Grievous (Wanted Men Book 5) (31 page)

She placed her hand over her heart as cracks formed and it started to bleed. “No, Lucian. Oh, God…don’t…”

One of the women moaned, and the distinctive sound of bed springs squeaked.

♦ ♦ ♦

Lucian sat in a chair he would hate to see go, but triggers were triggers, he thought as he sipped his drink.

“Harder! Please! Oh, God, yes! Fuck meee! Give me that cock! Harder!”

His lip curled at the vulgar plea for another orgasm. He didn’t look at the display of sex but kept his gaze on his phone screen.

She was up again. Pacing in the far corner of the bathroom. She still wore the black dress, and it was easy to see the tension keeping her spine in that straight line. The disjointed agitation in her every step. The stress around her mouth and eyes. Yes. She was almost ready.

“Use my name,” he said quietly.

“Oh, my God, Lucian! I’m coming! Oh, yes!”

On the screen, Yasmeen’s head whipped toward the door at the sound of the girl’s orgasmic cries. He watched disbelief then denial then acceptance cloak her features. When she slid to the floor where she stood and dropped her face into her hands, it was to hide a helplessness that let him know he’d punished her enough.

“Finish up. Sorin will pay you on your way out.” He left the heavily panting trio and went next door.

♦ ♦ ♦

Just when she thought she could take no more, the sound of that woman’s shout reverberated in her head once more. Yasmeen’s stomach lurched sickeningly around the betrayal carving her chest out. The pain was spectacular.

“How have you let this happen?” she whispered, never more disappointed in herself.

Her feelings were resolutely engaged. There was no question. After all her bullshit talk of fucking him until he felt better able to cope with his loss. The shit about going home and moving on. She was a pathetic, weak, lying, masochistic disappointment. She’d let it happen. The man bent on tormenting her had wormed his way into her breaking heart. She didn’t love him; she couldn’t. What kind of pitiful creature would she have to be to give this feeling that special label? This wasn’t the beautiful light that glowed in Miranda’s eyes whenever she looked at Eric. That was love. This? This was a gnarled and twisted Stockholm Syndrome meets a boil-the-bunny obsession. It was warped and wrong, and so powerful she didn’t know how to stop feeling what she was feeling.

But it wasn’t love.

The throbbing behind her sternum flared. She laid her head on the chair seat next to her and stared straight ahead, listening to the low murmurs she could still hear even though she was as far away from that connecting door she’d found behind a hanging tapestry as she could get. As her glands watered anew, she felt another small part of her die. She kept her gaze locked on the base of the toilet. The pain had to ebb soon. It had to. They’d been at it for hours. And she’d had to listen to every minute of it. She could no longer get through the wailing in her head to even ask God to help her through this.

She stared longer, her breaths shallow, and wasn’t aware she was no longer alone until he squatted in front of her.

“Is my naughty pet ready to tell her owner how sorry she is for disrespecting their relationship.”

A fresh wash of agony had a whimper trying to squeeze through her constricted throat. She was only now realizing why men like him considered disloyal behavior so deplorable. It wasn’t only about their secrets being leaked or a business deal tanking because someone had loose lips. They detested unfaithful people because of the pain their actions produced.

“Nothing, hmm?” He straightened and walked out, shutting the bedroom door with a snap.

Yasmeen remained where she was, unmoving, but a pressure began to build inside her as she strained to hear the pleased sound the women would make at seeing Lucian reappear. Her stomach started to ache at how tight her muscle grew. Had one of them pleasured him on her knees, worshiping him the way Yasmeen had done before everything had gone so wrong?

She started almost violently when his legs came into view and he came down next to her again. He hadn’t even left. He was toying with her. Playing this cruel, brutal game where she still wasn’t clear on the rules.

“You will apologize for removing my gift. Or I will make you watch.”

Watch him have sex with someone else. Just when she thought it couldn’t get any worse; he introduced Lucian Fane’s brand of worse.

With his scent surrounding her, bringing peace and chaos with it, another part of her died. “I hate you.” She whispered the lie without taking her eyes from the toilet base. “I hate you to the point where I will vomit if you touch me again.”

“Then get ready to be sick because I have missed you.”

She was scooped from the floor and lifted into his arms as he stood. Her blurring gaze landed on his mouth, and all she could see was him using it on another woman—was that how he’d made her come? By eating her pussy? Or had he been fucking her?

The pain she just couldn’t contain anymore came out on a strangled cry. She arched and jerked until he all but dropped her. Barely waiting until she was upright, she ran for the door. She had to get away from him. Away from here. She fell on the handle and wrenched with all her might.

Locked.

“No!” she wailed as she jerked on it. “Please! Open!” Her shoulder nearly dislocated on her next try.

Her hands were pried off the handle and her world spun when Lucian threw her over his shoulder, saying something she didn’t hear. He clamped a strong arm on her legs but couldn’t stop her flailing fists from landing a few hard shots before he flipped her onto her back on the bed. She screamed when she saw him coming down on top of her.

“No! No more! You will not do this to me!” She tried to claw her way to the edge of the mattress, but he snaked an arm around her waist and yanked her back.

“Stop this, Yasmeen.” He threw his leg over her hips and pinned her hands on either side of her head. “Calm down and hear what I am telling you.”

She shoved her head back into the pillows and arched her back, trying to dislodge him. She twisted and writhed, and all the while she screamed. Tears poured down her face as she begged him to let her go.

She suddenly found herself moving again. Once she was on her feet, Lucian held her back tight to his front and fitted his hand over her mouth.

