“Well, he did warn you,” Mateo points out.
It’s like another slap to the face, and I physically rear back from the force of it.
“And… Cherie. And… well, everybody, isn’t that right?”
He lets that land, giving me enough time to fully process the truth of that statement. To relive myself fighting with Vince, telling him how sick I was of being warned about Mateo. Telling him he was being paranoid.
“Even I told you I wasn’t a good guy,” he adds, that time looking a little apologetic. “I mean, you just didn’t want to believe any of it. I have this nice house, I bought you pretty dresses and fucking stories about how good triumphs over evil—it doesn’t, I could’ve told you that, but… you were warned, Mia. And still here you stand, a few feet from my bedroom.”
I feel like the biggest fool in the whole entire world. Humiliation swallows me whole as I recall feeling sympathetic toward him, feeling sad because he seemed to lead an ultimately lonely existence.
But he deserves to be lonely. He deserves to have no one.
And me, maybe I fucking deserved this, because he’s right, every single person who knows him tried to warn me, but I wouldn’t listen.
With no pride left, I break down in tears, right there in front of him. Between sobs, I ask, “Why? I was nice to you.”
Sighing heavily, he says, “You’re right, you were. It’s not your fault. You just saw something you shouldn’t have. It was just rotten luck, and I’m truly sorry for it. I don’t know if I admire or pity your ability to see good in people where none actually exists, but I don’t want to snuff that out of you. I didn’t even want to know you—really, this is Vince’s fault. I could’ve finished it quick, it would’ve been painless, we could have all moved on with our lives.”
“You said you wouldn’t hurt me,” I remind him, even while realizing how foolish it is to remind him of anything he said like it holds any weight.
“I said as long as Vince wanted you,” he responds, correcting me. “If he doesn’t anymore… well, your fate’s left to me then, isn’t it?”
It’s profoundly embarrassing to have been this wrong about someone, but it’s worse that Vince was so right, and I’ve been so goddamn sure of myself.
“You planned to kill me all along, didn’t you? This was just a game to you.”
“I’m not going to kill you,” he replies. “Not yet, even if Vince comes home today wanting to kill you himself.”
“Why would he…?”
“He knows. A little birdie told him some things, so… well, that’s not going to be a fun time for you.”
I can’t stand up anymore. My legs wobble and I try to sink down the wall, but he’s still holding my arms, so I can’t.
“Why don’t you just do it now and get it over with,” I whisper, tears flowing freely down my face now.
He rearranges his grip on me, pinning my arms at the wrist to free up a hand. Then he runs it along my jawline in a gesture that would be tender, except it’s coming from him. “Because I’m not done with you yet.”
I can only stare at him, empty, broken, alone.
Then he adds, “Not to mention, you could be carrying my child.”
Chapter Twenty Three
I feel nothing as Mateo takes me into his bedroom. I try to break away, I use my body weight, but he’s too strong and I’m too depleted. When he throws me down on his bed, I try to crawl away, but he’s on me too fast, slamming my arms down against the soft pillow top and straddling my body. His eyes gleam like a lion about to consume a gazelle, like he’s won. I wonder if it’s a relief not to have to pretend to be nice anymore.
“Get off me,” I cry, angrily throwing my useless body.
“Oh, no. This is the fun part,” he tells me, leaning in to kiss my neck. “Do you know how hard it was not to speak when I fucked you, Mia? It was torture.”
“Stop saying that—it wasn’t sex.”
Rolling his eyes, he says, “Fine, when I raped you. Is that better? Do you like that word? Does it turn you on?”
“You’re sick,” I hiss, glaring up at him.
“Well, if you like that word, you’re going to love what happens next. What we did before, whatever you want to call it, that was sex. You wanted it. Now? Now I’m going to take your sweet little pussy while you beg me not to. Now I’ll give you rape.”
It’s not fair that he’s cheating me out of the anger I have every right to feel, but speaking so plainly about his intentions, he’s pushing me over into fear.
Even though it kills me to ask him for anything, especially something I should never have to ask for, I say, “Please don’t.”