Page 21 of UnWholly Angels
Dropping the phone to the ground, I crushed it under the weight of my boot before Maya could respond. Then I leaned into the window to stare into his semi-lifeless eyes. “You made a pretty vile comment to my woman,” I explained nonchalantly. “What was it you suggested? That she should do... what? Offer up her pussy to some lowlife asshole with a god-complex, just to get a free meal? Tsk, tsk, tsk.”
Pulling back, I worked quickly to strike the match and throw it toward him, igniting his body. A satisfied grin etched itself on my face as the car quickly became engulfed by the flames. You could hardly hear his agonized screams over the bending metal and blood pumping in my ears as the smell of burning flesh flooded my senses. It was incredibly risky to do something like this so publicly, but quite frankly, I didn’t give two shits.
“Shame on you,” I said sarcastically. “Didn’t mommy ever teach you it was naughty to steal someone else’s toy?”
Swallowing thickly, I removed my mask and tucked it back in my hoodie pocket. I don’t give a rats ass who you are, or how mad I am at Maya right now; nobody disrespects her. I wasspiraling over this woman again, and I hadn't even shared a bed with her yet, which was still crazy to me. But all I wanted to do right now was burn in the flame she had reignited within me.
Burn, baby, burn.
Chapter Eight
Maya
Knots tightened in my stomach as I helped to tidy up the house. I needed to stay busy to calm the fleeting thoughts in my mind, and today I was mentally and physically exhausted from it. Chloe understood and gave me the space I had asked for, maneuvering around the kitchen while I worked elsewhere to prepare for company.
I’d found myself triggered multiple times today, and I loathed it. Nick had come in from outside, reeking of cigar smoke, and all I could see were flashes of the night I’d escaped. The phantom hands all over my body, running, the years of beatings and torture I’d sustained. It was just too much, and now I found myself staring at the blank wall, the memories acting as my own personal horror movie.
Even while playing outside with the kids, the cold caused tears to well in my eyes. I used to really love the cold and the snow.Not the snow where people forgot how to drive, but the snow that brought flakes you could catch on your tongue. They would fall loosely onto my jacket, and one day, I captured a photo of a beautiful snowflake exactly in the shape it was supposed to be, but I’d never shown it to anyone.
Everyone kept saying I’d come so far, but I didn’t see it. Yes, I'd managed to escape, but since then, I had done nothing except sit around and managed to hurt the people I loved the most. At this point, I felt like I was downright wasting what would be my third shot at life. If I failed again, I would never make it out. I’d always craved more from life. More adventure, a chance to do reckless shit, and see the world. How was I going to accomplish that if I peered over my shoulder every five minutes for the rest of my life?
Enacting an insane amount of courage that night, with help from nobody but the pure will to survive, there was little time to feel like a victim anymore; Ihadto snap out of it to heal. From time to time, sadness would occur, and I felt it was normal. Feel the emotions, and let go, right?
The internal battle I faced was forgiving myself for being so young and naïve. It was strangling me, like his very hand was squeezing life out of me from miles away. Falling into the trap was my doing, and the damage had been done. I felt I didn’t deserve help; who would want to help someone who kept going back? Who would help someone who learned to love sex from the abuse she suffered from? I needed it rough, to hurt in order to be pleasurable, yet my heart knew there had to be pleasure in love and trust. So many questions.
Darkness settled in my chest as my soul drifted further from my body. The rage grew stronger every day, but I’d get justice. One day when the time was right, I’d blow the fucking lid off Rocco’s perfect world, with or without Riley. Chloe was right. Someday, when I felt safe, I’d make someone really happy. Rightnow, my focus was creating a safe life and healing from my past, rather than running from it.
The sudden gurgling in my stomach was a reminder that it was my turn to choose dinner, and the thought of diving face-first into a big bowl of pasta and breadsticks caused my mouth to salivate. After confirming my cravings with Chloe, I plopped onto the couch while she placed the order, switching TV stations until I saw something that made every hair on the back of my neck stand up.
On the screen, a news anchor revealed there had been a murder the same night Chloe and I were at the mall. My ears perked up while listening, and my appetite slowly dissipated as a breakout reporter went through the night's events. When the image of the victim appeared, I froze, immediately recognizing the man as our waiter from the bar. It didn’t make sense; I had messaged him that night, and he rejected me, while being simultaneously murdered in the parking lot?
…Wait a minute.
“Chloe, look,” I said, pointing to the reporter. “Do you think Riley did that?” I’d been the one to lead the waiter on, and while his choice of words could have been more respectful, he didn’t deserve to die for them.
“I think you know the answer,” she huffed. Her eyes shot from me to the window behind the couch and back again. A grin spread slowly across her face, like she knew something I didn’t. I was tired of being kept in the dark; it made me feel brainless. My anxiety rose as she fell silent, a mischievous look crossing her face as three knocks rapped sharply on the door.
“Would you get that?” Chloe asked, heading toward the back door. “I’ll grab Nick and the kids.”
Not once had I ever questioned Chloe’s intentions, but her reaction to the news story and sudden need for me to answer the door had my thoughts racing. Something within me rattled,and if it weren’t for my protesting stomach, my legs would’ve stayed glued to the floor. My hand twisted the doorknob, and Riley stepped over the threshold without so much as a hello or acknowledgment of the woman who brought him in from the cold. Shaking his hat off, liquid splashed onto my face, causing me to cringe with disgust.
That better have been snow and not sweat.
Following him to the kitchen, I stood with a dumbfounded look as he unpacked a giant takeout bag, spreading containers across the expanse of the table. He glanced at me over his shoulder before motioning to the cabinet.
“If you’re going to stare, can you at least help set the table while you're doing it?” he snapped.
I gawked at him, wondering how we went from our text exchange the other night back to square one? If it were humanly possible, steam would be pouring from my ears with the way I was fuming. The only thing that stalled my response was noticing his appearance. He had on light-wash jeans and a black button-down, which seemed pretty dressed up to hang out with friends. He wasn’t as disheveled tonight, and his hair was parted with what I imagined to be a sick amount of hair gel, as not one hair poked out of place.
Before I could say anything, Chloe entered the room, closely joined by Nick and the kids. After setting the little ones in their respective places, Chloe turned to us with a ‘mom’ expression. “Let’s remember there are children here, so everyone needs to play nice,” she warned.
Tell him that.
My molars rubbed together, and I flinched as Riley reached for me with open arms. What the hell was happening? How did we go from our playful texts to this sullen and demanding façade? Well, fuck him. I shouldn’t have let him in; letting him freezeon the porch would have been better than dealing with this emotional whiplash.
Riley peered down at me through blazing eyes. “Are you okay, Maya?” he asked with a raised brow.
My breathing became erratic and shallow as an array of emotions rose in my chest. All I saw was red, and I instantly regretted it as my hand found its way across his face, leaving a bright red handprint behind.
