Page 28 of Love Starves

That's it?I wonder, lifting my chin to him and he shrugs. Wow, I honestly thought they'd put up more of a fight than that. Maybe they're waiting to run back to Giovanni and let him do the fighting. Whatever either way, because like he just said, it's my decision. The rest of our date is more subdued than when it started and we part ways with Deklyn planting a heavy kiss on my lips as Nick says he'll let me know about the apartment before doing the same. Once I'm in the car, I sit with my hands on the wheel contemplating how to handle the argument with Giovanni I'm well aware is coming. Either he's going to accept it, or he isn't and that will be that. I may have gone soft and started letting my emotions out more in the past several months, but that doesn't mean I'm not going to stand up for my decisions as a grown-ass woman.

As soon as I walk into my house, Stewart is there to hand me a sealed manilla envelope. "This came for you while you were out, Ms."

"Thanks, Stewart," I tell him, taking the packet to the den. I'm too curious to waste time going up to my room.

"I'll bring you something to drink," Stewart says, backing out of the room.

Nodding my acceptance, I go about opening the mysterious envelope. Everything that it could possibly be races through my mind. Forms for my father's company and the internship he mentioned last year. Something from school. My parents announcing they're foregoing claims to me as their daughter and cutting me out of their wills. Which makes me chuckle as I think it. They're too shallow not to tell me in person if it were that.

Of course, it's something much, much worse and robs the air entirely from my lungs. The top paper is a copy of a driver's license with Ryan's face on it. Only, it doesn't have his name on it. Who the hell is Jason Rythburg? The more I flip over, the more my throat seems to close off. At some point Stewart brings the drink back in and sets it on the table. I can't say when, nor could I have thanked him. If my lips part, it'd likely be on a scream.

I don't want to believe what I'm reading because it can't be real. What I feel for Ryan, that's real. The way he makes me feel like the most important person in the room. The way he takes every opportunity to hold my hand or touch me. The way he cuddles after sex and we sit up half the night in whispered conversation about our secrets and what we want out of the future. Those things are real. Not this Jason person.

But the evidence is staring me straight in the face. A driver's license. A lease for an address in Dallas, TX. Social media accounts. A bank statement that's received large deposits for the last several months from a private account. It isn't until I turn to the last two pages that my world completely shatters. Whoever did their digging did so thoroughly, leaving no stones unturned. Those large deposits and private bank account lead back to nonother than Clemonte Pharmaceuticals. The last page is a photo of the man I've come to know and possibly even love in the same frame with my father.

Snapping to my feet, the papers scatter across the floor. I can't stop staring at the photo until it blurs. Silent tears streaming down my face turn into a sob that forces me to wrap an arm around my waist. Leaving the mess, I spin on my heel and make a beeline for my room. My heart feels like it's being ripped out of my chest as I collapse face-first into my mattress and scream as loud my lungs will let me.

For once in my life, I felt like I had something real that money couldn't pay for. The man I thought I was falling in love with was hired by my father for what amounts to daughter babysitting duties. I wonder if those included getting pussy out of it, too. Father couldn't possibly be that much of a monster. Or maybe he is. If that weren't enough, I know Ryan, or Jason, didn’t rat himself out. No, this whole thing reeks of Giovanni. It's something he would do to get his way even if it means hurting me. The others had to have known, too. In one day, I've lost everything. No doubt the girls in the club still harbor feelings toward my bitchiness and probably talk about me behind my back. I've made all this shit up in my head, trying to lie to myself and fill the voids in my life. There's no escaping this nightmare and everything is closing in.

Weeks go by and I only know this because the sun keeps rising and setting like nothing is wrong. Like my life didn't implode on itself. I don't go to class. I've missed several appointments with Geoff. Two club meetings have come and gone. I've not left my room since the day I learned of the betrayal. Stewart brings food to the door and leaves it outside at least three times a day, but I don't bother unless I feel like I'm on the verge of collapsing. The only thing that matters is trying to erase how dirty I feel. Four showers a day, scrubbing my skin raw, doesn't help. He's still there in my mind and there's no cleansing that can be done there to make me forget I was used for a paycheck. Then one day it hits me, there is.

