Deeper [The Underground 3] (Siren Publishing Allure) (15 page)

“Do I?” He didn’t have time for this shit.

The ice clinked together in her glass as she brought it up to her mouth. She didn’t speak for several long moments and he knew she was being trying to be dramatic, trying to make him wait it out in what she assumed was nervousness. She was fucking wrong because all it made him was pissed off. “I don’t want you seeing that girl anymore.” He stared at her with shock at first and then his anger built slowly inside of him.

“What the fuck?” He felt his face heat with his rage. This female thought she could come into his club and spout off orders to him?

She looked completely unfazed by his outburst. “Listen, I don’t know what you have going on with her and I don’t really care. What I do care about is you blowing me the fuck off after you’ve screwed me.” She uncrossed her legs and stood. “I landed you a lot of good deals, baby, and what do I have to show for it?” She moved around to the other side of his desk and leaned on the corner. He could smell her perfume, an obnoxious odor that had his nose crinkling in disgust. “If you don’t want her finding out about your past I suggest you think long and hard about me and you.” She licked her lips and gazed up and down his body. “I want you, Tate, for more than just a body to warm my bed. We would be so good together, baby.” Tate was so shocked at what she said, because no one that was smart threatened him, all he could do was stare at her. When he finally found his voice it was a sneer.

“Do you have any idea who you’re dealing with?” He pushed out of his chair and stepped back from her. He didn’t question how she knew about his past. Although he had made sure it had been buried, it wasn’t under lock and key and anyone willing to do a little digging would find out what they wanted. His hands were clenched at his sides and he took a deep breath. Her smile was slow and deliberate. She jutted her chest out and he didn’t stop the growl that left him. She thought she had won but it was clear she didn’t know him very well. Tate did not, under any circumstance, roll over for anyone, especially a woman he fucked a few times.

“I know who I’m dealing with, baby. I’m dealing with the man that I fucked good and hard just two weeks ago.” She moved closer and slid one red manicured nail along his arm. “You’re the man that can snap his fingers and people bow before you.” She took her hand away and stood, smoothing her hands down her dress. “And you’re the man that is going to make the right decision because I see the way you look at her, Tate.” Her lip curled in disgust. “Her pussy isn’t made out of gold so I’m sure she’s easy enough to forget about like the rest of them.” She walked toward the door and stopped when her fingers curled around the handle. Glancing over her shoulder she smiled brightly.

“Get. The. Fuck. Out.”

She pouted and thrust her chest out farther. “You know how to get ahold of me, but, Tate?” When he didn’t respond she said, “Don’t take too long, baby.” With that she left him there seething and needing a good stiff drink.

Stella sat in one of the overstuffed chairs in the living room with a dusty photo album in her lap. She had found the box it had been in hidden beneath the stairs. She hadn’t meant to snoop, but with nothing to do all day she was desperate for any kind of interaction, even if that interaction was with herself and an old book.

Miles had left for the night and she was alone in the big house by herself. Since the night of the cage fight when both of them had admitted a little about how they felt for each other, Tate had been so attentive. He called her several times and she couldn’t help but admit that she looked forward to talking to him. That had not been the case today. The day had passed with cold shoulders, distance, even withdrawal when it came to them having sex. Oh, Tate didn’t forget about the sex, but it was so clinical, so unemotional. It was such a stark contrast to the man who had opened up a small portion of himself to her. Even her attempts to call him had come up unsuccessful because all she got was his voice mail. She was too prideful to keep calling him, to try and show him that she did care about him, that their “arrangement” had helped her out in more ways than he could possibly understand. It may have started off tainted, but the longer she spent with him the more she realized he had given her a way out of her crummy life. He had helped her take a step back and really examine what she was doing. There were a lot of things she wanted to change, was going to change once this was all said and done. She didn’t want this to end with Tate, and she planned on telling him tonight.

She looked at the clock for the hundredth time and sighed. It was well past midnight but she couldn’t make herself go to bed, not until she knew Tate was okay and not until she talked to him. What she wanted to tell him had been an ache in her back all day and she just needed to get it out in the open. After she picked up her phone again, saw he hadn’t called and forced herself not to call him. She knew something was wrong. How could he go from calling her several times a day to not calling her at all? Why was he pulling away from her? Was he scared of what was growing between them? She admitted it was frightening because she had never felt emotions this strong for a man, but even though she knew Tate may not be the “good guy” in the traditional sense, she was different with him and wanted to see where it would go between them.

Turning her attention back to the photo album she ran her fingers over the frayed and discolored edges. She didn’t see any pictures of Tate as an adult, but she had a suspicion that the little boy and teenager with a mop full of dark hair was Tate. She flipped the page and saw an older woman with a teenaged Tate. The woman’s smile was big and she had both arms wrapped around him. He was smiling also and it was a genuine one. Running her finger over his face she wondered what happened to the happy kid in the picture. What made Tate the way he was? The sound of the front door opening had her setting the album down and standing. The sound of keys clanking in the kitchen had her feet moving in that direction.

Tate’s back was to her as he leaned against the counter. He straightened and swayed as if to try and keep his balance. Brows knitted she said, “Tate?” His shoulders stiffened when she called his name but he didn’t turn around or acknowledge her otherwise. Instead he walked over to the cupboard, grabbed a shot glass and a bottle of liquor out of the freezer, and poured himself a drink. It wasn’t hard to see that he was drunk, not with him swaying and having to grip the counter to steady himself.

“Tate? Are you okay?” She forced herself to go to him even though the idea that he would come home drunk was upsetting. She had seen her dad intoxicated so many times she should have been immune to it, and maybe she was when it came to her father, but it sickened her to see Tate this way.

