Series: The Rossi Crime Family Series by J.L. Beck
Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 80475 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 402(@200wpm)___ 322(@250wpm)___ 268(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80475 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 402(@200wpm)___ 322(@250wpm)___ 268(@300wpm)
Whirling around, he slams his fists into the metal lockers behind him. The sound rings out, and I rush forward, grabbing him by the arm to stop him from hurting himself.
“No,” he roars, an animal trapped in a man’s body. Turning back around, he raises his bloody knuckles into the air as if he might hit me. “Get away from me...I can’t...I can’t fucking deal with you right now.”
He sounds as defeated as I feel. Tears sting my eyes, my anger fading to sadness. There’s no way for me to explain how important he is to me. The only thing I can think to do is kiss him. Charging forward, I wrap my arms around his neck and pull him close, reaching up on my tiptoes. The copper ting of blood and the odor of sweat overwhelms my senses, but the heat of his body meshing with mine is the only thing that matters as our lips crash together.
I hoped he would realize how much I want him…how much I need him. I thought he would wrap his arms around me and pull me closer. Instead, he pushes me away. The rejection hits me right in the stomach, hurting more than the punch I took earlier.
His long fingers dig into my shoulders as he keeps me at an arm’s length.
“What the fuck do you think this is?” His eyes are wild, his tone dark. “I should have never let you stay with me! I should have just had my brother send you back to wherever the fuck it is you came from! You don’t belong here, in my world…and you definitely don’t belong with me.”
A million punches would have been less painful. I step back, shrugging out of his hold. The hurt I feel inside my chest right now is so strong, it hurts to breathe, it hurts to think about the future, tomorrow, or any day going forward. It feels like I’m shattering, like I’m a plate he just picked up and threw on the floor to watch it break.
How could he say something like that? He knows how scared I am to go back, for my father to find me. He knows what was done to me. He saw the marks and bruises on my skin, and still, he said those things.
I look into his eyes. I don’t recognize the man who keeps me safe anymore. His eyes are almost vacant, void of all goodness, of all emotion besides rage. For the first time since I met Roman, doubt settles in the pit of my stomach.
How could he say these things?
Does he even care if my father finds me? Does he even care about me? I thought I knew him, or at least a piece of him, but it was all just a mask covering up the monster beneath. I twist around on my heels, ready to run out of the room...run away from him.
I have no idea where I’m going, I just need to get away, and any place is better than being here with a man who doesn’t really care about me. I make it three steps before Roman’s strong arms grab me from behind, looping around my torso, pulling me into his chest.
“Oh no you don’t. I’m not done with you. I’m might have made a mistake agreeing to take you in, but you’re my fucking responsibility. I don’t care how I make you feel, you’re fucking stuck with me until further notice,” he growls in my ear.
“Let go of me.” I struggle against his hold, wanting to break free. His words swirl around my head, eating away at my fragile heart.
“Keep struggling. It makes my cock hard.” His hot breath fans against my ear, and I shiver.
“I don’t want you to touch me.” I wiggle in his arms once more, feeling my strength falter.
“Funny, you weren’t saying that earlier when my fingers were grazing your cunt.”
I bite the inside of my cheek, willing tears away. I hate that he knows I wanted him, and that my body reacted to his touch in such a way.
I want to fight him…I want to hurt him like he’s hurting me, but I am just too drained. Emotionally and physically. I have nothing left inside me, nothing to give him. I let my body relax into his muscled chest and force him to carry my dead weight.
At least I can make it harder on him this way.
“I hate you,” I say quietly.
“We both know that’s not true,” he replies, and I hate that he’s right. I hate that he knows how much he means to me, and I’m mad at myself for giving him that knowledge.
He sits me down on the bench just so he can change his grip on me and tosses me over his shoulder.
I let my head hang and close my eyes as he carries me out of the locker room. It sounds less crowded in here now, but voices, of people and the shuffling of their feet as they move around us still pierce my ears. Most of them say something to Roman as we pass, congratulating him and complimenting him on the fight. Roman never, not even once, replies. It’s not surprising, though. He doesn’t seem like the type to stick around and have a conversation with any of his fans.