toward the screen with all the grace of a fucking duchess entering a ball. She sat primly where she had before and clicked the arrow.

Michael didn’t need to watch the video to know what she was seeing and when. He’d watched it at least one hundred times, debating if he should call Sandra, Richard’s wife, and tell her all his dirty secrets. Instead, he watched Tori, wanting to see his handiwork first hand.

The video opened with two people’s hands making a heart. As it panned out, the shadow of the heart was reflected onto the sugar sands of the Emerald Coast. As it continued to zoom out, the people attached to the hands would slowly enter the frame, sharing a kiss above the shadow on the beach and the hands.

Tori was almost smiling at first, the heart and the bodies coming into focus being intimate was a sight someone like her would adore. Ah, her face started to fall with comprehension and confusion as the kissing couple’s faces entered the frame fully and came into focus—Richard and a four and a half month pregnant Sandra.

The video continued its zoom out. The couple broke their kiss and moved their faces away from each other, revealing letters written in the sand, above their still-interlocked hands.

IT’S A BOY!

Horror, that’s what he saw on Tori’s stunning face, as the meaning of the words on the screen sunk in. Horror, hurt, and betrayal shimmered in her eyes. She raised them to Michael, and those feelings were directed right toward him. Not at Richard, but at him.

And that’s when Michael finally let the gravity of what he’d just done settle into his soul. He had wanted to hurt her, hadn’t he? Well, that was his goal anyway, but not like this, not really. He realized just how fucked up he was and how fucked up this whole situation was when he felt her pain.

When he thought of Richard touching her, making love to her, it triggered something in him. Something he didn’t know existed, something ugly and black. The minute he really understood she was truly done with Richard, and everything in her heart right here and now was for him, a piece of him that could have been salvaged by her died a horrible writhing death.

Richard hadn’t betrayed her—she was already on to him—Michael had. She pretty much knew what an asshole his brother was, and was dealing with it in her own way. Michael had wanted her to see a disgusting side of Richard, but all he’d exposed to her was a disgusting side of himself.

God fuck it all, he was going to burn in hell for breaking this beautiful strong woman. Richard had apparently tried to do that for years, yet he did it in hours. All Richard had managed to do was knock her down. She was resilient. Just in the short time he’d been blessed to know her, he could see her getting up and dusting herself off to rise from the ashes, like a beautiful, sexy phoenix, but he’d done it. He’d knocked her down and good.

Michael laughed inside at the cruel twist of fate that he’d finally beaten his brother at something, but it had to be this.
Well played God, well played.

“
T
ori
, I’m…fuck, I shouldn’t. I mean, shit. I didn’t mean…” Tori couldn’t listen to another freaking syllable out of his mouth. She rose from the coffee table at the same time she silenced him with a hand in the air.

“No, you don’t get to explain or apologize or whatever bullshit you’re going to shovel out by the truckloads. You did what you set out to do. Congratulations. You took a bad situation and made it ten fucking times worse. You hurt me just as you wanted to. I will say bravo, an Oscar worthy performance, you should be proud. I thought you were different, the type of man I could see myself falling in love with one day.”

Gathering her stuff from where she’d dropped it bought her a few seconds to also gather her wits. She couldn’t believe what she’d just revealed, and as much as she didn’t want to continue, she needed to. Things left unsaid would only fester and poison her, not him. She would lay it all out there and let him deal with the fall out because once she left this cabin, she would forget about Michael Brande and never look back or have the chance to say things.
Best get on with it then.

“You want to know something else, something really ironic. I felt an immediate and overwhelming connection to you the minute our eyes met in the plane. All I could think about was a way to find you, look you up after all this mess with Richard was concluded. The desire I felt for you was…oppressive for lack of a better explanation. Something I have never experienced before and most likely never will again. I guess I should thank you for that, a chance to feel something new. But the ironic part? The only reason I didn’t sleep with you and give in to that need to be close to you, was because I didn’t want to hurt
you
. A sentiment we obviously do not share.”