Page 90 of The Worst Pucking Deal

“Absolutely.”

A shudder runs through her as she leans closer and slowly cuts my skin open. She stares at it with a euphoric expression on her face. Then she takes a few steps back, putting the distance she needs between us. Sitting back down on the chair, I watch her mask of indifference slipping back into place. Even though I hate when she’s wearing it, I won’t ask her to stop. I have no idea what she’s about to divulge, only that it’s bad. So if this is what she needs, I’ll let her have it.

“When this all started,” she gestures between us. “I saw you as my ticket to freedom. If I got married before my twenty-eighth birthday, I’d be free forever. So when Tom wanted us to find you a fake girlfriend, it had to be me. I was set on manipulating the situation for my own gain. That’s the kind of person I really am, and you should never forget that.” She sounds like she’s reading off a script rather than sharing details about herself.

I stand abruptly, sending the chair skittering behind me. “Let’s get one thing straight,” I say, my tone low and dark.

I take a step toward her, causing her to take one backward and away from me. But she meets my gaze head on, even lifting her chin. I love how defiant she is, even when her instinct is to retreat, she does it in a way that shows strength.

“I’ll never allow anyone to speak badly about what’s mine. Not even you.”

Another step, and this time she doesn’t back away from me.

“Do you understand?”

She gulps. “Y-yes.”

I close the distance between us, using my body to push her back until her back hits the wall. Then I gather both her wrists in my hand, moving them above her head while pinning her in place with my hips. “I thought you weren’t going to lie to me,” I observe, wanting to provoke her.

“I’m not lying,” she spits.

As I look into her eyes, I notice her fire is back. Sighing with relief, I tighten my grip on her wrists. “Are you sure about that?” I challenge. Using my free hand, I run my fingers through the blood still trailing down her arm. Then I swipe it across my lips before repeating the motion with my own blood, painting it across her lips.

“I-I…”

“That’s what I thought. Tell me I’m nothing more than your glorified key to the shackles of your fucked up family. Now, Lucia. Tell me, and I’ll let you go.”

Her nostrils flare as she presses her lips together.

“That’s what I thought,” I growl. “You’re lying to yourself and to me. But why? Hmm? Do you want me to leave you?”

“No,” she whimpers. “But you’re going to. I know it. And I… I…”

“You what?”

“And then I have to go back to Fabian—”

“The fuck you do,” I interrupt with a growl. “You’re mine, sweet bunny. I’ve already fucking told you that. What do you think those words mean?”

Shaking her head, she admits, “I don’t know.”

Her words feel like a punch to my heart. How can she not know what being mine means? “It means I’m not giving up on you—on us. I’m not letting you go, and you’re never going back to that sick bastard.”

After hearing her out and seeing how deep her scars run, I want nothing more than to kill the bastard with my own hands. I’m not talking about her physical scars, though I’m still curious about those. No, it’s her mental ones that are the worst. She might act self assured and like she’s not broken, but she is. My sweet bunny was broken and I’ll be damned if I’m not going to be the one to put her back together.

“I was so fucking pissed at you,” I say. My soft tone contradicts the words. “You should have trusted me with the truth instead of allowing that fucker to blindside me.”

“I know,” she whimpers.

Reaching out, I catch a tear on my finger and lick it off like I’ve done before. I don’t know why I crave her tears, only that it feels like a waste to let them run down her face and become nothing. “I can understand why you didn’t.”

“You can?” she asks, hope coating her words.

Nodding, I assure her, “Yes. I can. And if I’m being honest, I’m not sure I would have listened to anything you said beyond already being married. But I’m listening now, sweet bunny. So tell me.”

“I... I thought I was divorced from Fabian,” she confesses, her voice shaky with uncertainty. “But Remus... he told me we were only separated.” I meet Lucia’s gaze, seeing the turmoil in her eyes, and my heart clenches.

“Remus,” I repeat, my voice barely a whisper. “He’s the one who set this up?” Lucia nods, her eyes pleading for understanding.

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