Dirty Bad Boys Box Set: Forbidden Romance Collection

I run to the car, ignoring the house and the monsters inside. Wesley hovers by the door, leaving it open, which only fuels my anxiety.

“I’ll tell them we’re leaving.”

My neck twists, chin trembling, distressed. “Do it, and I’m gone.”

“You’re gone? Would you just make fucking sense?”

“Take me home,” I beg.

“We’re going, okay?” he utters, rolling his eyes with annoyance.

We sit in the car in silence, Wesley staring out the window in a distant gaze. I hold back the rest of my tears, reliving what happened with Carson.

Every woman fears being raped, but when the reality is so close, perspective changes.

Where was Wesley to protect me? This is his family.

I will forever be bound to them if our relationship progresses.

I don’t think I can do this. All the pain, the hardship—love isn’t getting me through it. It’s only making it harder to climb out.

And Wesley, he hasn’t said one word to me in the car.

He doesn’t care that he found me upset, or that I want so desperately to getaway.

My phone buzzes in my purse, momentarily distracting me. I pull it out and see that Mama has responded to my text.

Mama: It’ll be nice to have you home. Liam misses you xx

I shake my head in confusion at the mention of his name. Liam seems like a lifetime ago, yet safe, comforting—all the things that Wesley isn’t giving me. He continues to sit across the other side, this gap between us seems impossible to bridge.

Knocking on the glass window, it slides down and the driver leans his ear to listen. “Sir, can you please take me home?”

The driver looks at Wesley through the rear-view mirror, awaiting a response. Wesley continues his code of silence, and thankfully, the driver follows my instructions.

Turning to face the window, I spend the remaining journey silent.

Nothing but me, my thoughts, and the devil beside me.

Chapter Twenty-Five

We drive down my street, it’s relatively early, and the neighbors are out doing their usual Saturday night bickering on the sidewalk. When the driver parks the car, many turn to watch, and more notably, one has a long-lensed camera.

Paparazzi are at my home.

This is all Wesley’s fault.

I half expect him to demand I stay in the car, but he doesn’t. When it’s clear that he has no interest in me and what happened tonight, I exit and slam the door in his face. Ignoring the flash that almost blinds me, my feet move quickly as I enter our building, not looking back at him, not even once.

Inside my apartment, I welcome the silence with Flynn gone to a gig. I sit on the couch, staring at the wall dressed in this ridiculous dress. I’m desperate to rip it off, a constant reminder of Carson’s wandering eyes.

Holding back the deep cries that linger on the surface, I dial Mama’s number praying she’ll pick up this time.

“Milana, is that you?”

“It’s me, Mama. I just wanted to hear your voice.”

“Is everything okay?”