“Will you please look at me?” Her voice shook and she didn’t even try to make it sound stronger. It was clear he had a rough day, but deep down she knew it was more than that. Had everything since spending time with him changed so drastically that he couldn’t even speak to her? “Please.” Why did she have to sound so desperate? Because she had fallen in love with him, that’s why. It hurt her so bad she couldn’t breathe. It was like a premonition of what was to come. Of course she had seen this coming but there had been a little part inside of her that hoped things would work out the way she imagined them in her mind.

He turned around after he threw back another shot. The first thing she noticed was his glassy eyes that were slightly bloodshot. He crossed his thick arms over his wide chest and stared at her.
Why isn’t he saying anything?

“What, Stella?” He cocked one of his eyebrows. He sounded bored, irritated with her.

“You’re drunk.”

“You’re perceptive.”

She gritted her teeth at his sarcasm but kept her mouth shut to keep herself from spouting off a smartass retort.

“Nothing to say, baby?” He lifted his hand and ran it across his mouth, but the movement caused him to sway once again.

“What’s wrong with you?”

He grinned, all straight white teeth. “I think it’s pretty fucking clear.” He leaned in and rested his forearms on the island in front of him. “I’m trashed, intoxicated, inebriated, loaded, lit, drunker than shit.”

She was gritting her teeth so hard she wouldn’t be surprised if she cracked a few. “I can see that, but why?” His condescending look made her chest hurt and once again, because she found herself doing it more and more in Tate’s presence, she rubbed the center of her chest. A frown marred his face as he watched her hand run circles over her heart. She dropped her hand and swallowed. “Why are you acting like this toward me? You didn’t call all day—”

“Why should I call, Stella? You aren’t my fucking girlfriend! I don’t need to check in with you.” His voice was starting to rise and she took a step back. “I’ll remind you that I am paying you an extravagant amount of money to spread your legs, not fucking hound me like a jealous female that
thinks
she has some kind of claim on me.”

A gasp left her and she covered her mouth with her hand as tears threatened to spill.
You need to remember who this is, Stella. He doesn’t care about you, never has. You were a damn fool to think differently.
“You’re absolutely right.” Dropping her hand she straightened her shoulders. She turned and made her way upstairs. She had nine, really eight more days left with him and then she wouldn’t have to see the bastard again. When she entered the bedroom she wished she didn’t have to share it with him, but she wasn’t about to bring up the fact she couldn’t stand him.

When the door hit the wall behind her she spun around. Tate stood in the doorway, the photo album in his hand and a look of rage on his face. “What the fuck, Stella?” He slammed the photo album on the table beside the door and a few of the pictures fluttered out. “You think you have any right to go through my shit, to look at my personal things?” He was yelling now and she felt her fear morph into anger.

“First of all, stop yelling at me!” He stalked closer to her and she stood her ground. The alcohol coming off of him was so potent she didn’t doubt that she could easily become drunk from the fumes alone. “You’re drunk, Tate, but that doesn’t give you the right to talk to me the way you are.” His nose flared and he closed his eyes for several seconds. When he opened them he inhaled deeply and ran both hands through his hair. A look of defeat crossed his face for a split second but then his anger returned.

“You know nothing about me, Stella. You don’t know what I’m capable of.” His voice had dropped to a deadly tone and she swallowed. He was trying to intimidate her and he was doing a damn good job of it.

Crossing her arms over her breasts she glared at him. “Get off your fucking high horse. I don’t need to know what you’re capable of to know you’re being an incredible ass.” His chest was rising and falling rapidly. “And
don’t
fucking threaten me, Tate.” She thrust a finger against the hard wall of his chest.

The corner of his mouth lifted. “I’m not threatening you, Stella. I’m telling you the cold, hard truth. If you knew the kind of man I was you would never have agreed to stay with me, never agreed to let me in your body.”

He was trying to shock her with his crass words but it wasn’t going to work. She was too angry. Like she had a fucking choice in the matter. It was either stay with him or lose everything. “You know why I agreed.” Why did her voice sound so dejected? It needed to be hard and as angry as his. She lifted her eyes from the floor and stared into his dark gaze. “Why can’t you trust me and let me in?” The tears that she had done so well keeping at bay now spilled down her cheeks.

“You want to know about me, Stella. The real me?” The way he said it was almost a warning. Stella licked her lips and nodded. The laugh that came from him was humorless. He turned and picked up one of the pictures that had fallen from the album. Holding it out in front of him Stella looked at the three people staring back at her. It was one she hadn’t seen, one of Tate in his late teens, the same woman she had seen in other photos, and a man that could only be Tate’s father because the resemblance was uncanny. It was obvious the woman was his mother. It was a family picture but Stella had no idea why he was showing it to her. The expressions of the people in the picture were anything but a happy family. The tension was clear.

“This is my mom, dad, and me when I was sixteen.” She did the math and realized the picture was eighteen years old. His voice had dropped as if he were in pain. “I killed my father. You’ve been letting a murderer fuck you.” She took an involuntary step back as his words hit her like a punch in the gut. He looked at her like he expected her to say something. “My father beat me and my mother on a nightly basis. He was good at making sure the bruises were hidden beneath our clothes.” He tossed the picture back on the ground. “I tried to fight back when I was younger but my father was a big man and he easily overpowered my mother and me. I started to fill out the older I became and he started leaving me alone a little more each day. I tried to watch over my mom but during the day I wasn’t home because I was in school. I was sick with worry every fucking day. I came home from school one day to find my mother dead on the kitchen floor. I could see the hand print around her neck where my father had choked the life out of her.”

The tears streamed down faster and harder and Stella didn’t bother trying to wipe them away. There was so much anguish in Tate’s voice that she wanted to go to him, wanted to comfort him but she knew it wouldn’t be welcome. In her mind she could picture him as a young man, seeing the horror of his mother gone. How in the hell could someone live through that?