Irrevocable (Evan Arden 5)

“If I wanted to have to search for it, I would! That’s why you’re here! It saves me gas money.”

“Are you trying to say you have money concerns? How much did you pay to buy me?”

“And why do you think I did that?”

“Because you want a girlfriend but can’t be bothered to do it the right way!”

Because they fucking leave me!

“I want someone who doesn’t give me shit. That’s what I pay for.”

Alina glares for a moment and then tries to collect herself.

“You think I’m not sympathetic, Evan? I’m the one who holds you at night when you’re crying in your sleep. I’m the one who hears you talk about things you’d never voice in the daytime. I know how much pain you are in.”

“I don’t want your fucking sympathy!” I yell.

“Well, you have it anyway!” she screams right back at me.

“Great! Sympathy from a street whore—just what I need!”

I watch her take in a long breath before she speaks again.

“You do need me,” Alina says, her voice soft now. “Maybe you don’t want to admit it, but you do. You can’t even sleep without me here.”

“And you don’t need me?” I counter.

“I’ve never needed anyone.” Alina crosses her arms over her chest.

The self-assured gesture pisses me off. After everything I’ve done for her—everything I’ve given to her—she’s trying to say she never needed it.

“I took you off the streets!” I yell at her. “If it wasn’t for me, you’d still be out there fucking whatever loser stopped by your corner! I fucking rescued you from that!”

“Who told you I needed rescuing? I was perfectly fine where I was! I had a pimp who looked after me and only took a reasonable cut! I had a roommate I liked and got to hang out with on occasion! I had my own money to do what I wanted, and I wasn’t at anyone’s beck and call unless I wanted to be!”

She might as well have slapped me. I would have preferred it.

My hands are shaking, and my fingers involuntarily drift toward my side, attempting to reach for my gun. I can barely stop myself from pulling it out and aiming at her face. Flashes of Bridgett, begging me on her knees before I pulled the trigger, race through my head. I clench my hands into fists to keep them from moving.

This can’t happen. I can’t let this happen.

I feel like a tightly closed bottle of warm soda that’s been shaken up. The pressure in my head blocks all reasonable thoughts, and my skin tingles as if there were a thousand spiders crawling all over me.

“You don’t want what I can give you? Fine! Just fucking leave when your time is over! I don’t need this bullshit!”

“That is the plan!” As if I need the reminder.

My hands ache to grab her and shake her. I can see myself doing it, but I don’t want to hurt her. Guilt from killing Felisa still haunts me. I can’t handle another screw up.

Get out!

Those two words are the only rational thing in my brain.

I grab my keys off the counter and my jacket off the hook near the door. I hear her calling after me, but I don’t respond. Slamming the door behind me, I race to the Camaro and out of her presence. I have no destination in mind. I just know I have to get away from her. Staying near her would be incredibly dangerous. I have enough regrets.

Squealing the tires as I exit the parking garage, I nearly slam into a pedestrian as I speed through an intersection. Maybe the light was red—I wasn’t paying attention, and I really don’t care. I just need to be away.

I also have nowhere to go.