Page 10 of The Masks We Wear (Satan’s Angels #1)

Harvey

I want to strangle her. No, scratch that.

I want to strangle him . Rocco comes to her house knowing she’s using him for God only knows what upstairs in her room right now while I’m pacing the lower level of her home.

She’s successfully rattled me, and I don’t get rattled.

Every time I push her, she pushes back and nobody has ever been as persistent as she has. It’s infuriating.

She knew the rules and of course she found a loophole.

She only did it to piss me off and it’s working.

The image of Rocco’s smug face in my head, of him knowing he’s able to touch her sets me off.

Not because I’m jealous. I’m most certainly not jealous, but his smug face…

I didn’t see this coming and that’s why I’m this angry, it has to be.

The possibility that the churning feeling in my gut could be because of another emotion I’d rather not open the door to infuriates me even more.

Not even a full two days and Brody Drake has me questioning myself and my… emotions.

They’ve been up there for hours. I haven’t heard much noise aside from a laugh here and there both from her and from him but I haven’t heard anything else and the thought satisfies me.

I have no right to be angry over the idea of the two of them sleeping together but for some unknown reason the idea bothers me.

So much so, that I’m contemplating destroying her brand-new door just to ruin their fun.

I grunt as I force myself to sit on the black leather couch in the living room.

I rub my face aggressively with my calloused palms and sigh audibly.

By now, my clients usually bend to my will and obey me.

Of course, she has to be the outlier in the trend.

I just have to be patient and consistent.

She may be a little tougher than my previous clients but that doesn’t mean she’s impossible.

I’ll still have her bending to my will and doing whatever I say in no time.

It may take a little longer than usual but I’ll get it done.

I’ve never failed, and I won’t let Brody Drake be my first failure.

The bedroom door opens, and they exit together, laughing at something I’m not aware of.

The sound of her laughter is so genuine and sounds almost strange coming from her.

I’m used to her scowling and stomping around in fits of anger; I’ve never seen her smile a genuine smile and I’ve never heard her laugh.

The sound is intoxicating, and I feel a burning sensation in my chest that Rocco is the reason she’s making that sound.

They make their way down the stairs, and I leap off the couch immediately.

My eyes find Brody immediately and I scan my gaze over every inch of her, hoping her appearance will give away what they were doing upstairs.

I exhale when I find that she looks exactly as she did when she went into the bedroom.

She doesn’t look like she just had sex and neither does Rocco who she’s still smiling at, the stupid fucker.

She doesn’t spare me a glance as she walks him out and says goodbye.

He kisses her cheek and she doesn’t return the sentiment which satisfies me but I want to castrate him for putting his lips on her.

Once she locks the door behind him, she turns and avoids my eyes, keeping her gaze on the floor as she stalks past me and towards the kitchen silently. “No witty comments for me?” I start but she doesn’t respond.

I follow her closely and watch as she opens the refrigerator and scans the newly stocked contents -thanks to her assistant- for something to eat.

She pulls out a bowl of freshly chopped fruit and starts picking out all the strawberries.

I watch her mouth as she chews. I almost have to force my eyes to move and my brain to focus.

What is this girl doing to me? It’s so infuriating.

This has never happened to me before, but then again, I’ve never had a client as cunning and devious as her.

“You don’t feel like talking?” I question with a sudden harshness to my voice.

My patience with her is wearing thin. “Too bad I don’t give a fuck what you feel like doing.

What was that, huh? Are you trying to prove a point to me or something?

Do you like playing games?” I snap on her, raising my voice.

She finally meets my gaze but for some reason it looks like she isn’t really here even though she’s physically here.

I raise a brow as I assess her closer. Her lids look heavier, and she quickly focuses back on her fruit.

“You started it, I finished it.” She says nonchalantly, talking around a mouthful of strawberries.

Her calm expression and tone sets me off even more.

I want her to be fuming the way I am right now.

“You planned that whole thing out to get back at me. Does Rocco know you used him?” I try cutting deep with the last part, hoping to take in her reaction and get a better understanding of her feelings towards Rocco.

She smiles weakly, still avoiding my eyes. “Rocco knows you’re a tool, yes, and he knows why I asked him to come over. He doesn’t care.” She giggles, “Call us even now.”

It seems she doesn’t have actual feelings for him and that he knows he was a pawn in her game.

The knowledge satisfies me for some unknown reason, but that satisfaction is quickly overruled by the strange lull in her voice.

Her voice sounds different, almost sleepy but honeyed.

It doesn’t sound like her usual silvery voice, the one I’ve come to know so well already from her yelling at me.

Something is off about her. “Did something happen with Rocco?” My anger dissipates at the possibility that something bad happened.

Did he touch her? Hurt her? I’d kill him for touching my client.

It’s my job to protect her and if something happened behind that door…

She scoffs, her voice muffled as she chews the fruit, “What? No.”

I raise a brow, “You’re acting different.”

Her eyes widen and she suddenly puts the lid back on the fruit and shoves it back in the refrigerator. She tries to duck past me and out of the kitchen, muttering, “This has been fun, but I’m going to bed.”

Realization sets in. Her heavy lids, her change in voice, her avoiding my eyes.

I clench my jaw and curl my hands into fists, wanting to toss this whole house upside down.

I grab her before she can slip past me and push her against the foyer wall, cutting her off from the staircase.

Her head hits the wall with a dull thud and if I weren’t so furious with her right now, I may have stopped and asked her if she was okay, but all I can see is red right now.

