The Hustle (Irreparable 4)

What the . . . When did this become about her? “I never blamed you.”

“Didn’t you?”

It suddenly dawns on me that when Brady was talking about me not being the only one with regrets, he was referring mainly to Tori. It was Maria catching us together that sent her running. It pains me that Tori not only feels this way but that we never discussed it.

“No . . . I don’t.”

She hangs her head and turns away.

“You were sick. I get that. I spent so much time trying to figure out why I always ran to help you. And why to this day, I would drop anything to be there for you. I justified my behavior to Maria because she kept pushing. I could never quite explain how I felt to her. Because of our history, I assumed I still had feelings for you, which made things worse with Maria. But that wasn’t it.”

She turns back around and looks at me. “I was there for you then and I’m here now, because we’re family, Tor. That’s what family does.” Her soft smile assures me that she hears what I’m telling her. “So, no, I don’t blame you and I’m not going to be angry with myself anymore and I won’t let you be angry either. In the end, Eduardo wanted Maria and he was going to get to her somehow. Am I angry that if I handled things differently, she’d still be here? Yes, but I don’t blame you. I love you because you’re my family. You always have been.”

The tightness of our hug shows me how much we needed to have this conversation. When I release her, she cups my cheek. “There’s no guarantee that if you did anything different, Maria would still be here.”

I can’t smile or nod because she’s wrong. If I’d given up my quest for revenge, and stayed with the woman I was in love with, Maria would still be here and Javier would still have his mother. Tori’s hand lowers, but her gaze stays with me. “Peyton’s your family now, too.”

That’s something I can smile about. Now let’s hope I can fix the mess I made last night, because I can’t imagine my life without Peyton in it.

Once I shuffle the three of them out the door, I try to call Peyton again, but again, she doesn’t answer. I stare at her earlier text. It doesn’t make any sense until I break it up and realize, if I don’t hurry, I might lose another woman I love.

P: rpbrtdhere helkkkk

rpbrtd—Robert Dellisens’ . . . here . . . helkkkk—help

I don’t remember leaving my apartment or riding the elevator to the garage, but my head clears as I race toward Peyton’s house in nothing but boxer’s and a T-shirt. Mike texts that he and JT are five minutes out. I have a vague recollection of texting them before I left. Because her place is empty, I never bothered to set the alarm the other night. I’m not even sure we locked the door. What was there to steal? “Fuck!” I scream until my throat closes up.

I run every red light. Fuck it, if a cop follows me, even better. The adrenaline coursing through me sets my skin ablaze, but it’s my thundering heart that I can’t control. It knows I fucked up again. The fear and anxiety I felt when I roamed the Torrente mansion looking for Maria hits tenfold. If I can’t get there on time. If I can’t save Peyton, then the man I’ve fought so hard to be will fail as miserably as the man I used to be.

There’s also the lingering concern of how I’ll react to what I see. Javier might end up fatherless because as the rage I’ve been restraining charges toward the surface, I know I’ll kill that sick fucker if he hurts Peyton.

When I first discovered Robert Dellisen in my bedroom, I was terrified, but then I got a glimpse of what he feels for me and I knew he wouldn’t hurt me. Even now as he sits on the floor in the corner pointing a gun at me, I know he’s conflicted with whatever madness lives in his head.

The nerves remain but I don’t feel panicked. He’s clearly not stable. The carefully placed pictures of me he’s plastered all over the walls are proof of that. They showcase the last year of my life. He’s been a constant shadow I never saw. His desperation is the only thing that kind of alarms me, as I don’t know how far he’ll go to avoid getting caught.

He hasn’t said a word in close to an hour. About the same amount of time that’s passed since I tried to text Aidan without him noticing. I failed and he ripped the phone out of my hand but not before I hit send. If he were going to hurt me, he would have done it then.

I study the man closely. Aidan would never point a gun at me and he scares me a hell of a lot worse than this unimposing, horribly insecure man. My eyes focus on the gun as I wonder if he’d really use it if I challenged him. I don’t know him well, but he doesn’t seem capable of shooting someone.

It’s only a matter of time until this situation escalates. Ev

entually Aidan will show up, or Mark and JT, or the movers whom I expect soon. I’m done waiting though and as I stand up off the floor, I refuse to be a victim.

“Sit down,” he orders waving the gun. His lack of confidence holding the weapon makes me question if he even knows how to fire it. Something else catches my eyes as I stare at the handle.

“No.” He waves the gun again and I laugh. “Go ahead, shoot me.” His face twists to a look of shock. Being raised in a small town with a father who liked to shoot and made you study your weapon is paying off. “Go ahead. It will hurt like hell, but an air soft pistol isn’t going to kill me.”

He doesn’t say a word, but I was a fool to think he wouldn’t hurt me. There’s fury in his eyes as he launches forward, tackling me around the waist. I thrash against him, but give up when it appears fighting him won’t end well for me. He is angrier now, as if I’ve woken up the devil inside of him.

His body fully covers mine, hindering me from moving. “All I wanted was for you to like me.”

“You can’t force me.” There’s a flash of vulnerability in his eyes, a moment where he knows he’s doing something wrong. This is my chance to use his feelings for me. “But you can try,” I say sweetly as though I’m offering surrender. His grip loosens slightly and I use the opportunity to lift my head, closing my eyes like I want him to kiss me. When his head lowers and his lips meet mine, I bite down on his bottom lip until I taste blood and then attempt to shove him off of me.

“You little bitch,” he snarls, pinning my wrists down above my head. Blood trickles from his lip and lands on my cheek. His nostrils flare as he inhales. “You’ll pay for that.”

He laughs with a cruelty that finally brings on fear.

“Fuck you,” I spit, refusing to show him he scares me.