Page 35 of Bitter Queen (Advantage Play 4)

“Good boy.”

Tucking the laptop under my arm, I drag Johnson Junior by the arm. Then we sneak out the back and jump in my car that’s still parked a few houses down.

I glance over at the kid in my passenger seat. He looks like he’s seen a fucking ghost. My grip tightens around the steering wheel before another lit cigarette hangs from my lips.

Well, that was unexpected.

13

Q

We haven’t talked. And I’m too much of a coward to face him after his declaration downstairs. I don’t know what to say. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what to think, or feel, or…anything. Chewing on my thumbnail, I pace the floor for a few minutes when the sound of Diece’s heavy footsteps echo through the door. Only a sliver of light confirms it’s still open. But it’s progress. Carefully, I press my ear to the door and listen for any clues I might find. After a few seconds, the steps recede, and I’m left with more silence.

Resting my forehead against the door, I count to ten, then open it. A tray with chicken, vegetables, and garlic mashed potatoes sits on the floor. Which means he doesn’t want to see me.

My eyes water as I stare at the not-so-subtle sign that I’m not wanted before picking it up and setting it on the nightstand. The damn thing taunts me like a freaking matador until my blood is boiling with rage and confusion.

What am I supposed to do?

Eat it? Let him have sex with me? Pretend he didn’t say anything downstairs? And what the hell do I want? I just…I don’t know anymore.

An hour later, I put the untouched tray back into the hallway, then leave the door open a crack and climb into bed.

Maybe tomorrow will be better. Maybe tomorrow I’ll be strong enough to face my feelings and the guy who’s managed to creep under my skin.

Or maybe I’ll still be a coward.

* * *

“Don’t touch me,” I beg. My hair knots at the back of my head as I shake it back and forth against the stained mattress. “Please, don’t touch me.”

“But you taste so sweet, my little Peach,” Sei coos before unbuckling his belt. “And now you’re going to taste me—”

Bolting upright in bed, my chest heaves, and I try to catch my breath. But the images don’t disappear. I can still see it. I can still feel him.

I think I’m going to be sick.

“Shhh….” A pair of hands grab my shoulders before brushing away the messy hair in my face. When D comes into view, my eyelids flutter to disperse the haunting memories.

“Diece!” I cling to him like a lifeline and tuck my face into his neck, breathing in his familiar scent that’s starting to feel like…home.

We haven’t talked. Yet here he is, comforting me even though I don’t deserve it.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper.

“Stop apologizing, Q.”

“I can’t help it.” My voice cracks.

“Shh,” he repeats. “You have nothing to apologize for.”

“That’s not true. I’m…I’m scared, D.”

“What are you scared of?”

Squeezing my eyes shut, I fist the back of his shirt until my knuckles are white. “I’m scared I’ll disappoint you.”

His muscles turn rigid beneath my fingertips before the rumble of his deep voice breaks the silence in the pitch-black room. “You don’t owe me anything. You know that, right?”