“You’re right,” he said.
“Stop it, stop doing that. Don’t close all the parts you’ve finally opened for me.” Anteros averted his gaze, looking up at the partially exposed blue sky. He flicked an imaginary piece of lint off his jacket, anything to keep himself steady and hide that she’d seen right through him.
“You’re imagining things, Frankie. There was only sex between us.”
“No, don’t say that. Fight me back. Yell at me!” Anteros refused to play her game but Frankie continued. “We’ve been on opposite sides but we were never enemies. This was just a fucked up, dirty situation. Sometimes we cut each other to see what color the blood is, but it’s never to hurt, you know that.” Anteros used to think that was true, but now he wasn’t sure. Before Frankie, if something like this had happened, she would have been dead in an instant—but before Frankie, it never would have fucking happened.
“You don’t understand.” Tears fell and she attempted to swipe them away, but it was useless. They fell too quickly, rimming her lids pink and drenching her cheeks. He wanted to wipe them away. Instead, he grasped her arms and thrust her violently to him.
“Are you crying because you got caught?” he snarled, fingers curling tight, sure to leave a bruise. “Or because you’re afraid of what I’ll do to you?” She didn’t respond immediately so he shook her. She was like a rag doll; it was too fucking easy to break her.
“I’m crying because you’re acting like a stranger!” Her tears kept falling, making her words staccato and stressed. He nodded as if taking her statement to heart.
“Apparently I am,” he said then let her go. She stumbled.
“No you’re not—I was—” She gasped, putting a hand to her chest as if to stop the frantic beating. Her face grew sheet white and her knees started to buckle. Against everything inside him, he went to her and held her up by the elbow.
“Nikolai will explain everything,” she said through breaths. “That goddamn snake will explain everything.” For a brief second Anteros had hope. He’d completely forgotten about Nikolai. Still holding her, he turned to where the boy had been.
Nikolai was gone.
Anteros scanned the rest of the church, but it was empty.
“No…” she whispered, realizing the same thing Anteros had. Fury blinded him—he’d let his emotions cloud his judgment again. He let Frankie go and she fell in a heap to the worn, red carpet. He pulled out his phone and dialed.
“Hey Boss,” Little O said, coming on the line. “Check it out, Nikolai fixed conference call.” Just hearing the fucker’s name had his nostrils flaring.
“We’re all on the line,” Pretty Boy said.
“I’m not even in the same room as Pretty Boy.”
“Thank fuck for that.”
“And that’s Crazy A breathing on the line,” Little O said, “just like the psycho killer he is. He could even be wearing a mask, we’ll never know.”
“I’m not wearing a mask,” Crazy A muttered.
“We’ll never know—” Little O started, but Anteros couldn’t take their fucking jokes anymore.
“We need to deal with this princess problem once and for all,” he barked. Anteros hadn’t taken his eyes off Frankie the entire time. She’d been breathing slowly, arms above her, knees curled into a ball. Now she lifted her head, fear and worry and abject sadness in her eyes. Tears streamed down her face without care.
“Anteros,” she whispered, too quiet for them to hear. “Please let me explain.”
“Do you have a new idea?” Pretty Boy asked, bringing his attention back.
“She’s here. I’ll pin you the location. She’s bloody so you need to be discreet.” His voice was hoarse, fucking torn in two. Part of him hoped she was gone by the time they arrived. The other part wanted her gone for good so he never had to feel this way again.
At the same time, Pretty Boy and Little O said, “Are you fucking serious?” Anteros stalked back and forth, rubbing his lip before running a hand through his hair. Why couldn’t he just fucking tell them to do it? She didn’t give a shit about him. She’d used his love for her as a weapon.
Frankie hadn’t stopped looking at him, gaze watery but sharp and cutting. He’d be scarred and ruined by her forever. She was in his blood, but now that blood had turned, like arsenic pumping through his veins.
“First person to put a bullet in her gets a bonus,” Anteros said, looking away. “Money, women, whatever you want.” Then the line went dead.
“I dare you to run,” Anteros growled, turning back to her. What he really meant was, Run, fucking run. Even still, after everything, after all the ruination she’d brought, he couldn’t be callous. He absently rubbed the F on his chest before dropping his hand like he’d been burned.
He was a fucking pussy, and he w
anted to tear Frankie apart for turning him into this shell of a man.