“What did he do to you?” I whisper, my lower lip trembling.
Bull’s eyes drop to my mouth, and with a smirk, he replies, “It’s not what he did to me. It’s what he did to someone I loved.”
His reasoning now makes sense. I don’t pretend to understand because I don’t know the full story, but in this case—do two wrongs make a right? Murder is never the answer. However, why aren’t I looking at Bull like a murderer because that’s what he is?
“Why are you fighting?” I ask, unable to shake the feeling this is all connected. “It’s a violation of your parole.”
Bull surprises me as he grips my chin firmly. He isn’t rough. He’s aroused. “You’re too fucking smart for your own good.”
I stand my ground, refusing to be intimidated. I know his secrets, well some of them. I don’t know what could be worse than what he just told me. “So you may as well tell me the truth because I’ll find out what you’re up to.”
Bull inhales deeply, as if taking a calming breath. “Maybe another day.” He runs his thumb along my chin, then lets me go.
Sitting on my hands to stop them from trembling, I whisper, “Do you feel any remorse for killing that man?”
“No,” he replies, coming to a stand.
“Would you…will you…kill again?” I amend, needing to know all sides to this complex story.
He weighs over his response, but I know his answer before he even replies. “Yes.”
Exhaling heavily, I don’t know what to say or think. This is a game changer; this is reason for me to leave and never come back. I asked for honesty, and Bull has given it to me. It’s now my choice what to do with this information.
When my gaze drifts to the clock on the bedside dresser, I suddenly realize there is only one choice to make. “Shit! I have to go.”
Jumping up, I pat down my body, wondering where I put my keys. Bull sighs but moves aside, clearing a path to the door. When I notice his glum expression, I quickly backtrack. “I’m running late for work,” I clarify as I don’t want my exit to appear like I’m running for the hills. “I have a ballet class.”
He nods but doesn’t seem to believe me.
“Did you want to come watch?” I have no idea what possessed me to ask him this, but it’s too late to rescind the invite.
I expect him to say no, but when he mulls over the offer and eventually nods, I can’t keep the surprise from my face. “It’s for preschoolers. Just so you know.”
Bull doesn’t seem bothered that he’ll be bored to tears as he grabs his leather jacket off the back of a chair. “Let’s bounce then.”
My insides do a tiny flip flop because no one has ever shown any interest in my dancing before. The few guys I dated briefly tuned out whenever I talked shop. This is new territory for both Bull and me.
Finding my keys in the most obvious place—my bag—I make my way out the door, not wanting my happiness to show. This isn’t a big deal. He’s coming because I asked him to. It’s not a date. He just told me he’d murder again, for god’s sake. I need to stop with the fantasy of happily ever after.
Venus is pushing a cart down the walkway. When she sees Bull and me, she gives me a sassy wave. If she only knew what was really going on in his room.
Once we’re in the truck, I pump the gas pedal a few times because my truck needs a little TLC in the cold weather. She starts after three tries, and I’m pulling onto the highway. The rock music sounds softly over the radio, seeming to amplify the silence within the truck.
“How long has Andre worked at your club?” Not exactly the conversation starter I was expecting, but it is something I want to discuss with him.
“He was there when I started,” I reveal, keeping my eyes on the road.
“What’s wrong?”
Bull can read me like a book.
Clenching the wheel, I exhale deeply, hoping it’ll give me enough air to confess my truths. “I think…I think he was the one who attacked me that night.”
There is dead silence.
I risk a quick glance his way to ensure he’s still alive.
“Why?” is his simple question.
“I remember thinking my attacker’s eyes looked…familiar. When I saw Andre at Blue Bloods, I recognized where I’d seen them before.”
“Motherfucker,” Bull curses under his breath, his fist clenching on his thigh. “I should have taken off his ski mask.”
I don’t fail to pick up on his regret. “What do you think it means? Why would he do that? I didn’t do anything that would make him want to kill me.” I soon seal my lips when I realize what I just said.
After what Bull disclosed, I decide to keep the murder talk to a minimum.
“It means Carlos will do anything to have you working at his club.”
“What?” I question in disbelief.
When he doesn’t reply, I cluck my tongue. “You can’t be serious?” But it’s more than obvious that he is. “That doesn’t make any sense. Yes, Carlos has been chasing after me. But to go to those extremes to recruit me is ridiculous.”
“It worked, didn’t it?”
I’m about to argue, but he’s right.
Even though the attack wasn’t the deciding factor, it did play a part in my decision to leave.
“Andre almost killed me,” I say, shaking the image from my mind. “You saw it.”
“Carlos clearly wants you scared.”
Turning to look at him briefly, I can see he isn’t telling me something. He’s not the only one who can read body language.
“What do you know about Carlos?” he asks.
The earrings burn my flesh because I never got a chance to give them back to Carlos. I decided to wear them because at Blue Bloods, when you dress the part of upper-class dancer, you get treated that way.
“He’s just another rich asshole who likes to think he owns people. Why?”
“Be careful around him. Something is off about this entire situation. I just don’t know what it is. Yet.”
“Yet?” I glance at him and shake my head. “Please don’t. I need the money. It’s just for a few months,” I add when he doesn’t seem swayed. I omit the fact I signed a one-year contract.
“And you’re not curious to know why Carlos would go to the measures he has?”
Pondering over his question, I keep my eyes forward, frightened of what I will see in his. “Of course, I am. But sometimes…you have to think about how your actions will affect another.”
I’m expecting Bull to fight me, but I get the complete opposite.
He doesn’t say a word.
My students are distracted on a good day. Whether it be a fly on the wall or the ribbons on their ballet slippers, teaching preschoolers is hard. Throw in a tattooed bad boy, and I may as well be teaching myself.
“Mandy.” I clap my hands lightly, trying to get her attention. But her big blue eyes are focused on Bull, who is sitting in the corner of the room.
I was going to leave him outside to wait with the moms and dads, but when they set their sights on him, I decided to save him from the judgmental looks and allowed him inside. He sat quietly, but I felt his eyes on me. Every movement, every breath—he collected them all.