All right, maybe my problem wasn’t really with the cat, as it was those eyes kept asking me what I was doing here.
I was free of them. I could’ve made it to Chaney Bridge and been halfway to the next town while those guys were still stumbling through the woods. Free of Scott Cavendish, Sheriff Sharpe, and the new Letter Man. The Bedlam Boys were giving me a gift.
But a gift isn’t what I deserved.
The crushing, stomach-twisting guilt ate me at the very thought of packing up and starting over like nothing happened. Leaving Cairo and the boys to face suspicion over my crime. Keeping the Letter Man a secret in fear of my motives being discovered, while they’re free to torture someone else. If I picked a life of running, I’d never stop.
It wasn’t until Cairo caught me. Dominated me. Punished me, that I felt something else. Actually, I felt many things as my virginity was brutally taken from me. What I didn’t feel was guilty. For the first time since the arrow flew from my bow, I could breathe.
I betrayed Cairo, and he took what he wanted while giving me what I needed.
“We don’t get to decide, Rain. The chance will come to right your wrongs. It always does. For those who truly want to make amends, they won’t miss it.”
No, my ghostly apparitions didn’t count as Gran giving me advice. Even so, she said things like this my whole life.
“We don’t get to decide when we’re forgiven, Rainey.”
“It’s not a punishment if we choose how and when it’s over.”
Wisdom she dropped on me after petty fights with my sister, or the many times I complained about being grounded. Did they compare to murder and framing not-so-innocent men? Would she have given me the same advice about giving myself up to the man who repeatedly assaulted me and played out his rape fantasy in the woods? Not just him, all of his friends.
I knew what any sane person would say, and all I could reply in response is I don’t get to say when I’m forgiven.
I don’t choose my punishment.
I burrowed deeper in Cairo’s covers, inhaling the piney, spicy-sweet scent. I was brought here after a long, silent drive, during which the guys looked at me like I’d try to set someone else on fire at any moment.
They brought me straight up here. Legend checked me out, gave me a real sling and painkillers, then the lock clicked shut on my new prison. Yes, I’ve asked myself many times why Cairo’s room locked from the outside. Was he so dangerous even his housemates slept better when he was contained?
It was a question I planned to ask when he came to me. When any of them did. I sat in the room for hours, watching the sun come up from his bed, and no one came. Not so much as a whisper on the other side of the door.
I swept the space, taking in all that was Cairo. I didn’t get a proper look the first time I was here.
I missed the band posters on the wall. The pitch-black bedspread even softer than it looked. The waving lucky cat, and a collection of dream catchers covering an entire wall. They all said something about him, but did they say it as loud as the throbbing ache between my legs, or the blood that drained down his tub.
Shutting my eyes, I drew my legs to my chest, feeling him in every part of me. Here I am wondering who Cairo was, when I should be asking who the hell am I? He hurt me. Hit me. Shoved inside me without preparation or mercy.
I should hate Cairo Sharpe, and I did. I hated him for making me come.
My first orgasm that I didn’t give myself, and he exploded every one of my nerve endings, blowing a bomb in my mind.
The night before played on a loop, asking me if their ownership meant Cairo would hold me down and fuck me till I screamed every night. Would they all?
Wetness dampened my panties—bringing equal embarrassment and anticipation.
“Yes, cat,” I said. “I am fucked up.”
The doorknob rattled. I poked my head out of the sheets as Jacques came into the room. He shut the door behind him.
“What?” I sat up, scooting back against the headboard. Those mirrored eyes just watched me. “What do you want, Stone? Where’s Cairo?”
“Why?” he asked, tone measured. “Are you looking for a protector?”
“Do I need one?”
“Yes.”
The snappy comeback died on my lips. A yes to tease me, sure. A yes in such a matter-of-fact way, I didn’t have a reply for that.
“Get up. Come to me.”
I kept scooting, though there was nowhere for me to go. “No, I’m good here.”
“It wasn’t a request.”
“Frame it like one, so I can again say no.”