“I hardly sleep,” I replied with ease. “I get fucked.”
“And you like it.”
“No.”
His smile was sinister. “Oh, baby.”
I felt uneasy, like he was calling out my bullshit. “You kidnapped me. You are the bad guy in my life. You know there are good people because you prey on them every day. You are exactly what you loathe, Nixon, and you should know better.”
He continued watching me intently. “Are you about to school me, Vix, about these good people?”
“Well, no, but…”
“But what?”
“Where’s your compassion?”
His eyes hardened. “I don’t have any. Everyone’s got their own agenda, Vix.”
I stared at him soberingly. “What’s yours?”
With an unyielding look, he said simply, “You.”
You. The way he said it. Just straight and to the point. And so blindingly honest. He may as well have said I was his whole focus, his whole purpose.
My body felt like it was heavy with tender emotions. I fought the smile on my lips. I shouldn’t have felt warmed by his response, yet I did. Conversing with the jerk made me content. He never drew away from me. He never hid behind vague responses. He answered the hard questions, confronting what he did every time I brought it up. And this attention he was giving me now? It was consistent. It was starting to be the one thing I could always depend on him for.
I looked around the room, at the dark corners, at nothing in particular, because if I looked at him, I would break into that smile I was struggling to suppress. And maybe I’d feel a little more than I was prepared for. Inside my being there were corners I resisted turning into for fear of feeling that achy splinter inside my soul. Curiosity to explore my emotions was gateway behaviour to the truth that lurked inside me.
I resisted.
But some days the temptation drew me closer to the edge.
Some days I wanted to remember how we began.
To remember there were emotions I was unwilling to confront.
“I missed you today, Vix,” he said suddenly, his tone low and serious.
I returned my sight to him. He was staring down at the glass of water, a fleeting look of sadness shrouding him. I stilled. I’d never seen that look before in all the time I’d been with him. As my gaze lingered, I watched him effortlessly conceal it. He raised the glass and took a big gulp.
“I have a feeling you’d rather a stiffer drink,” I noted softly.
His blue eyes met mine. He looked me over, his gaze lingering around my cleavage and slowly up my neck where my pulse thrummed impossibly quick. “I’d rather be sober tonight.”
I resisted squirming, but I felt the heat between my legs. He masterfully reduced me to this speechless mess. My brain went mute. I was all out of wittiness tonight.
“You thinking about it?” he asked, bluntly.
“About what?” I returned, my voice low.
“About fucking me.”
I resisted looking away from his eyes. It took so much effort to pretend he had no effect on me. “I’m thinking about a lot of things, Nixon.”
There was no amusement in him. “You’re thinking about it, I know it.”
“I’m also thinking that I’ve had a long day –”
“You’re thinking of how good it felt when I slapped your tits, when I forced you down, when I filled every inch of your pussy with my cock.”
I swallowed, feeling my cheeks heat. “Okay, so I have been thinking it. Haven’t you?”
His gaze was heavy. “It’s the only thing keeping me from the dark.”
“The dark?”
“A very bad place.”
My brows came together. I felt a flutter of concern as I asked, “How close are you to the edge?”
“One step, baby.”
“Pull away.”
In a whisper, he said, “Help me.”
I blinked rapidly, too stunned to respond. I also felt panicked. I didn’t like seeing him look so misplaced. I felt the urge to lean over, to grab his hand, to tell him it was going to be okay.
But I didn’t.
I physically couldn’t conquer the fight in my bones.
I couldn’t confront the pain in my heart, so I buried it.
I buried it and didn’t help him.
He was the first to look away, to pretend he didn’t just plead for my help. I felt swamped with guilt.
“Nixon…” I whispered.
Just then, Beth returned with a wary stare in Nixon’s direction. She must have gulped half a dozen times before building enough courage to say, “What’ll we be having tonight, sir?”
Nixon watched me, waiting for my response.
I’d been so caught up in us I hadn’t stopped to look over the menu I’d practically memorized. I lifted it up and pretended to read, but my eyes kept flickering up to Nixon and the way he was staring at me. I couldn’t decipher him. It was driving me mad.
“You’re not very hungry, are you?” he said, cutting through my thoughts.
I shook my head slowly. “Not chomping at the walls or anything.”
He stood up, throwing down the napkin I hadn’t realized he’d had wrapped around his knuckles. My vision spotted the colour red and I looked back at his dominant hand, at the knuckles that looked split open with cuts. My breathing slowed as I questioned the kind of day he’d had.
“We’ll head out,” he said, approaching me. He offered his other hand out for me to take. When I did, he pulled me up and wrapped his arm around my waist, leading me past a wide-eyed Beth and out of the restaurant.
“Are you sure?” I asked him. “You could have eaten.”
“I have a different appetite,” he replied, squeezing my waist.
We strolled to the foyer. By reflex, I began to turn in the direction of the elevators, but Nixon tightened his hold of me and had us moving in the opposite direction.
To the exit.
17.
Vixen…
Shocked, I looked up at him, dumbfounded.
“Nixon?” I let out, feeling my heart jump out of my chest.
He didn’t respond. His jaw was tense, his expression stern and uninviting. He led me to the exit and opened the heavy glass door. We stepped out under the entrance awning. The crisp October air hit my face and I took a huge gulp of it.
Nixon let me go and gently pushed me away from him. I spun around to look at him. He stood still, hands in his pockets, watching me carefully.
“What are you doing?” I asked him quietly.
Truth be told, I was frightened. This wasn’t part of the norm. This was all wrong and my gut was telling me something bad was about to happen.
But Nixon just stood there, harmless. “You told me to trust you,” he said warily. “So, walk then. Have a bit of fresh air. Then come back to me. I’ll be waiting.”
I didn’t budge for a long minute. Was this a trap? I looked around. The sidewalks were empty. The street had the random car coming and going. It was kind of like sensory overload. The colours were different than when you looked through a glass window. It was brighter, more vibrant. I could smell the flowers in the entrance garden and a delicious doughy scent coming from a bakery down the street. I looked up, mesmerized for a moment at the darkening sky; it felt like it could swallow me whole.