Page 49 of Ruthless Redemption

This whole subdued, peaceful interaction twists my fucking balls.

“I don’t know what type of seesaw relationship fuckery you two have going on…” Bishop grabs for the wine for a third time, pouring the remainder into his glass. “But the transition from bloodlust to dreary lethargy has me confused. Did I miss something?”

If he did, so did I, and I need to figure out what that is.

I push from my seat to follow her.

“Come on, man. Leave her the fuck alone.” He leans back in his chair and kicks a boot onto the table, crossing his feet at the ankles. “Remember what I said about instincts? Do the opposite. Stay out of her way instead of trying to get into her panties.”

I grab my bowl and glass. “I’ll be back to clear the table.”

“You’ll only push her further away.”

He could be right, but she might also be on the precipice of being shoved toward submission.

I stalk inside, dump my bowl in the sink, and continue down the hall.

Her body craves mine. The carnality between us with every interaction is more than enough evidence of that. All that’s left to win over is her head and her heart, and maybe now’s the time.

I stop at her door, and for a second I think she left it open because she wanted me to follow, until I see the splinters of wood on the carpet from when I broke the latch.

I’ve terrorized her today.

“Layla—”

“I need to see my daughter.” She cuts me off as she peers up at me from her position on the closest corner of the bed. “If this plan with Emmanuel isn’t a trick, and we’re legitimately going to take action, I want to see her first.”

“I can arrange that.” I can do anything. Whatever she needs. Whatever she wants. “I’m not tricking you.”

“Okay, then when we leave for Denver, can you organize a detour to Chicago first?”

“That’s where Stella goes to boarding school?”

She rakes her teeth over her lower lip as she dips her head once in a quick affirmation.

I’m caught off guard by the vulnerability she’s just exposed. Completely blindsided with optimism.

“I’ll make sure you see her.” I step into her room, hungry for more of her trust. “I’ll do whatever—”

“Don’t.” She raises a hand. “That’s all I want. Nothing else has changed.”

I stop. Stiffen. It’s not her words that turn my feet to stone—it’s her eyes. The ocean blue fills with desolation. Bleakness takes over her expression.

The woman once alive with aggression and sass is a brittle shell.

“Layla, what we did earlier today—”

“I already told you.” She pushes to her feet. “It was a mistake.”

“I agree.”

Her brows narrow.

“I’m being honest.” The pain. The trauma. The fucking blood. It was all a mistake. I pushed her too far. Toyed with her too much. We both craved the violence but I know now that she’s too pure to revel in that toxicity. “Everything I’ve done since we arrived here has been a mistake.”

She turns rigid.

“Except maybe giving you space when you first arrived,” I amend. “I should’ve allowed you more time to think over what happened. I regret taunting you into fighting with me.”

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