Page 59 of Reckoning

Her eyes are closed, she’s passed out most probably from shock. I know if Reid takes her back, she’ll wake up alone and confused in a place she doesn’t know.

I don’t want that. I don’t want her to think I’ve abandoned her.

So I carry her out. And I leave my men to clear up the mess.

As I sweep her hair back of her face, I make a promise that I’m going to keep her.

I’m done with the games, I’m done playing nice.

Roman can shove it up his arse.

Sofia is mine.

And it’s about time the world accepted that fact.

Sofia

My phone keeps buzzing. It’s been going off all day.

I don’t need to look to know who it is.

Ben narrows his eyes and I can feel his judgement from way across the room. He doesn’t know what happened but he understands enough. At least, he thinks he does. Because he sure as hell doesn’t get the why.

Why I’m continuing this.

Why I haven’t bailed.

In my head I can hear all those reasons, all those rational things I told myself. That I didn’t help my father when he was alive. I didn’t help my mother either. And when Roman left, when he was banished, I couldn’t help him. I’ve done nothing, have contributed nothing to the Montague name. I haven’t sacrificed a thing. I’ve lived in comfort, in luxury, while every one of my relatives have sacrificed. Isn’t it time I put a little skin in the game? Isn’t it time I proved myself?

My stomach twists at the memory, at the events of last night. I showered as soon as I got to my room. I scrubbed my skin raw. That bastard actually made me bleed from the way his fingers assaulted me and even now, I feel sore between my thighs.

My phone vibrates again.

“Sofia,” Roman says. I can tell he’s getting annoyed though he has no knowledge of what went down.

I curse under my breath, snatch the damned thing and storm out of the room. In the hallway I can see the notifications, the dozen of missed calls. The messages. The voicemails too.

I press the phone to my ear and I play them back one by one, trying to ignore the way my body reacts to just the sound of his voice.

He doesn’t even sound contrite. He sounds irate, as if I’m the one in the wrong. He’s ranting, going off about how no one understands him, no one gives him the respect he deserves. The call cuts out mid flow but he’s quick to leave another that continues on the same vein.

Apparently Otto Blumenfeld doesn’t have the word ‘sorry’ in his vocabulary.

I guess I should have expected that. I should have seen that reaction.

The next few are more placating. More desperate. Clearly he’s getting the message from my silence that he crossed a line but still, he hasn’t apologised. He’s offering to take me out, to buy me jewellery, to essentially buy me.

I roll my eyes, silencing it. My brain hurts. I feel like I’m getting a tension headache from all of this.

“What did he do?”

I spin around and Ben is there, right behind me. God knows how long he’s been there.

“It’s nothing.” I say.

“If he hurt you…”

“I can look after myself.” I state cutting across him.

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