Rock Reclaimed (Rock Revenge Trilogy 2)

Especially knowing she could never love me back and be safe. Just being near me would taint her. That wasn’t even considering if my interest in her was putting a target on her back.

I couldn’t fathom that. Simply could not.

Swallowing hard, I twisted my wrist and hovered the glowing end of the cigarette over my inner arm. I didn’t have much time. I had to get in the studio. Jesus, another place where I had no clue what I was doing. But I had to try.

For my mother.

For Zoe.

For the last shred of self-esteem I had left.

The door swung inward just as I made contact. Sheer force of will had me biting off a groan as I ripped the cigarette away and faced down my worst nightmare.

Even having Simon see me like this would be better.

Donovan Lewis said nothing, just raised a brow as my flesh practically smoked. I couldn’t rub the burn as I normally would, pressing the pain deeper like a splinter between my veins and muscles. All I could do was stare at Donovan and wait for the hammer to come down.

There was no point in making an excuse. Oh, my hand slipped.

Right. Even without saying a word, he conveyed clearly that he knew exactly what had just occurred.

“Is that going to help you?” He nodded at my now weeping wound. “Allow you to forget something else, perhaps?”

I didn’t say anything, just ground out the cigarette beneath my boot into the pretty ivory tiles. Shame filled me, choking my throat as I rose to dump the butt in the garbage. I washed my hands to give myself something to do so I didn’t have to look Donovan in the eye. I pushed my dripping hand through my long, messy hair to shove it out of my face. Then I shoved my burning arm under the cold water, hissing like a wounded animal.

It was the first time I’d ever tried to ease the pain I’d caused. Usually, I tried to make it worse.

Donovan’s heels sounded behind me, and then he leaned against the wall opposite me, eyeing me as dispassionately as an art collector with his latest acquisition. That was all I was. Another piece meant to demonstrate value. If I didn’t? I’d be disposed of.

Literally, in this case, although probably not by Donovan Lewis.

“You’re in trouble.”

I swallowed and scrubbed at my arm, scraping my short nails over the damaged skin. Hope bloomed—and was ruthlessly squashed.

He can’t save you.

No one can.

You got yourself into this. Only you can save yourself.

“There’s no shame in asking for help.”

I laughed so hard that tears sprang into my eyes. “Do you really believe that tripe or is that the chapter you’re on in your motivational leadership book?”

He continued as if I’d never spoken. “I talked to Flynn. He told me you’d met. That you were so ravenous, I must not pay you anything. He laughed about it, but I know he was troubled.”

I’d thought I couldn’t be more ashamed than I was already.

I was wrong.

Scrubbing harder, I prayed he’d leave. I would’ve done the honors myself, but I honestly wasn’t certain my legs would carry me out the door.

Here I’d believed I hid my sins away so well, and I couldn’t even disguise my skipping dinner the night before.

“I might think you were spending your money on substances, as that’s a common affliction among our kind.”

Not your kind. Our kind.