Page 22 of Monster's Naughty List
A dry laugh escaped him as he shoved his nose to hover just an inch from mine, “You couldn’t fucking handle it if I let you have the full blow of my powers. You’re fragile.”
In the past, I would have told someone they were absolutely right if they said that to me. But it wasn’t true. I wasn’t fucking fragile. I had just conformed myself into being a peacekeeper to avoid confrontations that could hurt either party in the scenario.
I didn’t enjoy hurting people, but in the process of trying to avoid it, I had taken too much shit.
Surging to my feet, I shoved my hand into Del's chest roughly and seethed at him when he didn’t move an inch. “Don’t ever fucking try to intimidate me with your size. You’re a pathetic excuse for a man if you rely on that to make women cower.”
He didn’t stop, though. He slowly stood to his full height and glowered down at me. My eyes followed him as he rose, unable to break the stare-off we had going. I wouldn’t back down first.
I gasped—well, I tried to—but suddenly his hand was around my throat as he cocked his head to the side. “What’s wrong, Vixen? You like it rough, don’t you?”
I knew he was referencing the way I'd let Oz dominate me, but I also heard the thread of jealousy in his tone.
He didn’t make me want to purr under his touch like a sated house cat like Oz did. No, he made me want to lock horns with him like rams until one of us was knocked the fuck out, a clear victor left standing.
“Fuck…you,” I spat at him, not showing even an ounce of fear.
His face lowered as his hand let go of my throat, his fingers trailing down my chest to wrap around the small of my back, tugging me tightly to his front. “No, thanks. I’d never fuck someone who didn’t have the backbone to stand up to the people who knock her down,” he challenged. “Your mother. Your neighbors. Shitty men. Fucking everyone.”
“I have a backbone,” I challenged, raising my chin and craning my neck to look up at him.
His response was quick, and it cut deep. “You are lying to yourself. You seek comfort, and comfort is fucking overrated. You fucking lie to yourself because you aren’t strong enough to face the fact that the people around you are fucking shit, and you are scared you’ll be alone if you call them out.”
Anger unfurled in my chest, but it wasn’t aimed completely at him. Part of it was at myself because he was right. There was a difference between avoiding confrontation to be kind and letting people walk all over me like a doormat.
But Del didn’t stop there.
“A lie is what you make yourself believe in order to make your life easier. You operate under these lies you tell yourself to avoid pain. But guess what?”
He didn’t wait for me to answer.
“Your lies will destroy you from the inside.”
My breath caught in my throat at the truth I felt in his words, as brash and pointed as they were. His neck craned down to bring his face close to mine once more, and his hand came up to brush the back of his knuckles against my cheek. “You have to stop lying to yourself, Tinsley,” he said, almost pleading, which made my anger at him falter.
I hesitated for only a second, but instead of taking that opportunity to face everything he was saying, I mentally ran from my problems once more. It was too much, too quickly.
How dare he point out all ofmyissues when he was doing the exact same fucking things he was accusing me of? Did he think I was blind or stupid? I'd seen the pain and hope that had clashed on his face as he'd looked at me earlier.
Del had slammed a wall in place the second a vulnerable moment had passed between us, so I’d do the same damn thing.
Why did he deserve to have me bare my soul to him and tell him he was right, when he wasn’t man—or monster—enough to face his own demons he was clearly wrestling with?
Placing my hands on his toned stomach, I pressed against it, attempting to put space between us. He was a solid statue, though—immovable, no matter how much effort I put into it.
If I couldn’t physically move him, I’d damn well make sure my words did. If he wanted to psychoanalyze me with his powers, ensuring that I couldn’t lie to him, I’d call it like it was too.
Ripping my cheek from his hand, I narrowed my eyes and seethed, “You’re one to fucking talk, Del. Real rich coming from the same monster who is hiding from his own issues. You think I need powers to see that you’re a bit fucking broken too? That you aren’t strong enough to face what you want?”
My words worked just as I'd intended, and he took two steps back, real rage burning in the depths of his eyes now. I felt his power spike as I pushed his anger higher. My chest began to heave with my short, shallow breaths, my blood racing and pounding in my ears.
“Tell me, Del,” I goaded, “What is your life like outside of your job? Do you feel satisfied withyourlife?”
His own chest began to rise and fall rapidly, and his fingertips extended to the daggers, telling me I had hit a nerve with that. So, I pushed further. “Must be nice to sit in your fucking ivory tower, acting like you practice what you preach, when clearly, you’re just as lost as any of the rest of us trying to figure out our lives.”
Despite the harsh bite to my tone, I had never felt closer to Del. Here we were, exposing the deepest, most broken pieces of ourselves to each other. There was something intoxicating about getting it all out there, proving to both of us that we saw the damage in each of us. There was no hiding.
We were just two splintered souls, scrambling to glue the shards back together in a failed attempt at convincing ourselves we hadn't been broken to begin with.
