Page 9 of Ruthless Redemption
I’d never hurt her… not physically… at least, not by my own hand.
Fuck.
All I’ve done is hurt her.
Emotionally. Physically. I arranged to have her mugged, which left her injured. I’ve destroyed the ties that bind her to her family. I’ve devastated her confidence and shattered her trust.
Have I ruined her just like Emmanuel ruined me?
“Take a walk.” Bishop’s expression tightens. “Clear your head. I don’t know what the fuck you said to Torian to have him handing over his sister, but we’ll discuss it later. Right now, you need to pull yourself together before this situation gets more out of hand. Scaring her isn’t going to work in your favor.”
“She isn’t scared of me.” I’ve caused frustration, hatred, loathing, disgust. But never her fear.
“No, but she should be.”
Another muted sniffle comes from her room, stabbing more jagged arrows through my chest.
She has to understand my motives.
She needs to fucking listen.
“Walk, Langston. I’ll keep an eye on her until you return.”
3
MATTHEW
I walked.
I gave her time.
Three fucking days to be exact. I played the role of personal chef, supplying every meal to her bedroom only to be forced to leave it on a tray in the hall because she wouldn’t unlock the door.
She won’t talk to me. Acknowledge me.
I left her a new toothbrush, shampoo, and soap, yet I get nothing in return. Not even a grunt or a curse.
I’m sure she knows it’s driving me insane.
During the day, I spend hours sitting on the floor in my room, my back to our adjoining wall, listening to her occasional footsteps as I drink scotch from the bottle.
The nights are worse. That’s when I sit in the darkness of the deck, my attention firmly affixed on her silhouette through the sheer curtains behind the French doors leading to her room.
I’m starved for the sight of her. I need to see those emotive eyes. Hear that haunting voice. Every minute that ticks by is another wasted moment creeping toward my deadline to win her back.
She can’t stay in that room forever.
Bishop’s footsteps approach down the hall, his unimpressed glower at my bedroom door seconds later. He eyes the liquor bottle beside me as I sit on the floor, my head resting back against the wall.
He sighs, long and judgmental. “How long do you plan on moping?”
Moping? Seems this asshole is still looking for a fight. “If I’m not mistaken, you’re the one who told me to give her time.”
“So you heard me?” He crosses his arms over his chest and leans a bicep against the doorframe. “For the last two days I’ve been wondering if the message got lost in translation and you actually thought I told you to act like a punk-ass bitch.”
He’s definitely itching to get pummeled.
“We’ve got employees wondering why the hell you disappeared. They’ve got questions I can’t answer, motherfucker. You need to start returning calls.”
