by Jenika Snow
He stalked closer to her, and she stood her ground. The alcohol coming off him was so potent she didn’t doubt that she could easily become drunk from the fumes alone.
“You’re drunk, Tate, but that doesn’t give you the right to talk to me the way you are.”
His nose flared, and he closed his eyes for several seconds. When he opened them, he inhaled deeply and ran both hands through his hair. A look of defeat crossed his face for a split second, but then his anger returned.
“You know nothing about me, Stella. You don’t know what I’m capable of.” His voice had dropped to a deadly tone, and she swallowed. He was trying to intimidate her, and he was doing a damn good job of it.
Crossing her arms over her breasts, she glared at him. “Get off your fucking high horse. I don’t need to know what you’re capable of to know you’re being an incredible ass.” His chest was rising and falling rapidly. “And don’t fucking threaten me, Tate.” She thrust a finger against the hard wall of his chest.
The corner of his mouth lifted. “I’m not threatening you, Stella. I’m telling you the cold, hard truth. If you knew the kind of man I was, you would never have agreed to stay with me, never have agreed to let me in your body.”
He was trying to shock her with his crass words, but it wasn’t going to work. She was too angry. Like she had a fucking choice in the matter. It was either stay with him or lose everything. “You know why I agreed.” Why did her voice sound so dejected? It needed to be hard and as angry as his. She lifted her focus from the floor and stared into his dark gaze. “Why can’t you trust me and let me in?” The tears that she had done so well keeping at bay now spilled down her cheeks.
“You want to know about me, Stella? The real me?” The way he said it was almost a warning. Stella licked her lips and nodded. The laugh that came from him was humorless. He turned and picked up one of the pictures that had fallen from the album, holding it out in front of him. Stella looked at the three people staring back at her. It was one she hadn’t seen, one of Tate in his late teens, the same woman she had seen in other photos, and a man that could only be Tate’s father because the resemblance was uncanny.
It was obvious the woman was his mother. It was a family picture, but Stella had no idea why he was showing it to her. The expressions of the people in the picture were anything but a happy family. The tension was clear.
“This is my mom, dad, and me when I was sixteen.” She did the math and realized the picture was eighteen years old. His voice had dropped as if he were in pain. “I killed my father. You’ve been letting a murderer fuck you.”
She took an involuntary step back as his words hit her like a punch in the gut. He looked at her like he expected her to say something. “My father beat me and my mother on a nightly basis. He was good at making sure the bruises were hidden beneath our clothes.” He tossed the picture back on the ground. “I tried to fight back when I was younger, but my father was a big man and he easily overpowered my mother and me. I started to fill out the older I became, and he started leaving me alone a little more each day. I tried to watch over my mom, but during the day I wasn’t home because I was in school. I was sick with worry every fucking day. I came home from school one day to find my mother dead on the kitchen floor. I could see the handprint around her neck where my father had choked the life out of her.”
The tears streamed down faster and harder, and Stella didn’t bother trying to wipe them away. There was so much anguish in Tate’s voice that she wanted to go to him, wanted to comfort him, but she knew it wouldn’t be welcome. In her mind she could picture him as a young man, seeing the horror of his mother gone. How in the hell could someone live through that?
“He was passed out in the living room with a bottle of scotch in his hand and a cigarette hanging from his lips. I stood in front of him for so long I lost track of time, but then he opened his unfocused eyes and there was so much hatred in them as he stared at me. He swung the bottle of scotch and hit me across the head. I was disoriented at first, but then I saw him come after me. His cigarette had been in his fingers, and he was going for the skin of my arm. He would have killed me that day, I know it, but I didn’t give him a chance. I was tired of the beatings, the verbal abuse. I killed him with my bare hands, beat him until there was nothing left but a lifeless body.” The last part was said so icily that a shiver raced up her spine. She knew Tate was dangerous, but had she ever thought him capable of murder? “I let my mother down so many times. I should have stopped it. If I had gotten help, she would still be alive.”
He blamed himself for what happened, and all she wanted to do was run to him, wrap her arms around his neck, and tell him everything would be okay.
“I spent the next two years in a juvenile detention center.” He looked pointedly at her.
“But it was self-defense.” Her voice was a whisper, but she couldn’t have raised it even if she tried. Emotions clogged her throat like thick cotton.
He was shaking his head before she finished speaking. “My father was a police officer and had a lot of friends. I was just his punk kid who got in a lot of trouble and wasn’t worth anything.”
The silence stretched between them, and finally he spoke. “Have I scared you enough, Stella?”
A sob tore from her, and she took a step forward. “Tate.”
“Don’t come near me.” He held his hand out as if to ward her off, and she stopped. “You want the rest of what makes up my filthy fucking life?” She didn’t respond, and so he continued. “When I was released at eighteen, I started working under some big-name crime bosses. I had made connections in juvie, and it was easy enough to immerse myself in crime. I’d run their ‘packages’ around the city and do whatever else they needed from me. I worked my way up, made a name for myself, and just a few years after that I was the one with an errand boy and he was delivering my packages around the city.” He moved toward the bed, sat down, and let out a heavy sigh. “It took me a long time to get where I am today, Stella. There was a lot of blood and sweat that went into making a name for myself, getting respect, and having people fear me. In my line of work you have to be stronger than the rest.”
