Page 105 of Twisted (Never After)
Before I can, a throat clears from behind me.
I push Aidan away, and when I twist to see who it is, my heart drops, panic weighing on my nerves like a hundred-pound weight.
Julian stands there staring at us, a stoic look on his face, his eyes sharp and glossy like ice. His hands are in his pocket, forearms flexing.
“Julian,” I breathe.
He forces a thin smile. “Don’t let me interrupt.”
Chapter36
Julian
It doesn’t matter.
I don’t care.
Why am I surprised?
My mind is being pulled into a thousand different directions as I turn from Yasmin and the boy to leave, storming across the living room of the common area until I reach the bedroom.
I throw open the door to the room I share withmy wife, pacing in front of the bed, my fingers gripping my hair so tight it feels like I’ll pull out every strand.
Logically, I know she wasn’t kissing him. I saw her spin around and the way she didn’t respond. Emotionally, it doesn’t fucking matter.
The thought of him having tasted her, havingtouchedher while she’s wearing my ring makes me violently angry, and it’s taking every single ounce of self- control to not go back there and rip his tongue from his body.
Groaning, I run my hands down my face as I try—and fail— to convince myself one last time that it doesn’t matter. That she can choose him, and I’ll survive, the way I have every other time I wasn’t someone’s choice.
Go get her.
Stay.
Fuck.
I smack the sides of my face and stalk toward the door, about to find her and grab her caveman style, throw her over my shoulder, and spank her ass until it’s black and blue for thinking that I’d ever let her leave.
But the door flies open before I can, and there she is standing on the other side, looking like a goddess sent to hell. She storms in, her eyes blazing like a thousand suns, and she slams the door behind her.
“Just who the fuck do you think you are?” she asks, marching up to me and shoving her hands against my chest.
I reach out and grasp her wrists, halting her assault. But really, I’ll revel in the pain as long as I get to touch her.
“You don’t get todothat,” she spits. “You don’t get to see something and leave before we talk.”
“I’ll do whatever the hell I want,” I grit out.
She huffs. “Classic Julian Faraci. So afraid of letting the little boy inside heal that you throw up walls and shelter him from even living.”
Anger punches me straight in the gut. “Watch your mouth.”
“You watchyours,” she hisses.
I tighten my grip on her wrists, her glare stripping every pretense away until I feel naked and vulnerable beneath her gaze.
“I’m trying to do what’s best for you,” I bite out. “And sometimes that means walking away.”
“Well, I’m sick and tired of every man in my life thinking they know what’s best for me.” She struggles in my hold, trying to break free so she can shove at me again. “Guess what, asshole. There’s this little thing called free will. You should try to let people have it.”
