Page 53 of Shades of Ruin (Sharp Edges Duet #2)

Chapter Thirty-Eight

ANGéLICA

I don’t know how I’m going to survive this.

I’ve never told anyone what happened. My family gathered bits and pieces from what they saw and heard, but no one knows the entirety of the hell I endured—and the lines I crossed to end it.

The truth is a death sentence, an end to the perfect life I’ve shared with Grey over the past few months.

Once I say the words, there’s no going back.

“I come from a small village in Colombia. Close-knit. Everyone knows each other. Everyone trusts each other. It’s the sort of place where nothing bad ever happens.

So when something does, everyone is so blinded by the normalcy of life that they can’t see it.

Even when it stares them right in the face. ”

Grey remains silent, his expression a stoic mask that prevents me from gauging his reaction. He squeezes my fingers in his hand, encouraging me to keep going.

“Papá had a friend that he’d known since he was a child.

They’d always been inseparable, even as adults.

He was in my life from the moment I was born.

He was my godfather, he held me at my baptism, he watched me take my first steps, tasted my first batch of arepas, took my side when Mamá and Abuela weren’t being fair and letting me do what I wanted.

“I adored my honorary Tío. In a way, he was my best friend just as much as he was my father’s.

I came to him with some things I didn’t trust my parents with.

Boys. Sex. My dream of becoming a pastry chef.

And he always understood. Always made me feel like I was important.

I was so naive to think I could trust him. ”

“It’s only natural to trust family, angel,” Grey argues, a heavy crease forming between his brows. “You didn’t know any better.”

“I should have sensed it. Things changed when I turned fifteen. I didn’t look like a little girl anymore, and he noticed the fuller parts of my body more than he should have.

His hugs became longer, more lingering. He found excuses to bump into me in the kitchen, to brush against my ass or press against my tits. He started to call me beautiful.

“‘ Mi bella senorita ,’ he would whisper in my ear when my parents weren’t watching. I loved it at first—the attention. But something twisted in my stomach every time his sweet words came with caresses that didn’t feel right.”

Grey no longer has the power to hide his reaction. He’s livid, a murderous scowl etched into his pretty face. “Then what happened?” he demands, crushing my hand in his. I enjoy the sharpness of his hold, so different from the agony he gave me when he punished me with softness.

“He kissed me on my sixteenth birthday. I told myself it was just a harmless show of affection, but inside, I knew the truth.

Papá never shoved his tongue down my throat, and there was no reason for Tío to do it—especially not alone in the garden where no one could see.

It got worse after that. More touches. More stolen kisses.

I made myself think that I wanted it, but I died a little every time he touched me.

“I tried to focus on my cooking. After Abuela passed away, it was all I did in my spare time. A way to feel close to her, I think. A way to forget everything that happened outside the kitchen.”

I take a deep breath, forcing myself to continue.

“One day, my parents were gone when Tío came to dinner; their car broke down on the way back from a day-trip to Medellín. I’ll never forget what I made for dessert that night—merengón con cerezas.

His lips tasted like black cherries when he held me down against the sofa and took something that never belonged to him. Something I could never get back.”

I jolt when Grey’s fist slams into the frame of the bed, a small crack splintering the wood. “Keep going, angel,” he hisses, anger thick in his voice.

“He forced me regularly after that. Found excuses for us to be alone together. Tutoring me in history. Taking me to the city to see local art exhibits. Telling my parents they should take a night or two to themselves while he kept an eye on me. I don’t think they ever knew he was fucking me in their bed every night they were gone.

“I would cry at first. Every time he forced me. I felt so ashamed and helpless, but he told me what he did wasn’t wrong.

That I wanted it too, even if I couldn’t admit it.

I would learn to love it just as much as he did.

I just needed time and experience. He made sure to give me plenty of practice.

When I cried, it would last longer. He would stroke me and pet my hair, run his fingers across my body and trace little circles against my skin.

He would tell me not to cry and hold me until I stopped. ”

Grey goes so still I can’t even be sure he’s breathing.

He’s replaying what he did to me tonight—what every touch of his must have felt like, the hell I disappeared to every time his fingers brushed my skin.

I don’t think he likes seeing himself reflected in a monster any more than I do.

This time, I squeeze his hand, letting him know it’s alright.

He’s always been skilled at breaking and healing, and this time isn’t any different .

Gathering strength from the firmness of Grey’s hold, I continue.

“Eventually, I learned that it would be over faster if I didn’t react.

If there weren’t any tears, Tío wouldn’t give me the soft, tender touches afterward that made me want to vomit.

I preferred the violence of his assault. At least that wasn’t a fucking lie.

“The pain was real—and in a way, I came to crave it even as I hated everything he did to me. I started to use the pain to distract myself, even when he wasn’t around. It helped me fight the nightmares he left behind after he used me.”

“Do you still use pain to hide, angel? Is that why you crave it so much? Because it’s better than facing the truth of what happened?”

I consider his question, determined to give him total honesty for once. “I used to. I looked for it anywhere I could find it. It didn’t matter who it came from or how. Not until Halloween.”

I look up at him through glossy eyes, unable to conceal the secrets of my heart.

“You were the first person to make me see pain as something more than a transaction, more than a way to cope. You showed me it could be sacred. It could be beautiful. It could be pure. You taught me that pain can be its own brand of love. And you remind me of it every day.”

Grey’s blue eyes blaze as he presses my bottom lip against my teeth, making sure it stings just the right amount to send shivers down my spine.

