Page 46 of When Sinners Hate

“We’re leaving?” I question, failing to hide the crestfallen note in my voice.

“Yes. I’ll come and pick you up in the morning.”

Anger that I’d managed to calm awakens in that second. “Still no home, then? Was it all bullshit? What was the fucking point of everything, huh?” I down my drink and then, in a rage, smash the glass on the concrete floor. It breaks into pieces, glittering over the polished floor, and I can’t help but think that perhaps this is what I’m destined for – to be broken and shattered and never be whole.

“Careful, Lexi. And don’t believe that we can fast-forward to a place where we automatically trust everything about each other. Tonight is day one.”

“Day one should have been when we said I do. Not when you kidnapped me and locked me in a room with some maniac, shackled to a bed to prove a point.”

“You’re acting like a brat and not the Lexi I’ve come to know.”

“Well, fuck you. You’re acting like a jerk. Take me back.”

I storm back through his pristine cave and his stuff and wait at the door. Once again, I’m barefoot, making me feel so small and insignificant. He’s stripped me down and humiliated me again.

The drive ‘home’ is in silence, but I’m sure he can feel my temper simmering.

“I’ll be back to collect you in the morning. Pack a bag, and take a look at your behaviour. Respected Cortez wife. Remember that, Lexi.”

“Well, how about you take a look at what being a husband might entail.” I get out of the car, slam the door, and race to the relative safety of my room.

Although I feel like tearing the place down, I can’t ignore that little ache in my heart that he still didn’t want me with him. After all we’ve been through, that doubt eats into my soul and makes me question everything all over again.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

ABEL

The drive to Terrell Hills is slow. I weave through traffic, letting the warmth of the sun through the window bring me back to the reality of San Antonio around me. Everything’s been unfamiliar this morning; the smell of her perfume in my home, the image of her in my shower, the smashed glass still littered over my floor. Even the look of her walking around my space still flicks through my head like a movie on repeat. I’m not sure how I feel about any of it.

I pull over to a corner store and get out. She’s the only woman, short of family and Carmen, to ever step foot in my home. I’ve been there years and kept it to myself, and now I’m thinking about sharing it? That wasn’t ever part of the fucking plan, regardless of marriage.

“Marlboro Red.”

The store owner turns to grab a pack and places it on the counter as I dig out some money. It’s only when I’ve paid for them and I’m walking out the door that I truly realise what I’ve just done. The door slams behind me and I slide them into myinside pocket. I’m smoking again? Three damn years of being quit and she’s making me smoke? “Son of a bitch,” I curse.

The goddamn irony of that statement is not lost on me as I pull back into traffic and head for my wife. I am a son of a bitch. And not only that, I’m the son of a pimp. I’m reminded of that every day when I look in a mirror. I might hate the thought of him, but I’m just like him and there’s no denying it. Barely any of Mother’s features took hold in me, not like the others she bred. I often wonder how she feels about that when she looks at me. Must be a reminder. A sharp fucking smack around the head about who’s in control around here. Still, at least I don’t make her spread her legs for a living. She’s damn good at doing that without needing my input.

Chuckling lightly, I pull up the drive at the house and wait. One of Mother’s servants comes out carrying Lexi’s bag, and I watch her walk out behind the guy. She seems looser somehow this morning, like she’s shed a layer of veneer and is trying for casual, as she slides her sunglasses on. Flowing red silk skirt. Contrasting patterned top tied high over her navel. I look down at her feet. Still sharp as hell heels residing down there, though.

“Good morning, husband,” she says, as she swings those long legs into the car. I smile and wait for the trunk to close, then pull off. “What is your plan for us today, then?”

“We’re going home. Your home.”

She turns her face to look at me, shocked. “Which one?”

“San Diego. I have a meeting with your father tomorrow.” And I want to see her there with him. I want to see how she behaves, how she acts – if she acts.

She’s quiet for the rest of the drive, and I don’t mind that, given my frayed head this morning. It’s the same damn head that keeps looking at the curve of her leg under her skirt the entire journey, perhaps wishing it wasn’t as long as it is. I snortto myself, as I pull onto the rough road leading down to the hangar, and end up smiling about the thoughts running through my mind. They’re filled with sin and grime. That’s concerning for both me and her, because our time on that stained mattress changed my view of her a little. It’s probably just the memory of that knife at my neck, and definitely the sneer she levelled at me as she held it there. Either way, though, if she screws this up now that I’m thinking about getting invested, I’ll turn damn sinister on her.

“Are we staying at my father’s house?” she asks, as we get out of the car and I get our bags.

“No. We’re getting to know each other.”

She walks beside me and wraps her arms around herself, almost protectively. “Really?”

“That’s what you want, isn’t it?”

“Well, yes, but after last night at yours and then me going back to the mansion, I thought …” She trails off and looks up at the jet. “You’re really fucking confusing, Abel.”

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