Truths That Saints Believe (The Klutch Duet 2)

I smirked. “So generous of you.”

She refilled my wine. “Even if things happen that way, even if everything I want for you comes to pass, it will never be the same. He won’t fill all of the holes he left, he won’t heal all of the wounds he inflicted. But something else will happen. Something beautiful. But right now, it’s not about what the two of you may become. It’s about the woman you’ve become now. Through all of this suffering and pain. Through all of the terrible lessons that heartbreak has to offer.”

I blinked at her. “Jesus, Wren. You get a visit from Yoda while I was gone?”

She grinned. “No, I just watched a lot of Oprah reruns.”

“You flew with ... him?” I asked. I had been planning on saying his name. Being stronger than all of that. But I couldn’t do it. Apparently, I wasn’t stronger. Not right now.

Wren’s face gentled. “Yeah. He bought my tickets. Of course, I told him that I was a Whitney, that I could buy my own damn tickets. I could’ve bought the entire damn plane if I so wished, but man is that motherfucker pushy.” Her eyes twinkled with teasing. With knowing.

I found myself feeling jealous of her. My wonderful, loyal and kind friend. Wickedly jealous that she’d spoken to him. That she knew him at all. Months ago, I wanted her to know him. But as a man in my life. As my man. Not as ... whoever he was now. Whatever he was now. Anger bubbled in my stomach, outside of my control.

“I let him buy my tickets,” she shrugged. “But then I bought every single other ticket in first class. Just to let him know his dick wasn’t bigger than mine,” she winked.

My mouth was dry. I wanted to smile at the image of Wren playing games with the man who was used to fear and submission. But I couldn’t smile. I took a sip of my wine. A big one.

“Why did he want you to come?” I asked, my voice still rough.

Wren’s face softened. “Because, honey, he knows you. Well. He knew that he was coming to fight for you. And a wise man doesn’t enter a fight without a secret weapon.” She pointed at her own chest. “Secret weapon. But he thinks I’m his. The thing is, babe, I’m yours. I’m not here to fight for him. I’ll only ever be here to fight for you. So if you want to drink the rest of this wine, tell me you’re completely over him and want to ruin his life for fucking with you, I’m totally down for that.”

She got up from her barstool, never able to sit in one place for too long, and began to pace around the living room.

“You want to tell me you’ve fallen in love with a hunky Kiwi and are going to start your life over here, I’ll argue with the location, but I’ll plan your wedding,” she told me as she picked up a paperweight in the shape of a naked woman and nodded appreciatively before putting it back down.

“And if, and this is the one I’m thinking you’ll choose, you want to let him fight, you want to let him win, we’ll sit here and drink. For now. I’m sure there’s plenty to be said and done later.”

I pursed my lips. I already knew what I wanted to do. Wren already knew too. Otherwise, she wouldn’t be here. She would’ve planted drugs in Jay’s suitcase and made sure he was either detained at the border or couldn’t even leave the US.

So we drank.

Chapter 3

He came for me that night.

I woke to his lips at my neck.

And I didn’t fight him. Not even a little.

Later, I would curse myself. Would chastise my traitorous body, my weak soul for letting him in without a fight. Without demanding reparations for what he took, exacting vengeance for what he broke.

But that was later.

There was a now to focus on.

I breathed in deeply. Inhaled the smell of musk, of leather, of him. It worked like a chemical. Like a drug, relaxing my entire body but setting it on fire at the same time. It worked like oxygen that I didn’t know I’d been living without. My body came alive the second his lips touched my skin, the moment his scent invaded my senses.

He didn’t speak, though I ached for his voice to vibrate my bones. He knew I wanted that. Yearned for that. Needed it more than breath. But he kept it from me. Because he didn’t want me breathing easy.

Hands went to my chest, but they didn’t slip beneath the silk, didn’t touch my skin. No. Instead, they ripped the delicate fabric. Right down the middle. Tore it from me.

I gasped at the violence of it. Sure, this kind of thing might’ve happened in the movies, in books, but not with him. He relished control. He’d never shown any outward signs of his hunger for me. Not beyond the way his hands and mouth moved against my body or the fire in his eyes—the ones I couldn’t see this moonless night. I ached to lose myself in them, but I couldn’t move to reach for the light. Yes, he’d shown how he wanted me in those ways, but he’d never strayed beyond the rules he’d set for himself. The rules I came to learn, to live by.