“From the moment I saw you standing there with your bloody, scorched wings, any hope for a future without you ceased to exist. After you ran, I searched for you every moment of every day. Even if I lived a thousand lifetimes, I would always search for you, drawn to you like a broken creature missing half its soul. And I wouldn’t rest until I found you and made you mine. ”

He pushes his thumb deeper into my lip, splitting the skin and rubbing the blood across my mouth. “You should have been mine ten years ago, angel,” he growls, “but I’ll settle for every single year you have left.”

“They’re all yours if you want them,” I whisper, the words as close to a declaration as I can get right now.

“My life begins and ends with you, and I wouldn’t have it any other way,” he promises before raising his thumb to his lips and licking away the blood. “But you’ve left out the best part of the story, little ruin. Finish it. You need to hear it as much as I do.”

I don’t even question how he knows, but it’s clear that he does. Keeping secrets from him feels like an impossible feat at this point.

“Tío was sentimental about our first time. Any time my parents were gone, he’d request merengón con cerezas for dessert so he could relive the taste of taking my innocence that night.

I started to save the cherry pits. One for each time I was forced to make it.

One for each time I was forced to lie back and take it.

I didn’t know how many I’d need, but I saved them until I decided I couldn’t take it anymore.

“It was a warm Sunday night—I don’t know why I still remember the day.

My parents were gone for the whole week.

It was a surprise holiday Papá planned for their wedding anniversary.

I knew I couldn’t survive a week alone with Tío.

I needed an escape, some way to fight back without him overpowering me like he always did.

“So I cracked open each cherry pit I saved and ground the kernels into a fine powder, mixing it into the cherry sauce after it cooled. Then I put on my prettiest dress, my sweetest perfume, my reddest lipstick—anything to distract him from the cyanide lacing his favorite merengón.

“The cabrón was so focused on my tits spilling out of my bodice that he didn’t notice anything until he was choking on foam.

And I watched him. I watched him struggle to breathe.

Watched him fall on the floor, spasming as the poison overtook his bloodstream.

And as his bloodshot eyes glazed over and his heart stopped beating, I leaned down and spit on the face of the man who took everything from me.

And I vowed to never let a man hurt me again. Not unless I wanted it.”

I peek up at Grey, expecting him to think I’m a crazy bitch, but instead he’s rubbing his hand over his noticeable erection, looking at me like he wants to eat me alive.

“ Jesus Christ , I didn’t think this would get me so hard.

My vicious little pastry chef has a deadly side.

” He bends down to press a harsh kiss against my lips. “I like it.”

“You’re not horrified?” I gasp, shocked that he’s taking the news so well.

“Horrified? Angel, I’ve never fucking loved you more.

That bastard got exactly what he deserved.

I’m just mad you didn’t wait so I could watch and help you clean up after mort par cerise noire .

I always knew your pastry work was genius.

How did you clean up the mess? Dead bodies are tricky in the best of circumstances. ”

This is the messy part that I try to avoid ever revisiting.

“In pieces. Over several days. Papá had carpentry tools in the shed. Saws and things. It was a learning experience, to say the least. Thank God my parents were gone, or I never would have managed it. I buried the—parts—in the garden every night when it was late enough no one would see. It took me five days to get the last of him in the ground, but I did it.”

I keep my voice detached, trying to ignore what that sort of fear felt like. “I scrubbed the floors, the bathtub, the walls. Burned his clothes. Abandoned his car in a village about an hour away. There was little trace of him left by the time my parents returned on Saturday.

“I told them he went home Sunday night and never turned up again. I said I didn’t call them because I didn’t want to worry them.

I smeared enough of his blood in the car that everyone assumed it must have been a random act of gang violence when they found it.

That was the easiest way to explain missing bodies where we lived.

But my father never bought it for a minute.

“I could tell my parents didn’t believe my lies, even when they were more than happy to believe his every time he ate and drank and laughed with them like he wasn’t raping their teenage daughter behind their backs.

Everything in our lives was tinged with bitterness and mistrust after that.

I held on to the one thing I had left and ran to America to study and pursue cooking. And I’ve never looked back.”

Grey tangles his fingers in my curls and jerks my head back. He bends low enough to kiss me again, but instead, he hovers there, a few inches between us, so close I can smell the sweet spiciness of his breath. His crystalline eyes are lit with fierce adoration.

“You deserve so much more than the shit life has thrown at you, little ruin,” he rumbles.

“You deserve so much more than someone as fucked up as me . But a woman far wiser than I am told me that we’re all broken in some way.

There’s nothing we can do to change it. But some of us are lucky enough to find people whose sharp edges match up with our own.

“And I think those jagged pieces that you were so scared to reveal are exactly what makes us a perfect fit. If you didn’t have them, you wouldn’t be you. So own them, angel. Own the scars and the darkness and the rage. You fucking earned them.”

“Stop,” I gasp, emotion thick in my throat. I cover my eyes with my arm to keep him from reading what I’m sure is plainly written on my face.

He tugs my arm free with a sharp pull. “Stop, what?”

“Stop making it so fucking easy to love you.”

His fingers twist tighter in my hair. “And why should I do that?”

The truth leaves my lips before I can stop it. “Because I’m terrified that once I do, I’ll never stop.”

His bright eyes flash with what can only be described as pure destruction. “Oh angel, I think we both know it’s a little too late for that now.”