What's home, if not the first place you flee from? What's love, if not that blazing, unexplainable feeling born from the ashes of hate?
Reputable for her appeal, servility, and obsession with cartoons, Alaina is a workaholic immigrant doctor who's s...
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Westlife - No Place That Far.
♣️
MR. JOHN: I KNOW YOU HAVE a knack for masochism. So meet me in the boxing ring at Rue Fanchère. And leave your fighting spirit at home.
From the day I stepped into that elite boxing ring in downtown Markham with my girlfriend's grandfather, I knew exactly how I'd get him back for his bullshit ultimatum.
Alaina's moan on my mouth when I kissed her like a lunatic in the foyer—in full view of her family, him included—and again in my car while I fingered her drenched slit under his clueless gaze through that window, filled me with criminal glee.
Would've been a hundred times sweeter if she'd let me fuck her in her room. I'd have made her scream filth in a pitch sharp enough to split that old bastard's delusions and hammer one thing into his skull—she's mine. Not his. Mine.
That drugging high collapsed the moment she slid off my lap and vanished into her mama's house. My hard-on, though, didn't vanish with it. It sits like stone between my thighs, aching only for her. Being in this damn Audi—the same car we once bathed in heat—makes it worse.
I didn't leave the compound right away. I parked outside, hoping she'd show up with bags in hand and that reckless smile I crave.
Nothing. No sign of her.
It's mad how badly I want her, but worse that she still doubts how deep I love her, even after everything I'm swallowing just to keep us intact.
What's worse? The irony. She used to beg me to spare her. I never did. Now I'm the one doing the begging, the one bleeding, and she won't even look at me.
That shit sits like a stone in my gut. It's unreturned love, and it stings worse than my concussions.
At least I said what needed saying—that no matter what she's heard, I love her and I'd never hurt her. She's the one hurting me now.
But when I see that bastard Spider roll into their compound, I peel off in fury. If I don't leave, I'll drag out the same gun I used on Sam Dawes and blow that blonde bastard open. And that would be the most useless shit I've done in eleven years.
I've got to fix my life. If for nothing else, then just to earn her back.
And I swear, when I'm done with Theodore Dawes and I go back for her—if she so much as hesitates or tosses me that damned "I don't know"—I'll knock her out, chain her in whichever house I find, and fuck the indecision out of her until she remembers who we are and what she's trying to destroy.
I call Jason while heading to the beach house. He doesn't pick up. Hasn't, ever since I acted like a dumbass in front of him and Mario last week. Even got his men acting cold.
Only person who bothers checking on me these days—aside from my family—is Jade.
No clue how she got my number, but I'm not mad at it. She listens to me rant, scolds me like some priestess, and drops useless ideas that never help.
