Mastered (The Enforcers 1)

Evangeline stood there in shock, staring at the closed elevator doors for several long minutes after Drake’s abrupt departure. She glanced down at herself, makeup-stained tears falling onto the floor.

Beautiful? Classy? Elegant?

She had been fooling herself and Drake had perpetuated one of the biggest hoaxes in history because he’d made her feel all of those things.

Worthless. Whore. Bitch.

The words he’d used to describe her echoed over and over in her head until rage finally roused her from the numb shock surrounding her. Even as she robotically started for the kitchen like an automaton trained to follow Drake’s orders, she twisted violently, yanking the heels off her feet and hurling them through the living room at the coffee table and the trays of food she’d labored so painstakingly over.

Two bottles of the wine and two bottles of liquor, hit by the flying shoes, tumbled from the table and she heard the satisfying crack of breaking glass.

She stormed into the bedroom, yanking and tearing at her dress until she managed to free herself. With shaking hands, she removed every piece of jewelry he’d bought for her and underhanded them onto the bed.

Then she sank to the floor on her knees, clad in only her panties and bra. Raw, ugly-sounding sobs clawed their way up her throat and out of her lips, the sound of terrible grief.

You will be severely punished.

Oh hell no. To hell with Drake. To hell with every lie he’d ever fed her. For building her up only so he could be the one to tear her down.

Feeling like an old, decrepit woman, she crawled to the closet and rummaged until she found a pair of jeans and a T-shirt. Drake had thrown every bit of her old clothing out when he’d moved her in; otherwise she wouldn’t take a single thing bought by him. As it was, she packed a bag with three pairs of jeans, one casual dress that was suitable for job hunting and two pairs of shoes.

The rest she left hanging, most still with the tags attached. Then she went about systematically removing any and all of her presence from his bedroom. She went from room to room, throwing away or simply destroying any possible reminder of herself in Drake’s eyes.

And then she remembered the meal she’d labored so intensively over. She hoped it had burned and left a charred mess.

After lifting the silver trays and dumping the appetizers over the couch and chair and the floor, to accompany the shattered bottles of alcohol, she went into the kitchen and dumped every single skillet and baking dish onto the floor.

“To hell with you, Drake Donovan. I gave you everything and this is what I got in return. I hope you rot in hell where you belong. At least Eddie was honest.”

Tears streaming down her face, she rode the elevator down only to be met by a worried Edward who rushed over to take her elbow.

“Miss Hawthorn,” he said, in his haste forgoing all familiarity as if he too were just as rid of her as Drake.

She burst into a fresh torrent of tears and tried to maneuver around him.

“Please, Evangeline. Tell me what’s wrong. Mr. Donovan returned shortly after he came up and he looked furious. Are you all right?”

“I’ll never be all right,” she said flatly, even as tears ran freely down her face.

“Let me help you, please. Tell me what I can do.”

Realizing the older man was genuinely concerned and evidently ignorant of all that had happened, or at least he hadn’t been instructed to have nothing to do with her, she paused.

“I need to get away from here,” she said desperately.

“Of course. Shall I call for one of Mr. Donovan’s men to come for you?”

“No!” she shrieked. “I need a cab and I need you to never tell anyone, especially Drake or his men, that you saw me, that you helped me, or I’m afraid your job will be out the door just like I am.”

Compassion softened his eyes even as he guided her toward the door.

“Where shall I instruct the cab to take you?” he asked gently.

Her shoulders sagged and she ran a hand through the rumpled mess of her hair, knowing the fright she must look with her makeup running, her hairdo destroyed.

“I have no place to go,” she whispered, knowing she couldn’t show up at her girlfriends’ place. She couldn’t bear the “I told you so’s,” and neither could she take their pity. She couldn’t stomach that just hours ago she’d applauded her decision to choose Drake over her friendships with her best friends. How could she ever face them again? And even if she did feel welcome, it was the first place Drake would think to look for her. Even if he fully intended to throw her out—and she was sure that was precisely what he intended—he would likely still hunt her down if for nothing more than to exact his punishment and then tell her to her face he was finished with her. Why pass up another opportunity to humiliate her even more? Far better to do it in front of her girlfriends. Fuck that. Her mother would forgive the obscenities, given the circumstances.