“Your line of work.” It wasn’t a question, but he answered her anyway.
“Yes, Stella. I’ve done a lot of things I’m not proud of, things that are illegal and could have landed me in prison for the rest of my life.”
Her lips were suddenly drier than paper, and she licked them before she spoke. “Are you talking drugs, extortion, that kind of thing?” Why she even wanted to know the details was beyond her. She should be hauling ass out of there, getting as far from Tate as she could. She wasn’t, though, because she saw something behind the tough exterior he tried so hard to keep up. There was a vulnerability that called out to her. He had seen a lot of pain in his life. How could she fault him for the life he led when it had been so traumatic, so horrifying?
“I have done those things and more, but right now, in my life, am I doing them? I won’t lie, Stella. Most I’ve stopped doing. I have my legitimate businesses that keep me busy, but then of course, I have the underground cage fights, which are far from legal.” The words hung between them. “I’m not a good man, but you know that. I don’t do romance and flowers, dinner and cuddling. You know what, Stella?” He took a step toward her. “I don’t think twice about any of the horrible shit I’ve done in my life.”
The way he said it was so cruel, so heartless. His expression was hard and dark as he stared at her. The anger that poured off him wrapped around her, threatening to suck the very life out of her. “I don’t believe you’re a bad person, Tate.” And she didn’t, despite the filth he was spewing. He was pushing her away, she could see that, but it didn’t stop her from hurting like hell.
He laughed but it was cold, hard. “I run an underground fighting ring, Stella. I’ve done a lot of shitty things. I’ve sold drugs and beat the shit out of people until they were hanging on to life by a thread just because I could, becau
se I was stronger than them. I’m not a good man and never will be. I don’t know what you want from me, but it isn’t going to happen.” He grimaced, and for a split second she saw that same vulnerability she had seen earlier in him. She clenched her hands at her sides instead of reaching for him. “I’m not capable of loving someone.” His anger seethed from him. “I can never love you, Stella, never will. So stop fucking expecting it.”
She stumbled back from his words. They were painful, like an arrow to her chest. She didn’t stop the tears that made tracks down her cheeks, didn’t stop the desperation that came off her. Why was she so surprised? Lowering her head, she already knew the answer to her own question. She loved him, and hearing him say that he didn’t love her, that he never would, stripped her strength and left her a broken woman.
She had no one to blame but herself. From the moment she saw him, felt his big body pressed against hers, she’d known he was going to hurt her. Why couldn’t she have been stronger and left her emotions out of it? It wasn’t even the full two weeks, but she had fallen hopelessly in love with the man in front of her. No, not the man in front of her, the man that had shown her kindness, comfort, and what she had thought was affection. How wrong she had been.
“Just leave, Stella.” He turned from her, suddenly sounding extremely tired.
“What?” For a moment her tears stopped as she stared at his back. He shrugged off his shirt, and she took in all his tanned, tattooed flesh. The dragon’s body covered the entire expanse of his back in masculine shades of red and black. It was fearsome and frightening, just like Tate.
He didn’t turn around when he said harshly, “Go, Stella. You don’t owe me anything. As far as I’m concerned, your father’s debt is absolved. The deed will be returned in the morning.”
She didn’t move, couldn’t because of the shock that resonated through her.
“I still have over a week left, Tate.” She hated that her voice was a whisper, and when she saw his back tense and his muscles harden beneath that smooth flesh, she knew she shouldn’t have opened her damn mouth.
“Get the fuck out of my house, Stella.” He didn’t raise his voice, but the iciness had her retreating until the door hit her back. At that moment she didn’t care about her things, didn’t care if she had to walk home, all she wanted to do was get the hell out of there and away from Tate.
21
Tate heard the front door slam shut and closed his eyes. The words he had spoken to Stella echoed through his head. He had been the biggest bastard imaginable, but it was for the best. The sooner he cut her out of his life, the better things would be. He didn’t need Alyssia’s threats hanging over his head. He wasn’t worried about her.
What he was worried about was hurting Stella, but it looked like he was able to do that without any empty threats. Everything was going to shit, and the only thing that he knew would numb his body and emotions was a full bottle of whiskey. He’d called Alyssia up and told her to fuck off, that he wouldn’t be cornered or threatened. It was then he decided to come clean with everything.
Pulling his phone out, he punched down on the numbers and listened to it ring twice. He spoke without waiting for a reply on the other end. “Miss Vincent is gone. She left the house on foot. I need you to pick her up and make sure she gets home safely.” He disconnected the call and threw the phone against the wall, seeing the six-hundred-dollar device shatter against the damask wallpaper.
After drinking his weight in alcohol, he hadn’t been in any kind of state to drive, so when one of the club’s bouncers dropped him off, the only thing he could think about was drinking more until he was blissfully passed out. Why the hell had he gone back home? If he’d just stayed away from Stella, none of this would have happened.