I squeeze her lithe upper arms in each of my fists and she shrinks in on herself, afraid of what she sees on my face or what I’m doing to her but I don’t care.

Her expression is worried, anxious and she tries her best to hide from my eyes, but I won’t let her.

As close as we are, she’s still a lot shorter than I am so I have to lean down to rip her apart. “You’re fucking high .”

“Let me go!” She demands, anxiousness laced into her tone.

I seethe, “He brought you the drugs. You didn’t just use him to get back at me, you used him as a fucking mule.” I lean in closer to her and squeeze her arms harder as she tries to squirm out of my grip but it’s no use, I’m far stronger than her. “What did he give you?”

She yells, “I said, let me go!”

I release one of her arms and grab her face with one hand, forcing her eyes to meet mine and once I get a close-up view, my anger grows as if that were even possible.

Her eyes are bloodshot, making the turquoise color stand out more.

“What did you take?” My face feels hot with my anger as I snarl at her.

She shudders at the look on my face and tries to turn her chin away from my grip, but I don’t let go.

I shake her, “Now!” I slam my fist into the wall beside her head, not hard enough to put a hole in the wall but hard enough to scare a response out of her.

“Coke! He brought me coke!” She admits, flinching as if she actually thinks I’d hit her. I would never put my hands on a woman, especially not a client, but Brody doesn’t need to know that. She needs to fear me so that she obeys me.

I growl, “You are not to see Rocco again, understood?”

She doesn’t respond but I don’t think she cares much. The girl doesn’t seem to care much about anything aside from her band. She’s ruthless, arrogant, cocky, all the things I hate in a human being. She’s my opposite in every way and I can’t stand it, I can’t stand her .

“How much did he give you? I want all the leftovers, now. ” I demand.

Real fear flashes through her eyes for a brief moment as if the prospect of not having access to drugs actually petrifies her.

“I’m not giving you shit.” The deviant I met yesterday finally comes back to the conversation as some sobriety returns to her expression.

She’s the Brody I know now. The one that argues with me at every opportunity and doesn’t back down.

“And I’m telling Selene you put your hands on me. ”

I smirk at her as I lean in, “Go ahead and tell her, I don’t care. You know why? Because then you’ll have to tell her you used again, and she’s going to ditch your ass and let you go to jail.”

The truth in my words sinks in and she chews on her bottom lip anxiously. I release her and take a step away from her, putting enough space between us so that the leather and sage scent of her doesn’t seep into my nostrils and cloud my judgment further. I shouldn’t have gotten so close to her.

She sighs, “I’m gonna ask you nicely. Please, don’t take it all away.

” Her eyes glaze over and she looks so vulnerable.

In an hour I saw two sides of her I’ve never seen from her when she’s sober.

This one is weak and the other was happy but even I, the grumpiest and most miserable of people, was able to see it wasn’t real. I could see right through her.

“You’re an addict. I can’t let you keep anything.” I say sternly as I turn and start for the stairs to her bedroom. I’ll toss the whole thing apart to find what I need to find.

She follows me, hot on my heels, and having to use twice as much energy to keep up with me. “Please! I’ll get on my hands and fucking knees if that’s what you want, just don’t take it!”

I ignore her and continue to her bedroom. I find a small baggie of cocaine on her nightstand and immediately grab it and pocket it before she can get to it first. She fists my button-down shirt in her hands and tries to tug me away from the nightstand. “Harvey, please!”

I turn and face her, “Why do you want it so bad?” I ask, genuinely curious. I’ll let her think I’m considering allowing her to keep them even though I most certainly am not.

“I don’t want it. I need it.” A tear finally rolls down her cheek and I find I have a sudden urge to wipe it away, but I refrain from the action, keeping my hand glued to my side.

I shake my head. “No, you don’t.”

“I do! You don’t understand!” She protests as I lift her mattress and find another bag, removing it and pocketing it.

I continue my search, “So explain it to me.”

She opens her mouth to speak but thinks better of it, clamping her jaw shut. A moment later she settles with, “I just do. I don’t expect you to get it because you’ve probably been a boy scout all your life. But this is who I am and I need it.”

This is who I am. What does that even mean?

I want to press her for answers, but she doesn’t seem like she’d be willing to share.

She doesn’t trust me and I don’t blame her, she doesn’t know me.

I’m just the guy who came in to ruin her life in her eyes.

I find three more baggies of cocaine around her room all while she sobs and begs me to let it go.

Once I’m satisfied that I’ve found everything, I exit her room.

She sits on the edge of her bed with her head in her hands.

I glance at her over my shoulder before I leave the room.

“You’ll be getting drug tested every week, so if there’s anything else you’re hiding in here, I would get rid of it.

” I keep my voice calm even though my remaining anger from earlier is lingering.

The disheveled state of her is enough to evoke only a small amount of sympathy from me.

I have no sympathy for drug addicts, nor do I have sympathy for users in general, but the sight of the strong willed and hot tempered little rockstar who always has something witty and snappy to say to me, completely in tears and vulnerable is enough for me to extend a small olive branch in the form of my calm exterior.

I won’t yell at her and berate her anymore tonight.

I’ll wait until she isn’t a crying mess anymore.

I leave her door open a crack and make quick work of flushing the cocaine down the toilet in my guest en-suite. I watch as the white powder mixes with the water and disappears down the toilet, with it Brody Drake’s feigned happiness.