“Such a vocal little thing when you are unhappy,” he murmured, sounding almost amused as she struggled to breathe through her stuffy nose. She whipped her head to the side and dislodged his hand when she couldn’t get enough air. She filled her lungs and didn’t waste it by shouting anymore.

He forced her to the connecting door and ripped the tapestry out of the way before turning the knob and throwing it open. He stepped into the next room with her, and gripping the hair at her nape to angle her head to the left.

Two women and a man were dressing. One was counting money. Sorin was standing at the door, looking ready to kill them all.

“I do not fuck whores,” Lucian said into her ear. “But I am not above paying them to fuck each other in my home. And because I am a generous tipper; when I tell one of them to shout my name while her partner makes her come, she does it, and she does it loud enough so that my willful pet hears her.”

He turned her and closed them back into their room before releasing her and walking away. For hours and hours, he’d punished her by forcing her to listen to the sounds of what she thought was him fucking two women.

She brought her hands up and wiped at her wet face. Her breathing had slowed along with her hammering heart. Because she just didn’t know what else to do, she went over to perch on the edge of the bed. He was in front of her makeup table, watching her.

“Before you sit, go have a shower. You will feel better.”

Without a word—she didn’t have any left—she straightened and went to shower. After drying her hair, she came out wearing a robe because she hadn’t brought a change of clothes in with her.

“Feel better?”

She nodded.

“I laid something out for you. It is in the closet. Put it on, please.”

She went and slipped into the black nightgown. It fell around her ankles and left her back bare all the way to her tailbone. When she came out, he looked up and tucked his phone away, meeting her halfway.

She didn’t react when he cupped her cheek and bent to place his lips at her temple. “You have exhausted yourself.”

He exhausted her. She didn’t say that but nodded again. She felt like a mindless puppet.

“Look at me.”

She looked up and couldn’t read a thing in the dull ocher staring back at her.

“Did you think you could be so easily replaced?”

She nodded.

“How could you be so foolish? And so blind to your own worth.” He led her over and pulled the sheets back. “In.”

Like an automaton, she did as he said, moving over and laying on her belly. She didn’t protest when he stretched out next to her, fully clothed. She didn’t want to be alone anymore. Which was why she kept her head facing his way and was looking at him when he slid down onto his side and leaned on his arm, his head resting on his palm. It was a casual pose that suited him. She denied him a moan at the first pass of his hand down her bared spine and hated herself for needing to feel it.

He said something in Romanian, and then her eyes were sliding shut when, rather than stroke again, he began using his nails, scratching her in the same way she did Loki when he was a good boy.

“I miss my cat,” she whispered, her voice hoarse.

“Do you.”

“Yes.”

“Is he a good pet?” he inquired.

She opened her eyes. “You’ve obviously never had a cat.”

He shook his head. “We have dogs. Guard dogs.”

“Dogs are different. They’ll let you cuddle them. Cats come around when they want to come around. Any interaction you have with them is done on their terms. Even when it comes to affection, they’ll accept your efforts only when it suits them.” She was describing him as much as Loki. Maybe she would call him kitty. Nasty-back-alley-kitty. “You remind me of a cat.”

“Do I.”

“I should call you cat.”

“No. You should not.”

“Why? You refer to me as your pet.”

His lazy half-nod of acknowledgment told her it wasn’t the same thing. She was too done in to care. Unsticking her arms from where they were tucked against her chest, she slipped them under the pillow and felt some of the tension leave her muscles as he continued his back scratching.

Knowing she’d probably be shut down, she posed a question anyway. “What are your dogs names?”

“One of them is Paza. It means guard in my language. I do not know the others. There are eleven of the same breed; Doberman Pinscher. Sorin can tell you if you are very curious.”

“I’m not.” She was quiet for a moment so as not to appear too anxious. Then she pushed. “Do you feel guilty for what you just did to me?”

“No.”

That stung. Why? Because as usual, she was trying to find a way to excuse his inexcusable behavior. “You deliberately attacked a vulnerability you must know all women have. Many men, too, for that matter. Why does it not bother you to hurt me?”
Feel regret. Please, let me see even a glimmer of regret in your eyes.

His hand paused and their gazes held, connected.

“You should not give people the power to hurt you, Yasmeen,” was all he said as he looked away and continued his relaxing administrations.

“I didn’t willingly let you have it,” she whispered as she fought the exhaustion trying to suck her under. “It just happened. Kind of like when I met Miranda. I didn’t want to like her. She was this beautiful, happy little blonde who made me feel like a one-dimensional amazon. I still do most times.” Her blink was extended. “Just like you and me, she and I connected right from the beginning, and now I love her like a sister. When she’s hurt or sad, it affects me. They call that compassion. I thought maybe you’d feel a little of that if you knew how well your ruse worked.”

He lightly scratched down her ribs, sending a shiver through her. She relaxed that much more. Until he spoke again.

“I do not love you, Yasmeen. So why would I feel compassion for you?”

As that knife impaled her heart, she nodded and lifted her head. Laying it down facing the other way, she knew she couldn’t take anymore from him right now. She just couldn’t. But she also knew she’d try again later. How telling that he thought one needed to love another to feel compassion for them. What would the world be like if everyone thought that way? Not a place she’d want to live in.

Wondering if there was a point to attempting to sift through the rubble that was once her pride, she didn’t. She allowed herself to drift. She didn’t fall asleep, so she was acutely aware of Lucian pressing a kiss to her lower back before getting to his feet. He walked around to the other side of the bed and dragged the chair over.

He sat, murmuring, “I need to see your face.”

Why?
She wanted to ask.
So you can enjoy my pain?
She opened her eyes to show it to him. And that’s how they stayed. Him sitting, her on her belly, gazes locked, neither saying a word.