Page 104 of Seeking Vengeance

“You don’t even know me.”

He stops a foot away, his nostrils flaring. “Yes, I do.”

I shake my head and glance at my dress, trying to see where the hell I’m bleeding from. “No, you don’t.” I twist, finding blood splotches that match the red fabric, the material nicked with tiny cuts along my side. “You have no idea.”

“So everything between us was fake? Was it all for sex? For the lifestyle? For attention?”

I gape. “No, I never—”

“Then I know you. I know how I feel when I’m with you. I know how good we are together. How we fit. How we’re perfectly matched. How we can hold a conversation for hours. And fuck until we’re exhausted, but far from sated, because being with you means I’ll never get enough.” He bridges the space between us in an adamant step. “That’show I know you. And it’s the only knowledge that matters.”

His admission shakes me. Grabs me by the arms and rattles me to my bones.

I’d thought I’d known him, too.

I’d thought the knowledge I had was all that mattered. Now I’m painfully aware that’s simply not true.

What he kept from me changes everything. It bends and twists the already stretched limbs I’d stepped out on to have this secret relationship in the first place. It makes the already unattainable nauseatingly impossible.

“Let me see why you’re bleeding.” He doesn’t quit holding my gaze as he reaches out, fingering the material at my waist, bundling it in his hands.

My heart clenches, beating harder at his affection. At the weeks of deception.

“Why did you bring me here?” I blurt, unable to contain the mania.

His brows knit. “To Virginia Beach?”

“To the meeting. To the hotel. Why introduce me to Lorenzo? Why risk my life?”

“I didn’t think there was any risk. Nobody has dared to target him in years. I never would’ve brought you otherwise.” He keeps my dress bundled in his hands, his chin lifting. “I’m sick of the secrets, Layla. I wanted him to get to know you. I want you to know who I am.”

My pulse weakens, my entire body withering.

I return my attention to the ocean, unable to voice a protest when he bundles more of my dress in his grip. Unwilling to deny his cautious affection. Powerless to walk away even though I know I have to.

I thought he was my safety vest in the midst of the pummeling waves of my life. Instead, he was nothing more than a mirage. Yet I still hunger to cling to the illusion. I continue to hope he’ll save me from drowning despite him being just another shark in the water.

The hem of my dress rises from my ankles to my calves, then my thighs.

I hold my breath against the exposure. I clench every muscle against the judgment of my family snipping in my ears. Their recrimination. The fury.

But Matthew hasn’t lost the calming touch. He soothes me. Provides solace.

How?

How can his proximity dilute the devastation of my situation? How can he—a man now exposed as having underworld ties—comfort me?

Because despite the darkness of his admission, he’s the only support I’ve got.

The fabric creeps higher, exposing my lace panties, my bra. He keeps pulling the dress farther until it’s over my shoulders and head, then lets the clothing fall into a pool of crimson on the carpet.

I close my eyes as he steps around me, his fingertips gently gliding from my shoulder to the ribs at my back, every inch of nurtured skin awakening in a blanket of goose bumps until his touch stops at my waist.

“You’re covered in scratches,” he murmurs. “None deep enough to require stitches, but too many for me to escape more guilt over bringing you here.”

I battle inner turmoil as his fingertips trail intricate circles along the sensitive flesh at the small of my back, the beauty of his soothing contact tearing me to shreds.

“Forgive me.” He closes in behind me, one hand still learning my injuries, the other arm taking liberties to skim around my waist to my stomach, holding me to him. “I’ve made mistakes.” He speaks against my shoulder, his breath sending a shiver down my spine. “I’m not that person anymore.”

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