He was the little bit of good I had here.
I knew if I pushed too hard, he would just wallow in his own misery instead, and I needed his light in the darkness that was swallowing me whole.
He cleared his throat uncomfortably, his voice almost a whisper. “We should get you back inside, Ronan should be here soon, and he won’t like seeing you out here, Morena.” He warned, but I wasn’t sure if he meant out here, or out here with him. He extended his hand out for me and I entwined my fingers into his as he led us back into the party and the now-crowded dance floor.
Santo guided me to the couch where the other blondes were already seated and waiting. Mateo sat across from me in the large white leather accent chair, and Santo turned back to the bar area before giving me one last longing look.
If it was hot before, the penthouse turned into a sauna from the heat that flooded into the room as the elevator opened again. Ronan Zerkos stepped out in a black button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows and matching suit pants. He looked one hundred percent like a melt-my-panties-hot gang Boss and I had to send psychic messages to my vajayjay to stop bossing me around. How it was possible to hate someone with every fiber of my being and yet still feel betrayed by my own body’s response anytime he walked into the room, was beyond me.
I wanted to rip him open and bathe in his blood.
I wanted him under me and on top of me making me scream until I couldn’t breathe anymore. I wanted to carve him to pieces, until all that was left was the man I once knew. We had gotten so far from who we were, and I knew this had gone past the point of no return. I knew there was no way we could ever make it back to each other again. I wondered if he felt the same way: sorrow laced with the weight of regrets from all of the things left unspoken between us. Only he didn’t so much as look at me as he cut his way through the room, and he turned his lips up in a smile as his eyes landed on the blonde bimbos seated on the couch.
My blood boiled at the thought of him actually being interested in any of them.
Santo appeared again with another double shot of tequila, and I turned it over hoping it would help me fake my way through the night like I had been asked. I didn’t want to spend another minute of my life in that coffin ever again. I could hear Carolina’s screams in the background of all the bullets and even though I knew it was a construct of my own imagination, it haunted me louder than anything else that box reminded me of.