“Stop, Dashiell. I’d rather press charges. You could kill him if you don’t stop!”
But it’s no use as Dashiell is unattainable in his rage and doesn’t even hear my pleas.
“Shareen!” I scream in a last-ditch effort to stop him.
I’d never want to call the cops on Dash, but I don’t want a lengthy prison sentence for him either. Lance might cower, but his parents would be happy to press charges against one of Katerina’s enemies.
“She’s on vacation. Left for Granada yesterday,” Lance squeaks, blood on his teeth. “I just wanted to make her happy. She said she’d leave him and that doing this would make it easier to break apart the family.”
“Dashiell, Jesus Christ, please stop. Don’t you see? We’re just her pawns, She’s manipulated Lance into doing this in the name of love, and she’ll get rid of you by letting you seek revenge and then getting locked up. She’s playing all of us, setting us up to watch us fall!”
But Dashiell doesn’t hear me. He’s beating Lance so severely he’ll be lucky to make it out alive.
“Can’t you see? Lance, she doesn’t love you. Dash, she wants you to do this. She wants you to lose your career, lose me, and prove herself right when she called you a hoodlum,” I beg.
Then Marshall is there, maybe on pure luck picking up something for his mom. “Natayla, what’s happening. Should I call security?”
“Separate them!” I tell him but immediately feel bad for putting him in a position to do so.
But Marshall jumps in between them and I follow his lead. Marshall wrestles a bloodied Lance away while I throw my arms around Dashiell.
“Let’s at least take it outside, guys. You’re ruining the new couch!” Marshall scolds them.
“Get off of me, Tayla. I’m gonna fuck him up so good, he’ll never forget it,” Dash breathes.
“You already did. You already did,” I repeat. I get that Dash wants to defend my honor, but this will only make things worse.
Even though his face is covered in blood, I kiss Dash, and it snaps him out of his rage. He kisses me back with a passion that borders on insanity. I can’t breathe because I’m drowning in his intensity.
“I’ll fix this, Sam. I’ll find a way to fix it.”
Chapter Thirty-Four
Dashiell
Out on the street, Marshall’s sent Lance on his way, but he’s waiting for us to exit the building.
Natayla runs to him and apologizes, and Marshall assures her that it’s not a problem, telling us he advised Lance to stop by urgent care and then give the family some breathing room.
“Listen, my mom called and told me to get to the apartment and take the computer. She had a bad feeling Katerina was involved in the leak. I have a couple of connections at TMZ. I’m going head over there now and see if I can call in some favors,” Marshall tells us.
Natayla looks mortified. I know she’s imagining Shareen seeing the pictures, but the way I see it, maybe this will be the final straw for Shareen. She’ll finally be able to get the hell away from all Katerina’s toxic bullshit.
“Do you know where my mom is?” Taye asks her childhood friend.
“I’ll text my mom. She knows Katerina’s schedule better than Katerina does. Plus, I want to tell her I got the computer. She said she wouldn’t sleep until she knew it was inaccessible to your mom.”
Taye shrugs off the comforting arm I try to wrap around her. I get it; she’s mad. It was a stupid fucking move on my part, and I never should have taken the picture.
“She’s at Barney’s for a special showing. A styling appointment? Whatever that means,” Marshall says after texting with Shareen. “Mom says she loves you and says that ‘sometimes what looks like setbacks are stepping stones to far greater things.’” Marshall has a sheepish smile on his face. “She feeds you those lines, too? Should have known. Mom always says you’re her other kid.”
After friendly goodbyes with Marshall, we hightail it to the department store where Katerina has a styling appointment. While part of me wants to tell her to conduct these matters in private, I know Sam can’t hold back anymore. She’s reached her breaking point. And I’d be one to talk after the MMA disaster I just unleashed on Lance. We’re both out of control, but somehow, being out of control together feels like something special.
It’s a private affair, and the security guard tries to send Sam away until she threatens to call her mother and interrupt the showing. The guard looks at her ID, matches her surname to the guest list, and reluctantly lets us in the ritzy place.
No matter how much money I make, I’ll never become as materialistic or petty as these fucking rich people. Natayla walks through the section of furs that cost as much as a house without batting an eye—she grew up in this shit. I feel nauseous looking at the price tags. People like Katerina think they’re worthy of this excess, while others starve five feet from the entrance to their apartment building.