Perfect Rage (Unyielding 3)

It was the wrong fuckin’ thing to say to a man hanging on by a thread.

The delicate film of calmness tore and I clenched my jaw, furious that she’d think I was there to kill her. But the reality was I didn’t know what I’d do. I fuckin’ didn’t know and yet here I stood, risking her life by being close to her.

Her hands on my chest pushed, but not enough to attract attention or make me move. I met her terrified eyes and my words tumbled out in an angered, graveled tone. “If I’d wanted to kill you, you’d be lying beside that piece-of-crap husband of yours in a pool of blood instead of leaving you in the fuckin’ sewer.” Harsh, but all I had left was truth and I wasn’t filtering it for anyone, even her.

“Why… Connor… why didn’t you talk to me? Why didn’t you say anything? You left me in the sewer and I didn’t know what was happening. I didn’t know who—”

I huffed. “Say what, Alina? What the fuck was I supposed to say? That I remembered us. That I hated you all over again for leaving me with nothing except a goddamn note. That I hated myself for fucking you in Colombia as a cold, cruel bastard who treated you like a piece of meat. Or should I have told you I was dying and wanted to fuckin’ die?”

“I don’t know,” she whispered, lowering her eyes from mine. “I don’t know. But something. Anything. All I knew was what I saw. Carlos’s men dead all over the house and you covered in blood. I had no idea what was happening, who you were, which man you were.”

“I couldn’t,” I said, shaking my head.

That day my focus was on what had to be done. That was all I could think about. If I’d lost focus, I’d have lost control and would’ve spiraled into a black hole. “Why the hell did you come to me? Why did you let me fuck you, Alina? Why? Fuck, why damn it?” It was killing me. The memory haunted me for weeks knowing I’d fucked Alina as a killing machine who didn’t give two shits about her.

She was quiet.

“Why, damn it?” I repeated harshly. Christ, just the thought of what could’ve happened drove me insane. “I could’ve killed you.”

She shook her head and the few strands that had come loose from her ponytail brushed her cheeks. “No. You wouldn’t have.”

“You don’t fuckin’ know that. I called you a bitch. I fucked you with tears in your eyes.” I lowered my voice and growled, “I put bruises on your arms.”

“It wasn’t the real you,” she whispered, her voice ragged.

“You sure as hell got that right. It wasn’t me, so why the hell would you risk coming to me with Moreno five-hundred yards away?”

Her breath hitched as she choked back a sob. “Connor… I had to. I had to try to get you to remember.” She lowered her head and sniffled. “I’d have done anything to help you.”

“Jesus.” It tore me apart knowing what I’d done. I’d loved this woman. I’d loved her so much I’d have done anything for her and I’d poisoned the beauty of what we were. Now, I had to live with how I’d treated her in Colombia.

“You were supposed to stay safe. Carlos was never supposed to find out about you,” she said.

“Fuckin’ safe? You think I wanted fuckin’ safe, Alina?” My voice rose. Jesus, I had to keep my shit together before I had this entire bar on me. “I wanted you. I didn’t give a fuck how complicated it was to keep you.” The tightness in my chest made it hard to breathe. I was losing my control. “That’s not how it works. That’s not how I work and you left me with a note telling me we were nothing. That what we shared was bullshit. Fuckin’ bullshit.”

This wasn’t how it was supposed to go down. Unfortunately for her, my head was messed up and I was pissed as all hell. I knew why she’d left me that note, and I didn’t blame her. Not once I learned the truth.

“You fucked me in Moreno’s goddamn pool house. Jesus. Fuckin’ Christ.” I shoved away from her then punched the brick wall beside her. “He would’ve killed you if he’d found out.” I think that pissed me off more because she knew Carlos would’ve killed her. “You knew I wouldn’t have given a shit what he did to you. Jesus, so damn stupid.” I lowered my voice, but my fingers tightened on her hip. “Look at me.” She didn’t. “Look. At. Me.”

Her chin rose, and tears trailed down her cheeks.

Fuck. Alina had been a little sassy, a lot sweet, and strong, and it pissed me off knowing I put those tears there—again.