Dirty Stack (The Devious Games Duet 2)

I stay like that for a long time, the devastation washing over me over and over as memories surge through my mind. The lies. So many lies. The deceit.

I make myself crawl up onto the bed. He’s left me alone with my phone. Does he trust me not to call for help? But who? Call who? And what would happen then?

I hear him climbing the creaky old stairs. Then he’s sitting on the bed beside me, setting down a bottle of water and a steaming cup of tea on the table beside me. He pulls the blanket from the edge of the bed over me, then kisses my temple.

A tear rolls down my cheek slowly before dripping off my chin.

He sits for what feels like a long time, like he wants to talk and doesn’t know where to start or like he’s waiting to see what I might say, but neither of us speak. And eventually he leaves me alone.

10

Killian

I leave her upstairs until dusk. I’ve spent the afternoon removing all the baseboards in the living and dining rooms. I’ve also started on the sanding of the wood mantle over the fireplace she wants to stain. Because I needed to do something while giving her space.

Right now I want to spend more time beating the fucking snot out of the asshole in the basement, but I’ll have to refrain for now, because my gut tells me I need to stay close to Violet.

I’ve already messaged Tony to tell him not to come again until I say so.

***

I carry a drink and plate of reheated lasagna from the weekend up to her. She’d put the leftover lasagna in the freezer before we left the other morning, so we’d have a meal for another visit. Mine sits on the kitchen table while I head up the stairs knowing she’s not likely to come down to share a meal with me.

I find her in the rocking chair by the window, staring out of it, thumbnail between her teeth. I can tell by her eyes that she hasn’t stopped crying. I feel it like a sock to the gut, that all her tears today are because of me.

I set the plate and the bottle of water on the nightstand and then scoop her up and sit back down in the chair with her on my lap, holding her close.

She’s stiff in my arms, as if trying to shrink into herself.

“Can you eat something? For me? I can leave it here or you can come down and sit with me in the kitchen.”

“I’m not hungry,” she rasps out, like she’s lost her voice.

“You threw up hours ago. You should try.” She hasn’t drank her tea that I made hours ago either.

She shakes her head.

“Wanna talk?” I try.

She clears her throat and turns her head the other way. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Tell me what you’re thinking,” I request, putting my lips to her temple.

She recoils again. Fuck.

“Please let me get up.”

“Talk about where you’re at right now. I need to know. I need to help you through this.”

She’s trembling.

“Violet?”

“I don’t know how you get out of this without killing him and I don’t want you to kill him.”

“Yeah,” I say softly.

She looks me in the face. “You’ve told me so many lies. I can’t trust you anymore and that hurts. It hurts a lot. Everything just h-hurts. I’m questioning everything. I thought I was getting strong. You were getting me strong, but now I feel like…” She chokes.

As her voice breaks, I’m pulling her tighter against my body, tucking her head under my chin. I move us to the bed, lying down and holding her close.

“I feel like I’m even worse than when I met you. Please let go of me. I can’t do this.”

“Baby…”

“I can’t have your hands on me, knowing you used those hands to torture someone, knowing it’s all fake.”

Again I feel like I’ve been slapped. Hard.

My eyes rove her face, assess the damage that I can see. She was a broken girl with Raymond Iadanza because of the damage he caused. Right now she looks at me like I’ve ruined her life.

And I find I’m getting angry. How can she look at me like this when all I’m doing is making him pay for what he’s done?

“I love you,” I grind out, “That’s not fake.”

“Please,” she repeats, chin trembling.

I loosen my hold.

She pulls away and dangles her legs over the edge of the bed, her back to me.

“Please, what? Please let you go or please – as in you don’t believe what I’m saying.”

She doesn’t answer.

“I couldn’t let it go,” I say, staring at the ceiling. “I tried. And I couldn’t. I need you to try to understand-”

“All the things he said about you, I thought he was exaggerating. He didn’t know the half of the lengths you’d go to for revenge.”