Page 133 of Wicked Minds
Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.
I know we talked last night about maybe telling Grayson, but even if I was entirely on board with Royce’s idea, I wouldn’t want him to find out like this.
He takes a calculated step forward, and I jump to my feet, feeling the need to gain as much height as possible before I stand off against him. The hem of Royce’s t-shirt falls to my knees, making me self-conscious as I rake my eyes over every taut inch of his body.
“Riley.” My name is a warning, one that has the desired effect as my brain snaps into action.
“My f-friend.” I swallow back the anxiety compacting like a dam in the back of my throat. “She has a kid; she wanted to say hi before we hung up.”
His nostrils flare, jaw pulsing, and a fresh wave of fear floods my body, making it near impossible to breathe.
“She called you Mommy.”
Oh shit. Oh fuck.So much for hoping he rocked up right as I ended the call, and his hostile demeanor was because of my unexpected presence inhishouse.
Which he’s not supposed to be staying in at the minute!
“You must have misheard,” I force out in a rasp, voice trembling and betraying the lie as it slips from my tongue.
He’s on me before I can process the heat of his hand wrapped around my throat, forcing my face up to his as he pushes me into the wall with his larger, more powerful body.
“Don’t lie to me,” he hisses, voice venomous.
I tremble, acutely aware of every point in which his body is pressed flush against mine. There’s fear, naturally, but as I’m flooded with memories of the last time he was pressed against me like this, I realize it’s notonlyfear that has every nerve in my body standing to attention.
I still remember the way his lips melted against mine. How he demanded control and fuckingownedme in that field. In my bed.
I still have faint yellow bruising from his hickeys, and despite how inappropriate it is, my core clenches with the need to be filled by him.
It’s probably fucked up the way my body responds to him.
Actually, there’s noprobablyabout it. It isdefinitelyfucked up that I am lusting after this man who looks at me like I’m the destroyer of his world. The man who is my daughter’s fuckinghalf-brother.
Jesus, Riley. What the hell is wrong with you?
I stare defiantly back at Grayson, refusing to be cowered. Refusing to allow my guilt over breaking him makes me feel inferior. He hasdeliberatelyinflicted just as much hurt on me.
For the first time,Ihold all the cards, and I’m no longer afraid of showing him my hand. Royce said that he’s been doubting everything, and from what I’ve seen of him in recent weeks, Grayson is undoubtedly crumbling. Yet, despite whatever his Gran has said, he’s still living in delusion-ville. Denying the hard facts even when they’re shoved in his face.
Not anymore. This isn’t how I wanted to do this, except I’m fucking done. He knows anyway, even if the look in his eyes begs for me to offer an alternative explanation.
The rest of us have to live in the real world. It’s past time Grayson fucking joined us in it.
“You don’t need me to spell it out for you, Grayson. You already know the truth. It’s been staring you in the face for weeks now, and you’ve been too damn stubborn to see it.”
“Tell me anyway.” His words are barely coherent, nothing more than a shattered rasp. There’s no anger. Only desperation. A plea—for me to give him irrefutable evidence or for me to give him an out?
“You mean you’re finally ready to listen?” I taunt. “Or are you going to choke me as soon as I tell you what you don’t want to hear?”
Nostrils flaring, his dark eyes drill into me. His hand around my throat doesn’t so much as loosen.
Lips pursed, my body coiled tight as I dare to spill my truth for Grayson to hear—and I hope that he truly will listen this time.
Perhaps I expect him to cut me off immediately, but instead of simply confirming Aurora is my daughter, I tell him everything. From the first night my door creaked open to the day that stick turned blue.
“Your father raped me. Repeatedly. In my bed, in your house. For months. On the nights when you were gone or out late. He hollowed me out until I was nothing but an empty shell, going about the motions yet never really alive. When I finally worked up the courage to tell my mom, she essentially told me to shut up and stop spreading lies. That’s when I started self-harming. It was my only escape. It was the only time when I felt alive. The only bit of control I had over my life.”
My voice begins to wobble, even though the need for him to hear every brutal detail, to feel this pain the way I do, has me forging on. “Eventually that stopped being enough. I was so done. I just wanted it to stop.”
