Rough Edges (22 page)

B
ella woke almost exactly eight hours after Victor had fucked her unconscious. Her body still buzzed with the aftereffects of such mind-blowing orgasms. She was deliciously sore, starving and mad as hell.

She took a quick shower, and then found the focus of that anger sitting in her favorite chair. As soon as he saw her coming, he held her gaze while deftly ending in a matter of seconds a phone conversation he'd been having.

“Sleep well?” he asked.

“You know damn well I did. That was your plan all along, wasn't it? Make me come until I was too exhausted to see straight?”

“There were other reasons, but, yes, that was among them.”

“I don't like being manipulated.”

“And I don't like having to manipulate you. Next time, perhaps you should take a nap without having to be coaxed into it.”

“What you did wasn't coaxing. Not even close.”

He rose from the chair, all masculine grace and power. “Tell me you didn't like it. Go ahead. Lie to my face.”

She couldn't. Not after the way he'd made her feel. Subterfuge aside, forcefulness aside, anyone who lit her up like that deserved at least a little attaboy for his efforts. “Fine. It was good. Better than good. That doesn't change the fact that there's a little matter we have to discuss about you thinking you're in charge now.”

“You liked me being in charge a few hours ago. You might like it now. Why not give it a try?”

“That was just fucking. This is business.
This
is important.”

He flinched at her words, but for the life of her, she couldn't figure out why.

“Our fucking seemed fairly important to you at the time. Maybe next time I'll stop in the middle and you can let me know how high it rates on your priority scale.”

“There's not going to be a next time, Temple. I'm cutting you off.”

He closed the distance between them. She refused to back up a single inch. Let him crowd her space. Let him do his worst. She'd come so hard so many times, she was sure she could go another year without needing to scratch the itch.

The second he reached for her, she knew she had been mistaken. Men like Victor and the pleasure they brought were not so easily dismissed. Her body knew a good thing when it found one, and he was definitely good.

His fingers slid into the hair at the nape of her neck. His hand tightened into a fist, pulling the strands taut. Then he kissed her like the world was screaming to an end right here and now. He kissed her like it was the last kiss humanity would ever have.

He kissed her like he loved her.

Bella panicked. She lashed out blindly, shoving hard against his chest.

Victor landed on his ass five feet away, looking up at her with such keen betrayal on his face she knew she'd hurt him.

“I'm sorry,” she said. She should have said more. Wanted to. But the tears were coming now, and all she could think about was fleeing before they started to fall.

What the hell was wrong with her? She never cried, and yet her whole system seemed to be straining with the need to let out about a gallon of tears.

She made it halfway to the bathroom before he jerked her to a stop and pinned her against the wall of her hallway.

“What the hell, Bella?” Fury rode his features, painting them a vivid red.

She tried to turn her head away, but it was too late. Her eyes were prickling. Burning. The wetness pooled along her lashes, spilling out to glide unchecked down her cheeks.
Fuck.

Victor's rage melted into instant concern. “Whoa. Are you hurt?” He ran his hands over her body as if checking for broken limbs.

She tried to tell him she was fine, but a lie that big wouldn't fit out of her mouth. Instead, all she could manage was a soggy plea. “Don't you dare fucking fall in love with me, Temple. I mean it.”

He stepped back fast, like he just found out she had the plague. “What makes you think I will?”

“I know how it goes.” She was quivering. Out of control. Her skin burned and itched, making her wish she could shed it like a snake.

“How what goes?”

She didn't know how to answer his question. All she could do was fight the words trying to spill from her mouth. “You seduce me. Make me care for you. Make me think you love me. Then the insults start. The pain.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“I won't let you lock me away. I won't let you pretend you love me while you make me drink out of the toilet and beg you for food.”

“Did someone do that to you?” he asked, his tone moving from confused to gentle.

Despite her shame, the tears wouldn't stop. They flowed faster. Harder. She had to struggle to catch her breath. “Love isn't an excuse to do whatever the hell you want to me. I don't care how powerful you or your friends are.”

He took her by the arms. She tried to jerk away, but he was too strong. “Honey, tell me what you're talking about.”

What was the use of hiding her past from him now? He'd already made her surrender to him. He'd already told her he wanted to take over her mission—that she was too compromised to risk leading the people she cared about.

Maybe he was right. Maybe she had no business playing boss when so many lives were on the line. She couldn't even stop the damn tears falling down her face.

She wasn't herself anymore. Pretending otherwise was only going to get people she cared about killed.

Victor stroked her hair. “Tell me, baby. Tell me why you're crying. I swear to God I'll try to fix it.”

There was no fixing this. It was ancient history. Scars.

She had nothing to lose. She was already as low as she could go. Broken. Damaged. Beaten. Her shame couldn't make it any worse.

“When I was a kid, Dad was a shitfaced drunk and Mom couldn't take it anymore. She left. He took it out on me.”

“Oh, honey.” The pity in his tone nearly stopped her cold, but she forced herself to keep going. Pity was exactly what a life like hers deserved. It was a sad, sorry thing she couldn't seem to escape.

“It wasn't that bad.” A lie, but a necessary one. “I was a fighter. Got bigger. Smarter. Found some guys willing to teach me how to defend myself. I was almost big enough to take the fucker down.” She pulled in a deep breath. “That's when Stynger found me. She had her men bring me in. She . . . did things to me. I still don't know exactly what. I guess I'd blocked most of it out. All I remember was crying every time her goon came to get me for a ‘doctor's visit.' I'd come home and be sick for days. Delirious. Dehydrated. Dad barely gave a shit if I lived or died, except if I died, he'd have to take care of his own laundry and cook his own meals.”

“Sounds like a candidate for father of the year.”