I avoid the face in the mirror as I paint on my mask of makeup and again while getting dressed. It takes multiple times to realize I'll have to forego a skirt or jeans and don a dress instead since the former keeps slipping off my hips to the floor. Robotically grabbing the things I need, even my phone that's been dead since the ringing of people calling it for three days killed it, I go down and get in my car. It's probably a weekday night, but that won't matter where I'm going.

When I get to the club, I hand off my keys to a valet who parks my Mercedes across the street at my instruction. I won't be here long and would've left it idling at the curb if I could. The bouncer doesn't even check my ID before opening the rope to let me through much to the disbelief from the crowd that's waiting in line. It helps that he used to see me and Farrah here a lot with our friends. Almost every weekend, so I'd say I'm a familiar face. I may have left the scene in the past, but I'd bet the several grand in cash in my bag that everything is exactly the same. Sure enough, weaving my way through sweaty bodies on the dance floor, I find Mason in the booth he's used for years. The cushions should have an imprint of his ass by now.

"Well, well," he says in way of greeting, looking me up and down. "If it isn't the wild girl. How're things?"

"I'm not here for small talk, Mason," I tell him, taking the seat on his left as one of his people stands and motions for me to sit. "I need sugar."

Pity flashes in his expression before he replies in an honest tone, "You look like shit, Blythe."

"Are you going to help, or should I find somewhere else to drop these bills?" I ask haughtily.

We've never been friends, but we did run in the same crowds. I don't have one ounce of regret treating him like the dealer he is. As soon as I set the money on the table between us, he doesn't seem to have any regret setting me up a line of coke either. Rolling up the top hundred, I take the line like a pro. It takes a second before I'm able to give him a short nod, after which he slides a full bag into my palm under the table.

"Thanks," I tell him, coming to my feet. Making my way back through the people, the high hits and I can't stop myself from moving my hips to the music when someone grabs them from behind. Minutes, or maybe hours later, I open my eyes to an angry face.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" Elliot practically yells at me.

I'd ask him the same, but I think we both already know the answer to that. I almost forget why I'm mad at him. Then the walls start closing in around me and I shove away from both him and the stranger. I need another line and I can't do it here. My name gets lost in the loud music as he calls to me, but I ignore it, pushing my way through people to get outside. All I want to do is get back to my safe, little room where I don't have to deal with the world.

Deklyn

"I'm telling you, dude. We need to at least check on her," Elliot argues with Giovanni.

We're in a loose circle around some of the weight benches in the gym, listening to the man fight Giovanni on this since we got here a couple hours ago. Predictably, Van shakes his head. "No. We're not getting involved. She's got a lot to process, and we need to give her space."

I half wonder if he scared to face her, knowing that she's probably figured out that he's the one who dropped that fucking bomb on her doorstep about that lying asshole. If I were in his shoes, I know I'd be terrified, too. Somebody had to take one for the team, but I can honestly say that I don't think I would've had the balls for it. We've listened to Elliot gripe all morning about sending someone to her house and he's got half the guys on his side. He already had Crue's support from the moment he mentioned her name. Didn't matter what it was for. Kenji, as always, backs whatever Elliot says. Nick and I are still on the fence about it. Makes me question whether his reason is the same as mine in which we're the guiltiest parties here since we spoke up and told Van about the trip she'd planned.

I've been half-fucked in the head ever since Afghanistan, so I don't exactly trust my judgement on things most days. This whole situation is rocking my anxiety off the charts. Van's going to need to schedule me a fight this weekend just so I can let off some steam, or I'm going to lose it.

Taking a seat beside Kenji on the bench, I drop my head into my hands and massage my temples where a heavy-ass migraine is building while the two of them keep bickering. The front door opens, letting in a draft right before a woman's voice asks, "You're friends of Blythe's, right?"

Glancing up, I find a pretty brunette woman slightly on the thicker side, but her companions are of more interest than she is.

"Mother fucker," Kenji growls, standing to his full height facing the guy that laid an ass kicking on him a couple months ago then never showed his face again.

"What the fuck are you doing here, Thatcher?" Van demands.

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