Page 26 of Dirty Lyrics
I hate it.
I hate her for a moment even though I have no idea how this can be her fault.
Lucy Volkov didn’t ask to be born beautiful. Hell, for all I know she did nothing to entice Rico. He pursued her.
But I can’t control my feelings.
Thankfully, my hate for her is fleeting.
Still, I hate him for making me feel this way.
For breaking me open with his words, then reminding me of every headline that gutted me.
And worst of all—I hate myself for still wanting him, even now.
chapter 10-rico
Diablita.
The word slams into me like a punch.
Lucy Volkov.
That porcelain doll heiress Matheson paraded me in front of for a couple of photo ops.
That’s who Maya thinks I traded her for?
Of fucking course she does.
And it’s my goddamn fault for not sticking up for myself, for her, for the integrity of my music to that lowdown snake.
I’ve got to make her understand, but first, I have to address the hurt that’s threatening to rip me open.
My blood goes hot, molten, rage burning under my skin.
“You think I went from your bed,” I grind out, stepping closer, “to hers?”
Maya flinches, her arms clutching tighter around herself, but it doesn’t stop me.
Doesn’t stop the way my chest aches so goddamn hard I can barely breathe.
“You think I could fuck you, love you, write music with you that tore me open from the inside—and then turn around and put my hands on her?”
My voice cracks with the force of it, equal parts fury and heartbreak.
“Is that what you really believe about me, Songbird?”
She looks away, eyes shiny with unshed tears, and it kills me.
Kills me worse than any insult, worse than any fistfight I’ve ever lost.
Because it means she doesn’t trust me.
Not enough. Not then. Definitely not now.
And God, that hurts.
“Fuck,” I rasp, dragging a hand down my face. “You think I’m that kind of man? That I could touch you—love on you—and then just go take whatever Matheson shoved in front of me? That’s what you think of me?”
