Her large, green eyes full of reservation glance up at me as she quietly complies. I hold the back of her head with one hand. With the other, I jerk off in front of her face.
Pressure builds in my balls, shooting warmth through my shaft, which spreads down my thighs with a slow prickly sensation. I stroke faster, craving the moment I know will bring me to the brink of stupidity. My spine stiffens on a near painful release. I blow my load all over the blonde’s swollen lips as all of my hate disappears behind a veil of numb satisfaction. For a few blissful seconds, I forget how much it hurts to be me.
My dick softens in my hand as the reason I hurt crashes into me. A fucking woman broke my heart. A ruthless, cunning woman, no different than the blonde in front of me wiping the seeds of my labor off her mouth. She wants to use me, too, only I beat her to it and now she expects me to feel remorse.
Fuck that! Regret is reserved for the weak man I used to be.
“Get dressed and get the fuck out,” I say, feeling the ugliness seeping out of my cold, dead heart as I head to the shower to wash the stench of woman from my skin. To scrub away the humility of who I’ve become—to hide from the monster.
I grip the counter, starring in the mirror at a complete stranger.
Tug Hunter is fucking dead.
I hate the man left behind.
He’s empty.
Tears pour from the corners of my eyes, spreading through my hair like tiny streams warmed by the sun as I try to forget where I am. Forget the life I wanted desperately, the one full of love that, for a fleeting moment, reassured me life doesn’t have to be painful. Only it does. A person like me doesn’t claw their way out of the dirty ghetto from which they came.
Eduardo grunts his breaths as he fucks me. My only escape during this moment lies in the capability of my imagination. I pretend he’s Tug. It works up until the point he finishes without caring if I’ve been taken care of. His quickness to finish comes as a blessing as I won’t allow myself an orgasm delivered by Eduardo. I never do.
“Take a shower,” he says, rolling off me. “You stink and I have friends coming for dinner.”
He leaves my room, taking with him another piece of my respect that I’m sure he stores somewhere as a token of his conquests. Eventually, my last shred of self-worth will dissolve, leaving me as dead as I feel. Without my dignity, without hope, and without a heart.
I hug my knees, the tears evaporating, replaced with a dirty feeling, a sense of dread combined with shame and regret. If only I never ran from Tug, my worth would be intact, although the alternative would be worse. Fate had been decided. My leaving Tug at Tori’s ended with this result. I’m content to live without him, knowing he’s still breathing.
Meet me three days from now at Café Infinito.
The note represents the tiniest glimmer of hope I’d once had. Optimism that was snuffed out when Eduardo wouldn’t allow me to leave the mansion. Three months have passed since I was robbed of my chance to explain. I’ve read the note each one of the ninety days since it arrived and the words never get easier to withstand.
I’ve compartmentalized all of my feelings for Tug as a dream, only when Eduardo visits my room for torrid rendezvous, I bring them back to a hopeful reality. As a survival instinct, I allow myself to feel a faint whisper of love I want to believe still exists.
If not for Javier, I would flee this prison. I would go to Tug, apologize—force him to see how much I regret leaving. I’m not allowed to take Javier if I leave the mansion, not even for a brief trip to the market. I could never leave my baby boy behind. I’m trapped at an impossible intersection, one where all roads lead to hell.
Worse than my own insanity, are the quiet moments of explanations to Javier. Occasions when a young confused child’s curiosity leads him to ask questions I’m ill prepared to answer. No greater pain comes to a mother than that of lying to her child. As a condition of my coerced restitution, I can’t be honest with Javier. I can’t tell him that I’m still in love with Tug and his father is a heartless maniac.
When I watch Eduardo with Javier, stealing his son’s innocence to create a miniature version of himself, conflict presides in my thoughts. Am I trading the lives of my family and the man I love for Javier’s?
The burden’s become close to intolerable. With each day my son’s sweet nature transforms to a child destined to take his rightful place in a cruel, vile family, I come to realize it may be time to fight. Only I seek the bravery to do so. There has to be a solution to protect all of us. I have to find a way, or I’ll lose my son to a life I never wanted for him.
Years of running to a new destination simply steered me in a circle, leading me back to the place I’d been trying to escape. Like a hamster running on a wheel, I sprinted with determination, although I never fled the cage. I was simply allowed the illusion of believing I could get somewhere new.
With the will to fight comes the understanding of my enemy. Am I prepared to suffer the consequences of defeat? Eduardo would sooner see me dead than allow me to be with Tug.
As the hot water pelts into my skin, I smell Eduardo in the steam radiating from my body. I do stink, like vile trash—hate and greed, lust and gluttony. There’s no sponge rough enough, no soap potent enough to remove the stench, for the filth lies under the skin in places untouched. I scrub my skin raw in vain as the scent lingers, taunting me with the choices I’ve made.
I’m crippled by trepidation as I step out of the shower. My decision was made when I stood face to face with Eduardo in the lobby of Tug’s building. Not that I had a choice. Fighting would lead to death—my loved ones’ blood on my hands.
I have to live with knowing I’ve failed my little boy.
My nephew coo’s in my arms, innocence reflecting back at me that will eventually be tarnished by the fate of whatever choices he makes. Men start out pure of heart, much like little Aidan Walter, but a heart isn’t designed to sustain the influence of women.
“He likes you,” Tori says, holding Little A’s tiny fist with her index finger.
I stare at the uncorrupted buddle of joy wrapped in a baby-blue flannel blanket with an overwhelming sense of sympathy. He has no idea the harsh reality that awaits him once he’s forced into the world. Vicious piranhas, also known as women, probably already smell his Hunter blood in the water. They’re circling nearby, waiting until he’s old enough to devour him to the bone before sinking their teeth into his heart. I won’t let that happen.
“I wish he could stay this small forever,” I say, fighting the ache in my chest.