Page 26 of Endgame

At the second insult, the urge to talk back surges within me. A tidal wave that grows from a place of hurt and resentment.

He can’t talk to me like that.

He’s the one who ruined my hair. If he hadn’t locked me up in a closet, my outfit would look as pristine as it was this morning.

Before I say a word, a metaphorical hand clamps over my mouth.

Hush. Don’t give him the satisfaction. Don’t give him an excuse to ruin you for real.

The voice is right. Wealthy, influential people hardly ever listen. And they have ways of making you pay.

I’ll have other days, other opportunities to tell him exactly what I think about him. When both of us are in a less volatile state.

“Okay,” is all I say.

Everett takes a step into the room, then a few more. The house is otherwise quiet. Either his staff is done for the day, or they shiver in fear as hard as I do.

He’s so close now that I have to look up to see him.

“This…” He nods to himself. “This is perfect.”

Perfect?

“Ha.” A nervous laugh scrapes up my throat, sharp and raw. “You—”You look annoyingly perfect yourself. You, not me.“What’s changed that I’m perfect all of a sudden?”

“Your parents have been blowing up my phone.” He tosses the device on the bed behind me, showing me exactly what he thinks about them and their phone calls. “They’ve sent more lawyers from Larry’s firm. I had them kicked out of my courtroom. All of them, other than the courier who got you your birth control pills.”

Who cares about my pills?

Hope trickles into my lungs, warming my soul from the inside.

Is it possible that twenty-two years of cold winters have finally been blessed with summer?

Is it possible that Everett isn’t here to hurt me? That he’s figured out my parents aren’t overprotective; they’re just mean and abusive?

This could be a rescue mission. Marrying him so they wouldn’t be able to reach me could be his way of saving me. He might not be nice, but as long as he’s here to save me, I can take it.

This hope again, it’s a dangerous thing. A devastating emotion that builds you up only to tear you down when reality strikes. I’ve learned that lesson too many times to let my guard slip now.

Which is why I don’t get ahead of myself. Quietly as possible, I ask, “What’s my parents got to do with the way I look?”

His jaw tics. Forehead creases.

My question pissed him off. It was the wrong one to ask.

What do you ask your savior? I’ve never had one before.

“Everett, I?—”

“Humiliating you, for starters. That’s fucking perfect.” His mocking tone answers my question. He cocks his head, adding, “Spoiled little rich girl.”

My foolish hope burns at the stake. Fear lurches up my throat.

This isn’t a rescue mission after all.

When my lips tremble, I turn my head to the window. Hiding this weakness. Hiding from him.

“Second.” He grabs my chin, his fingers biting into my skin as he forces my eyes to his. “Your parents will see you now. I’ll show you how powerless they really are. How you’re never getting out of this.”