Play Me Right (Play Me 5)

“Carlo…went crazy. A friend of mine from college was in town and we were having lunch—lunch, not drinks, not dinner, not sex—just lunch. Catching up on what had been going on in our lives since college. We’d never been more than friends—I met him because he was dating my roommate for most of our four years at school—but Carlo didn’t see it that way. He was furious, accused me of cheating on him. He beat James almost to death in front of me, had a couple of his men hold me back while he did.

“And then he started on me. He nearly killed me—not that I was in any state to put up a fight. How could I be when James’s battered, unconscious body was lying only a few feet away from me? All I could think was that I had done that. I was the one responsible for his death—the one who caused it and the one, who, in the end did nothing to stop it.”

I wait for Sebastian’s condemnation. Wait for him to withdraw from me as I so richly deserve. But seconds tick by, become minutes, and he still doesn’t move away from me. Instead, he just stands there, fists clenched and jaw locked together. His green eyes are darker than I’ve ever seen them and for a moment—just a moment—he looks like Carlo did that night.

A man on the brink. Self-control shattered. Rage running over.

Again, I brace myself for the explosion. Again, it never comes.

Instead he asks, his voice low and tight and gravelly, “What did he do to you?”

“To me?” I’m confused at the question. What happened to me isn’t important. It’s what happened to James that matters.

“I don’t believe he nearly killed a man with his bare hands and then just walked away from you without some kind of retaliation.”

“No. Of course not. But it isn’t imp—”

“Don’t tell me what’s important and what’s not!” Sebastian snaps at me. “I want to know what that son of a bitch did to you. Either it comes from you or I go ask him.”

“No! You can’t.” Just the thought of him anywhere near Carlo terrifies me. Sebastian is smart, powerful, more than capable of holding his own in any normal situation. But Carlo…Carlo is a monster. And a devious one at that. He doesn’t play fair, doesn’t play by any rules I’ve ever heard of. He does what he wants when he wants to and because he’s a Valducci, no one ever tells him he can’t.

“Then tell me what he did to you.”

“It doesn’t matter. I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine. And even if you were, I still need to know what happened.”

“No.” No one needs to know that.

“Tell me,” he orders, and this time he reaches for me, pulls me against him.

I go, because I’m weak and useless and I don’t want to fight him. Not now, not on this. Not when I’ve just spent four days without Sebastian.

“He hurt you.” It isn’t a question.

I nod against his chest.

His already taut muscles grow even stiffer. But the hand that strokes my hair is gent

le, sweet. “Tell me.” This time it’s a request, an almost desperate one. And while it’s easy to defy Sebastian when he’s ordering me around, I can’t deny him anything when he asks. When he holds me this tenderly. Not even the story I’d do anything not to tell.

“I thought he was dead. James, I mean. He was so bloody and broken and still…I was sure Carlo had killed him. I went crazy, started screaming at him. Two of his men were still holding me back and no matter how hard I tried to get away from them, how hard I tried to get to James, I couldn’t.

“When he was finished with James, Carlo walked over to me. He was covered in my friend’s blood and there was this look in his eyes—this bloodlust—that hurting James had done nothing to alleviate. I knew it was going to be bad, but to be honest, I didn’t care. Something about seeing James lying there, thinking he was dead…I snapped. In that moment, I wanted Carlo to kill me. Wanted it to be over. In that moment, I couldn’t imagine spending the rest of my life living like that.”

The admission hurts, but Sebastian wanted the truth. Besides, I’m just so sick of lying—to him and to myself. It’s past time for all my ugly secrets to come out.

“He hit me and instead of apologizing like I normally did, I taunted him. I refused to back down. If he was going to kill me, then I wasn’t going to go out whimpering. Or at least, that’s what I figured.”

“He didn’t kill you.” It’s more growl than actual words at this point.

“No. But he came close. By the time he was done, he’d given me a concussion, broken three of my ribs and damaged my spleen. I was in the hospital for over a week. Two days before I was set to be released, when my parents came for their daily visit, I asked for their help. My dad said he’d talked to Carlo, and assured me that it wouldn’t happen again. He also told me he’d paid for James’s medical care and paid him—or scared him—enough to keep quiet. It wasn’t enough. Wasn’t nearly enough. And then my mom started in on wedding plans like we were at afternoon tea and not in my hospital room where I was recovering from being beaten half to death.

“I let her talk, let her cement the plans. I even chose the pattern for my bridesmaids’ dresses. And then, when they left, I lay there, trying to decide what to do. Going back to Carlo, to that life, wasn’t an option. I couldn’t stand to look at him, let alone marry him. Which meant I could either find a way to kill myself before I got released or I could run away. And it turned out, despite the suicidal actions that had put me in the hospital to begin with, I didn’t want to die.

“So I waited until the nurse came around for my nightly medicine dose and vitals check. Then, when I was sure it would be hours before she knew I was gone, I pulled out the IV, unhooked the monitors and walked out with nothing but my purse and the silk pajama set my mother had brought me at the hospital. I went to the closest ATM, took out the three hundred dollars it let me take, and I never looked back.

“I went to the cheapest hotel I could find, spent a week healing enough to cover my bruises with makeup, and then another week looking for a job to pay the bills while I worked out a better plan. I knew I should just walk away, should just leave Vegas forever. But I couldn’t leave Lucy forever. Not with them, not when she’s so fragile and sick and no one even knows how long she’s going to live. If it wasn’t for her I don’t think I ever would have spoken to my parents again.”