I hear grumbling slowly die down from outside.
Lennox doesn’t reenter the bedroom.
I’m still lying on the bed. My ass stings. My dress is torn. The sheets I’m lying on are shredded. I’m flushed and sweating. Tears and mascara are dripping down my face.
I see one of Vincent’s men poke their heads inside for the briefest of moments, and I grab for the remaining covers, trying to fully cover myself.
He just nods at me and closes the door, leaving me all alone.
I curl up in a ball—waiting for what comes next. But no one comes for me.
Not Lennox.
Not River.
Not any of the guys.
Not Vincent.
Not his men.
I’m alone and violated and broken.
It takes me longer than I want to admit to realize that I’m not broken at all. I’m completely intact. I’m safe. All Lennox did was scare me to show me what he is capable of.
But he protected me—in his own way. The only way he could come up with. He protected me without ruining his chance of becoming Vincent’s successor.He protected me,I repeat over and over again as I drift off to sleep. And now I owe my husband my protection.
Chapter17
Lennox
I knockon the door at six in the morning. She’s probably still asleep, but I want to get out of here as soon as possible.
“Come in,” I hear Rialta’s voice quietly through the door. I don’t know how she knows it’s me or someone she trusts. I’m guessing the fact that I knocked at all instead of barging in gave her some clue.
She’s lying on the bed, curled up in a ball, still in her torn wedding dress with the thin sheet pulled up around her.
I drop her bag on the floor. “Get changed, and then we can go. Ri wants to invite us over to celebrate.”
She nods, looking at me with a tight expression. Her eyes search mine for any warmth, any kindness—she’ll find none. I left all my kindness in this room last night. I’m not a nice person. In time, she’ll see that if she hasn’t realized it already.
I walk back out of the room, giving her some privacy to get dressed. It takes her a while, but eventually, she opens the door.
I scan her jeans, thin cream sweater, and messy bun. Her makeup is gone, along with the mascara that stained her cheeks. There is no evidence left of what transpired here last night.
“Ready?” I ask, a little too snappy.
“Yes,” she breathes impatiently.
As we drive to Ri and Beckett’s apartment, Rialta breathes steadily, staring out the window for most of the trip. She’s probably thinking about everything that happened last night, while I try to block it all out and forget it ever happened.
“Thank y—”
“Don’t,” I snap.
“What?”
“Don’t thank me,ever.” I bring the car to a halt in Ri and Beckett’s building garage.