She stared at the far wall, noticing a chip in the paint for the first time. She focused on it so she wouldn't have to think about what she was going to say next. “The last time I came home from one of those trips to Stynger's lab, I woke up . . . different.”

“Different how?”

“I didn't feel like fighting anymore. I stopped learning self-defense. Stopped doing my homework. I was scared all the time. Timid. Whatever Dad said, I did. No more rebellion.”

“That doesn't sound like you at all.”

“Because it's not me. It's what Stynger
did
to me. Aggression reduction was what they called it. Basically, they removed my spine, killed my courage and nearly stripped me of the will to live.”

“I don't understand. Why would anyone do something like that?”

“I destroyed every file I came across out of sheer spite, but from what I read, she was working on a way to remove the desire to fight from enemy forces. Spray them with some kind of toxin and they start looking around for a white flag to wave. Easy victory.”

His arm tightened around her. “And you were one of her test subjects.”

Bella nodded. “Whatever she did to me stuck. I got used to it. Learned to cope with the fear. Learned to obey and please everyone around me so no one would get upset. I avoided conflict at all costs and tried to make the most of my crappy life.”

“I can't even imagine what that must have been like.”

“It was like walking in a fog all the time. The real me was still inside, but she was locked up, beyond reach.”

“And because of that, your dad knocked you around more,” he guessed.

“No. I still played punching bag once in a while, but when I stopped trying to defy him at every turn, he stopped getting pissed at me quite so often.”

“So what happened?”

“I married young,” she said. “We were madly in love the way only kids can be. He was my hero, my savior. He got me out of a crappy home and into a life I could be proud of. The wife of a cop. Protected. Safe.”

She felt Victor tense and knew he'd started putting the pieces together.

“Dan picked me because he liked his women docile. He got off on control. I realize now he had his own issues, and an itty bitty penis to live down, but at the time I had no clue. He was my first . . . everything.”

“So, if you were perfect for him, then what happened?”

“Perfect was never perfect enough. He blamed me for everything. It was my fault he didn't get a promotion. My fault his hair started falling out. My fault the IRS was breathing down his neck for unpaid taxes, even though I was never once allowed to know how much money we had in the bank, much less control any of it. I got just enough cash to buy groceries and whatever else he thought I needed.” She could still see him now, his forehead streaked red because of something he'd perceived was her fault. “I tried to get him help. Counseling. I even talked to his friends when I managed to get them alone. Not one of them believed me. Dan was smart. He made sure what he did never left a mark. He hid his temper from the world—it was only for me. And cops stick together.”

She remembered those days of terror, when one of his buddies would come into the kitchen while she was in there fixing snacks for some game or whatnot. It took everything she had to open her mouth and ask for help. The last time, Dan had walked in on it. He joked and laughed the rest of the day with his friends, but once they were gone, she paid the price for her bravery.

“Did you ever try to leave him?” Victor asked.

“I thought about it, but I didn't know where to go. He cut me off from the few friends I had. I didn't have any family. And, much to my shame, I loved him. He didn't deserve it, but I couldn't see that at the time. All I wanted was for him to love me back, for us to be happy. I didn't realize it was impossible for him to love someone the way I wanted. The only person he knew how to love was himself.”

Victor's hand swept over her arm, soothing her with a light touch. “When did you realize he wouldn't change?”

“I didn't. I changed.”

“How?”

“One day, I was in the kitchen fixing dinner. I wasn't fast enough. He came in there, bellowing at me, telling me how slow and lazy I was. I guess I didn't turn around fast enough to face his ire, because I remember him grabbing my arm and spinning me around.” Her hand clenched involuntarily. “I was holding a knife, chopping vegetables. The blade cut through his shirt and nicked his skin. The second the blood started soaking through, all I saw was red. I snapped, and all that fog burned off. I was myself again. A fighter.”

“What happened?”

“To this day, I'm still not entirely sure. He was strong, tough, trained. He should have been able to fend me off. I didn't have the muscle mass I do now. I was puny and weak. But I stabbed him to death. Got in a lucky hit, I guess. All I remember was waking up, straddling him, both of us covered in blood. The knife was in both of my hands, and it was buried in his chest.” She could still see the pattern of blood splatter all over the kitchen floor she'd just mopped. All over the cabinets. “Dan died before the ambulance got there. Since that day, whatever Stynger did to me disappeared. I wake up every day glad I'm me again. Whole.”

She fell silent. She hadn't told a single person that story since her trial. Payton had encouraged her not to mention the part about her doctor's visits as a kid—said it would weaken her case. She'd been so grateful for his help, she hadn't questioned him. She'd followed her attorney's advice and said only what they thought would clear her name. It had worked. She was a free woman, the charges of murder dropped.

Victor was still by her side, seemingly not scared off by her tale. “Do you worry that whatever she did to you will come back?”

She nodded. The wet streaks on her face were a terrifying development. “It's the only thing that really scares me. I can handle everything else but being that weakling again.”

“That's why you're so afraid for Gage, isn't it?” he asked.

“I can't let her do something like that to him. He's a good man. One of the best.” Like Victor.

It struck her then just how much she respected the man holding her. He was confident without being cocky. Competent. Skilled. Fantastic under pressure and even better in bed.

Bella turned her head enough to stare into his clear blue eyes. There was compassion there, but any pity he'd had for her was gone. He looked at her no differently now than he had before hearing her sad story.

In that instant she knew that if she wasn't careful, she could fall for him. Hard.

She scrambled to her feet, needing to put some distance between them. There was no time for emotional roller coasters right now. There was way too much to do. Now that she'd gotten some sleep, she was ready to tackle the world and take Stynger down.

*   *   *

Victor wanted nothing more than to hold Bella while he sorted through the emotions her past evoked in him. Of all the things he thought he'd hear, a story about a timid, weak Bella was nowhere on the list.