If they’re going to keep me locked in here much longer, then the least they could do is offer me some nice blankets, a pair of cute pajamas, and maybe a robe. I wouldn’t mind a hairbrush and a mirror—perhaps a toothbrush if it’s not too much to ask.
I peel my eyes open and stare at the ugly grey concrete wall in front of my face.
I hate this place. I wonder how slowly today is going to drag by or if the boys are going to hang out with me again. Cruz and Grayson came back a few hours after they’d left, both looking worse for wear and the three of them stayed for most of the night until I sent their asses back up into the real world.
They looked like shit. There was nowhere for them to get comfortable down here and for the most part, Grayson looked like he needed to go put his hand in the freezer. He must have done a good job rearranging Carver’s face. Cruz, on the other hand, looked like he’d accidentally gotten an elbow to the face.
They were reluctant to leave, and in hindsight, I probably should have kept them around. Who knows who could have snuck down here in the night to finish me off, but as it is, I’m still breathing, at least for now. I’m sure it won’t be long until the culprit behind the hitmen in the woods strikes again, and I’m sure whoever it is, will be a little sneakier about his next attempt.
I let out a sigh and roll over to stare up at the roof, but a shadow across my cell catches my attention. I fly off my shitty little bed within the same second, nearly wetting my pants in the process. What is it about that first morning wee that sends a girl insane?
My gaze snaps to the shadow, my heart thundering in my ears, making it nearly impossible to rely on my other senses. The shadow stretches far across my cell and I follow it back to the man standing on the other side of the metal bars.
Dante. Fucking. Carver.
He looks like death warmed up. His face is covered in black and blue bruising, a cut above his eyebrow, and a swollen lip. My gaze shifts down his body, taking in the bruising over his arm and following it right down to his knuckles where I expect to see the signs of a fight, only his knuckles are clear, speaking volumes.
He didn’t fight back. He sat there and let Grayson beat the shit out of him for putting me in here, and while a part of me wants to celebrate that he must feel like shit for doing this to me, the rest of me is just pissed. He doesn’t get to feel like shit. He made a conscious decision to keep me locked up, he looked me in the fucking eyes and raised his goddamn hand.
He ruined me, and I’ll never forgive him.
Anger pulses through me at just the sight of his broken face, yet somehow while broken and bloodied, he still looks like the most dangerous person I’ll ever meet. “What the hell do you want?” I growl, throwing myself at the bars and gripping them as though I could run straight through them to finish his ass off.
He leans casually against the far wall, right out of my reach, not moving an inch as he silently watches me. It’s like a taunt, as though he’s come to bask in my humiliation, come to laugh at the bitch who got screwed over.
His silence only serves to infuriate me further and I slam my hands against the bars again. “What do you want?” I demand, hating that I’m having to repeat myself to this asshole, the night having absolutely no success in calming the wild rage pulsing within me. “Have you come to laugh at me? Or just get a good look at the pathetic bitch you locked up?”
His eyes harden, but his silence only makes me yell louder. “Where’s your sense of loyalty? You fucking betrayed me, Carver. I thought I meant something to you. I thought … Fuck, I don’t even know what I thought, but it’s not this. You’re a liar. All this time I thought you were the one I could trust, the one who would give it to me straight, but you were just weaving a fucking web, earning my trust so that you could crush me the second you got a chance.”
Carver clenches his jaw as my already sore throat screams in agony. His silence kills me, and I tighten my hold on the iron bars, wishing I could reach through and strangle his bitch-ass. “Just because I’m locked in this fucking cell, doesn’t mean I won’t ram you with a huge fucking dildo,” I roar at him, knowing damn well that I’m provoking him, but what the fuck can he do to me in this cell? It’s not like he can magically break through the bars to finish what he started. “Why. The. Fuck. Are. You. Here?”