No, that wasn’t true, because there would have been something else that would have surfaced and driven her away. It was better that he tell her about his seedy past now. Hearing it come from his lips would be a hell of a lot better than hearing it from Alyssia or one of his associates, right?
The ache in his chest intensified, and he shucked off the rest of his clothes and fell onto the bed face-first. He inhaled deeply and smelled the sweet floral scent that was all Stella. Bringing the sheets closer to his nose, he buried his face in them and waited for oblivion. He should have gone after her, shouldn’t have pushed her away like he had, but all he could think was that him hurting her was in all actuality saving her.
The numbness of the alcohol had since dissipated, but he didn’t get up and drink more. He didn’t want to remove himself from the scent of Stella that surrounded him. If he closed his eyes tight enough and inhaled deep enough, he could almost picture her still there, lying right next to him. That was the only comforting thought that allowed him to slip into unconsciousness.
* * *
Stella wrapped her sweater more tightly around herself and didn’t bother wiping her tears away. The leggings and thin material of her shirt did little to keep the cool night air off her, but she was numb enough from Tate’s words that it didn’t bother her as much as it should. At least she had been with it enough to grab her shoes by the front door and put them on before she ran. She had been walking for ten minutes, and when she saw headlights illuminate her path, her heart picked up.
Had Tate come to get her? Even after everything he’d said, she would have fallen into his arms. She knew what his tactic was, knew he was pushing her away despite the goodness that had been a result of them being together. She hadn’t been foolish enough to think they were in a serious, committed relationship, but there was something between them, damn it!
The car rolled to a stop beside her, and Stella contemplated ignoring it and continuing walking, but of course she didn’t. Wrapping her arms around her waist, she turned and watched as the tinted driver’s window rolled down. To her monumental disappointment, it wasn’t Tate who sat in the driver’s seat but Miles. Why she thought Tate would come was beyond her. For one thing he had been trashed, and for another he’d made it abundantly clear he wanted nothing to do with her.
“Miss Vincent?” Miles’s gentle voice was clear yet hesitant. It was late, yet he looked as if he had been waiting to pick her up. His hair was immaculately parted, and through the open window she could see his black suit. “Please, Miss Vincent, allow me to escort you home. It is quite a distance, and the weather is not favorable.”
Stella was stubborn, but she wasn’t an idiot. Obviously it wasn’t safe for her to be walking alone at night, but she hadn’t thought about anything other than escaping Tate and his cruel words. “Okay.”
Miles smiled and started to get out of the car, presumably to open the passenger-side door, but Stella waved him off and slid into the car herself. The heat was on full blast, and she sank into the leather seats and looked out her window. How much did Miles know? Had Tate told him about their fight? She closed her eyes and just wished she was already home so she could put this all behind her.
“I’ll bring your belongings in the morning if that is okay, Miss Vincent.”
He handed her the key to her place, and she didn’t bother asking why he had it on him. It didn’t matter, not really.
“That’s fine.” She didn’t care about her crappy belongings. She was going home to an empty house, one that she hated. Her life would fall back into its mundane and monotonous routine. At least her father’s house was saved, for now. Rubbing her eyes, she allowed exhaustion to sink in. In less than a week she felt like she had aged ten years.
“If it isn’t too forward, may I ask if everything is okay with you and Master Wessen?”
Stella turned her attention away from the road and stared at the elderly man just inches from her. So Tate hadn’t spilled all the gory details to Miles. She didn’t feel like going into it with him, but knew he was just concerned. Hell, he had been dragged out of bed in the middle of the night just to take her home. “Let’s just say that Mr. Wessen and I have severed what few ties we had.” She turned her attention back to
the window. The trees moved passed her in a blur of shadows, and suddenly her head ached horribly. The silence between them stretched for several moments, and then Miles cleared his throat.
“Miss Vincent, I know Master Wessen can be…difficult at times.”
She snorted because that had to be the understatement of the century.
“But his intentions are truly good.”
She looked over at him. The light from the dashboard illuminated his weathered face in shades of green. He didn’t take his attention off the road, but she knew he felt her stare on him.
“I’ve seen how he reacts with you over these past few days, and it’s…refreshing.” He cleared his throat again, and Stella wondered how hard it was for him to tell her all of this. “I understand your time together has been short, but before you he kept to his strict routine and didn’t allow anyone to see past his hard exterior.” He cut his attention to her for a moment, and just in the short glance she saw hidden emotions.
“Master Wessen isn’t used to the feelings that I know you bring out in him.”
She was already shaking her head at his comment. Miles didn’t know what had happened, and she knew if he did, he would probably feel foolish for even saying Tate had any feelings toward her. She had been foolish to think that. “Thank you, but I have to disagree on everything you said. Mr. Wessen is the worst kind of asshole.”
Miles didn’t flinch when she insulted his employer, and she wondered if the old man thought the same thing. She might have known Tate was pushing her away, but she didn’t doubt he’d meant every cruel thing he had said.
The rest of the trip was made in silence, and she was thankful for that. She wasn’t in the mood to talk anyway. Miles pulled up to the curb in front of her apartment building, and she gripped the handle. Turning around and looking at him, she saw an expression akin to sympathy. She hated when people looked at her like that.