He’d bought her, and not once had he made her feel like a whore.
Maybe he was just really good at deception.
Stowing the medical supplies, she made her way to the estate. She knew where to find him, her steady strides carrying her to a part of the compound she’d avoided since arriving.
When she reached the breezeway to those lavish private quarters, she stopped. Glared at the door. And waited.
If John was in there, he wasn’t having goddamn tea. If he wasn’t in there, he was resourceful enough to find her.
Minutes passed. Hours. Years. She waited long enough to lower to the floor and take the weight off her feet. Then she waited some more.
At last, the door handle jiggled. The door opened, and she rose, standing twenty paces away with a vise around her chest.
The first thing she saw was red hair. He stepped into the breezeway, and her heart shattered upon the floor.
Head down, tie loose around his neck, the collar crooked and unbuttoned, he tucked in his shirttails and closed the door behind him.
Paralyzed, she couldn’t move. No matter how badly her legs burned to run, no matter how hot the pain stabbed behind her eyes, she ached to see the look on his face.
He sensed her instantly, his head snapping up and gaze glowing, stark and bright. “Gina.”
“That’s not my name.” She directed her focus at the door behind him, refusing to cry. “Did you get what you came for?”
His jaw set, and his presence grew dark. Menacing. “Go to my room. I’ll be there in a moment.”
He might as well have hit her, in her stomach, her chest, her face.
“Sure, John.” She curled her lips into the shape of a smile and hoped he couldn’t see them quivering. “Whatever you say.”
His eyes turned to hard slits. Yeah, he hadn’t missed the livid sarcasm staining her voice.
The next thing he said was lost beneath the hollow drum in her head as she pivoted and strode away. The moment she turned the corner, she flew. As fast as her legs could pump, she sprinted away, away, away.
Then she heard him. The fall of his footsteps, racing, chasing, gaining speed.
She ran harder.CHAPTER 20Bitter tears stuck in her throat like sand, and the dirt path blurred beneath the speed of her feet. Given John’s longer strides, he would catch her quickly. She needed to reach the grove before that happened.
Because she was unraveling. Splintering apart by the second. She’d reached her breaking point and needed to be out of camera range when she self-destructed.
This was why she never subscribed to hope. There was always disappointment, and this time, it hurt beyond reason, crippling her with every punishing step.
When she’d learned of Miguel’s betrayal three years ago, it had crushed her. But that despair wasn’t in the same realm as what she felt now. As she sprinted harder, faster, she tried to process and compartmentalize her thoughts.
Her brain, however, wasn’t working right. Grief watered down reasoning. Panic drowned out logic. She swam in anguish, unable to surface for air.
If only John would suffer the same betrayal. Heartbreak. Loss of love and faith. He deserved nothing more than to spend the rest of his days alone, miserable, and forgotten.
When she reached the field, she sensed him slowing behind her. He knew where she was going, their confrontation inevitable. She girded herself for it.
In the grove, safe from the cameras and shaded by the canopy of trees, she skidded to a stop and spun to face him.
“What happened to your face?” He stalked toward her, eyes blazing with temper. “Who the fuck hit you?”
“Doesn’t matter.” She blinked back tears. “No one can hurt me as deeply as you have.”
“I want a name!” he roared so viciously it rattled her nerves. “Answer me!”
Her mouth opened, vocal cords and tongue working and failing to produce discernible sound. When she found her voice at last, it broke with a sob. “Miguel is back.”
“He’s a dead man.” He charged closer.
She stumbled away, enlarging the space between them. “How could you fuck her?”
“I didn’t.” He pounced.
She dodged. “Liar! I saw you!”
Back and forth, they went. Lunging and darting, they circled each other through trees. He chased, and she evaded, nimble and furious. Then he caught her. Tangling her up in his muscled arms, he pinned her against the trunk of a large oak.
She grasped at breath and engaged her entire body in a frantic burst to break loose. Squirming and writhing and thrashing about, she snarled her wrath and spat noises of defiance.
“Shh.” He remained calm, pressing a forearm against her throat, his strong, agile physique coiling about her like a kingsnake constricting a wriggling mouse. “It’s all right.”
“No! It’s not all right! It’s not fine!” Tears fell too hot and fast to stifle, further enraging her. “Nothing in my life is all right!”