Page 77 of Between Passion and Revenge: Part Two
“Here’s what you’re going to do,” I rasp, collaring my free hand around her neck. The blood flow through her carotid beats hard against my fingers. I want her to feel it—to understand this ache, this burn that’s hollowed me out from the inside.
I want her to feel some of this pain, instead of her righteous fucking anger, because I am in agony.
Grieving.
“You’re going to go back into that suite and you’re going to smile. Eat dinner inside and laugh. Then, you’ll put our babies to sleep. For each kiss you place on their cheeks, you’ll give them one from me, too. Then, you’ll go to my suite one floor below you, so you can explain yourself. Then, I’ll decide what I’m going to do about this.”
Her eyes flash. “What are you going to do? If you try to hurt them?—”
“I’ll never hurt my children,” I snap, my fingers flexing. Her eyes slide closed, and a beautiful tear rolls down her cheek.
“I’ve heard that before. That you won’t hurt someone, and you do it anyway,” she chokes out.
I go still, silent. She’s right. She’s so damn right, but I never could have expectedthis.
“You have until ten p.m. to arrive at my door, or I’m coming to get you. Then you can explain to our children why I’m dragging you out of the suite in the middle of the night.”
I would never, but I don’t want her thinking there’s any room for disobedience here.
I’m too on edge to give her much grace.
Her eyes widen, seeing the truth in my words, and without saying anything else, she nods.
“Good girl,” I mutter, releasing her neck with a slow slide down her chest.
“Ten p.m.,” I say again and turn on my heel.
I don’t watch her enter her suite, and I take sick satisfaction when the door closes with a mutedclick, rather than a resoundingslam.
SEVENTEEN
SHAE
I’m about five seconds away from hyperventilating.
It doesn’t help that a giant man shadows my every move from my suite to Storm’s on the floor below.
Or that the twins had a million questions about the man in the garden, or that they zonked outearly, which left me at Yennifer’s mercy as she pelted me with another million inquiries into what the fuck is going on.
I wish I knew. Really, I do.
But Yennifer didn’t just leave me alone after I answered everything she asked—she insisted I bring condoms with me to this meeting with Storm. Despite my protests, she ignored me and ended up shoving them down my bra.
“I’ll leave you here,” the guard who looks like Dwayne Johnson back in his The Rock days says. He knocks three times, turns away, and enters the waiting elevator.
And just like that, I’m alone in the hallway outside Storm’s suite.
What the fuck am I going to do?
The reality of my situation didn’t hit me until I finally stopped sobbing on Yennifer’s shoulder. From Storm’sperspective, I’ve done him a grave wrong. Ihidhis children from him; I denied him the opportunity and the right to be a father.
From my point of view, I did the best I could. I called him repeatedly, but he never answered. I did the best I could…or at least, what I thought was the best I could at the time.
I won’t take all the blame here. I’ve got enough self-esteem to know that it’s just as much his fault as it is mine. The only problem is, I’m not sure he’s capable of being as pragmatic as I am right now.
And that’s the scary part.
His anger makes him unpredictable, and if it were just me I had to concern myself with, I wouldn’t worry. But it’s not just me. Our children are tangled up in this messy shit, and I’ll be damned if they suffer because of our actions.
