Page 23 of Sin of Love
I guess they increased my dose, after all.
“What’s the proposition?”
“Forget it. You’re not ready.”
So much snobbery for someone just as trapped as I am…
Disjointed memories bubble up, fizzing into my mind. They don’t seem real, but must be. They certainly explain her extra-surly attitude.
Meeting her gaze calmly, I say, “Ah, yes. How could I forget? He wants to have dinner with me. I think that’s a wonderful idea. I’d like a visit to the spa first, and my hair could use a trim.”
I shouldn’t provoke her, but I can’t help it. Treating Maggie as an enemy is the only defense I have against the truth of her role in my life the past four years: my energetic, driven employee and pretend-friend was a plant by my psychotic, mentally ill, former kidnapper and pimp—who, disturbingly, she believes she loves.
She doesn’t know what she feels is a sickness, the poison he spreads with his touch. It kills her, the lengths he’s gone to keep me in his sights. His concessions now. His need.
It kills me, too, but for different reasons.
“Whatever game you’re playing, he’s going to see through it.”
My yawn is authentic and aptly timed. Her lips pinch as her face reddens. And because I’m not feeling charitable, I land another blow.
“You know, those clothes don’t flatter your lovely figure. I think I’ll suggest to Julep you start wearing skirts and dresses.”
Panic flashes in her eyes—despite aiming for it, I don’t enjoy it. Not one bit. I know exactly what she’s feeling right now. The illusion of safety slipping away…
Her lower lip trembles as she says, “I’ve always hated you. From the first time we met, when you interviewed me for that stupid, pointless job. The only reason I survived four years working for you? The knowledge that the life you’d worked so hard to build for yourself was going to burn.”
My cocoon of opiate-apathy shivers. “Why?” The word is barely more than a breath. “What did I ever do to you besides live through the very same hell you did?”
“Isn’t that reason enough?” she snaps, then flushes like she didn’t mean to speak.
I frown. “Is that it? I escaped the life when you couldn’t, and you want me to be punished for it? Or are you ashamed because you’re too much of a coward to try?”
Her expression hardens. “No. I hate you because you had everything you could ever want or need, and you chose to leave. You left him, and for some insane reason, he can’t get over you! I stayed. I gave him everything he asked for, I was everything he needed.”
She means every word.
Poor, poor woman.
“What changed?” I ask.
“As long as you were alone, Julep was fine. Everything was fine—his relationship with his parents, his standing in the business. He was on fire. And you fucked it all up by jumping into bed with that dirtbag artist.”
I’m not surprised, though mention of Gideon makes my heart pitch. What’s keeping Julep from murdering him now that he has me? How do I know he’ll keep his word about staying away from Nate?
I don’t know. And that’s the scariest notion of all. Shoving those fears aside, I pull out more weapons. It’s time she understood the pecking order in this hell we share.
“Do you want to know why he wants me and not you, Maggie?”
“Fuck you, my name is Margaret—”
“Because I’m not a sheep, Maggie.”
I stand up and close the distance between us. She has a few inches on me, but it doesn’t make a difference. We both know who the bigger bitch is—me. And who will be punished if we come to blows—her.
Standing so close I can feel her breath on my face, I meet her startled eyes. “Do you know what happened the first time Julep weaned me off opiates? I’d been so good for so many months—a perfect little doll—he thought I’d finally stay obedient. Docile. But the second I could think clearly again, I stabbed him in the stomach with a pencil he left on a desk. I drove that blunt tip two inches into his gut. And do you know what he did? He laughed, yanked it out, and raped me right there on the library floor. I was sixteen at the time, in case you were wondering.”
Turning my back on her, I walk toward the bed. “You’re under the mistaken impression I give a damn about anything you say or do. You think I have compassion for your case of unrequited love? That I have time or space for your Stockholm’ed ass? I don’t. I have one objective here, Maggie, and if you get in my way, I will end you.”
