“I wish I could believe that.” Ruby inhales, closing her eyes. “But we all know you’re lying.”
“You should just let him kill me then.” She launches the mug across the room. It smashes against the wall next to Ruby, hot liquid splashing against her jean-clad legs and shards sprinkling all around her.
I grab the cunt by the hair before I realize I’ve moved. The adrenaline stamps out the dizziness and pain I felt moments before. Screaming like a banshee, her disgusting fingernails chewed down to the quick, she attempts to scratch at my hands to release her. Gripping a handful of her hair, I smack her head into the wall, knocking her out instantly and catching her limp body before she can hit the tiled floor. I should have done that as soon as I heard her running her damn mouth. Catching Ruby’s gaze, I don’t see fear or disapproval but acceptance. A slight nod of her head confirms my evaluation.
“Lily’s room locks from the outside.” She sniffles, running her hand through her long hair, attempting to regain her composure. How much can one woman take before all that pain and hate withers the strength and beauty until there’s nothing left? I’m going to free her from this woman even if it makes her hate me.
I dump her mother on the twin bed while searching the space for a window. Nothing but solid walls. That makes this easier. I pull the door shut, locking it from the inside and outside. My brow raises in question, but one issue at a time.
Ruby’s waiting for me when I return, her brow furrowed, dark circles under her eyes. She’s exhausted. “I should have left her back at the house. I’ll never learn my lesson with her. It’s pathetic how much I crave a mother who isn’t…”
“Her,” I finish for her.
Small shoulders lift then drop on a sigh, an errant tear escaping her eye. Swiping it away, she says, “I’m sorry you had to wake up to that. You look awful.” Her jaw tenses as she winces, her gaze dropping to my ugly wounds.
Lifting her chin with my forefinger, I brush her hair from her face with my other hand. “I’ll keep telling you this until it sinks in, never apologize for that woman. Her actions aren’t on you, they’re on her. Besides, you know I look good,” I tease to lighten the mood.
Leaning up on her tiptoes, she places a kiss on the side of my mouth. It’s light and over too soon, but fuck me, do I feel it everywhere. “You’re a good man, Ezekiel.” She smiles.
I’m anything but a good man, but I like that she sees something good in me. I want there to be, for the first time in my life, just so she can have that part of me.
“Do you need anything? A drink, food…?” She moves a few steps away, the moment over.
“I could use some painkillers,” I tell her truthfully. The last thing I need to be doing hiking around her fucking mother. My head is spinning. Nausea stirs my guts.
“Come on, I’ll help you to the couch and get you some medicine.” Her arm encircles my waist, her hand lifting my arm over her shoulder. It’s cute as hell she wants to help me to the couch after watching me haul her mother’s weight through the house solo. Having her heat against me feels too good to give it up, though. The curves of her body fit mine. She’s mine. The thought shoots into me spiking through my bloodstream, warming me all over. She’s fucking mine.
“You’re so hot,” she whispers. Biting her lip, she looks up at me as she guides me through the hallway.
“You’re always flirting even while I’m dying,” I tease.
A small gasp leaves her lips. “Don’t say that.”
“What? You’re flirting?” I taunt.
“The dying. You’re not allowed. Maybe we just take you to the damn hospital and tell the police you were attacked. It’s not a lie.” Lines pinch her features, worry overwhelming her.
No fucker has ever given a shit about me before. I want to pull her closer and push her away all in the same breath. If I give in to this, it will be impossible to give her up. She has a life outside all this shit. I can’t keep her. Yes, you can, she’s yours.
“We can’t trust anyone. Not even the law. Everyone’s corrupt, and I can’t risk you being taken,” I tell her, lowering onto the couch, trying not to wince and show pain, but fuck, I don’t feel right.
“I think you need antibiotics. Those wounds look infected.” Her small fingers dab the red patches around the incisions.
“I just need rest.” I wince, grabbing her hand in mine to stop her from touching me. “We both do.”
Taking the seat at the end of the couch, she buries her head in her hands. “We need a plan.”