Two: her right ear had been torn. Healed and stitched, a small triangle of cartilage was missing from the top.
The imperfections made me frown. I wanted to know who hurt her. I wanted to kill them.
She huffed, inching along the balcony to avoid my advance. “You can make up stuff all you want, but you’re wrong on one count: I’m not for sale.” She bared her teeth. “Back off.”
“No.” I crowded her against the glass. “I want you, and I always get what I want.”
She stood taller, arching her back, looking like she’d sprout wings and take off from the mezzanine at any moment. “Well, unless you’re in the habit of rape, you won’t get what you want this time.” Her hands flew up to shove me back, but I dodged to the side. Fear overrode my need, beating a fast tattoo in my chest.
I couldn’t risk her touching me.
Her eyes fell to my scar again, making me very aware of her perfection compared to my grotesqueness. Of course, that’s why she’d refused. If I’d been whole and not disfigured, I doubted she would deny me. I might know nothing of women, but I knew she suffered the same pull, the same need.
I captured her elbow, quivering thanks to the charge between us. “Would you f**k me if you didn’t find me so repulsive?” My entire body erupted from the single contact. It twisted my gut, scrambled my brain.
I would never be good enough. Not for this flawless creature who had the power to free me.
But that was a lie. She did have flaws.
She portrayed a woman who had everything and needed nothing. Someone strong and independent, but that was false. She was damaged. I might wear my mistakes for the world to see, but it didn’t make hers any less visible.
The anger on her face disappeared, replaced by tenderheartedness for just a second. “Is that what you think? That I’m refusing you because of your disfigurement? You aren’t repulsive.”
I decided then and there I hated her compassion—I preferred her anger. I deserved it. I didn’t deserve empathy.
“I’m refusing you because you’re an overbearing psycho who can’t take no for an answer and stole my freedom and my knife. Your scar has nothing to do with it.”
My temper built. “I know you need money for something. The way you look at the wealth around us screams the truth.”
She froze.
“I’m guessing you need a sizeable sum.” I glared harder, deciphering the greed and hunger in her eyes. She didn’t seem the type to want frivolous things. It was for something deeper…something….
The answer appeared from nowhere—like it always did when I let myself delve deep.
“You need it for someone you care about. I’m also guessing you’d do almost anything to get it.” I delivered it like a threat, a curse. “All I’m asking is for you to let me f**k you. And I’ll give you what you need. Name a figure and it’s yours to spend however you f**king want.”
My lifeless heart stuttered as her fight faded and her green eyes shimmered with tears. “You arrogant prick.” The spark and intense awareness between us shifted from lust-filled-competition to grief-ridden. “You don’t know a thing about me. You don’t deserve any part of me.”
Shit.
I didn’t know what to do. Standing there like an idiot, I offered no condolences as she sniffed and gritted her teeth. No tears fell, but the glossy look never fully disappeared. “You truly are a bastard. For your information I felt what you did. I found you intriguing and don’t mind admitting I entertained the thought of what it would be like to kiss you. You could’ve had me. All you had to do was be a gentlemen and ask me on a f**king date. But you ruined it, and now you’ve used my one weakness and made me feel like shit.” Her shoulders fell, and I knew I’d won.
I’d won, but I didn’t feel victorious. I felt like f**king scum.
Being able to read what people tried to keep hidden meant I could intimidate and influence. Up till now, I didn’t give a rats-ass about hurting anyone, but this woman… this woman….Shit.
Sighing, I muttered, “Tell me about your ear, then maybe I’ll let you go.” Give me one piece of you. I placed my hands in my pockets and backed off a little, giving the illusion of freedom and safety.
She shook her head, balling her fists. “What sort of mind games are you playing? Why do you want to know anything about me?” Her voice was soft but strong, lyrical but brave. Something twinged deep inside, recognising the fight in her—the same fight that lived in me.
Spreading my arms, I said, “No games. You were honest with me, so I’ll be honest with you. I’ve lived a lonely life—not through my own choice—and for the first time I connected with someone. I like the lust flowing in my veins. I love the anticipation of f**king you. And I love your fierceness.” I waited for her to look up—to make eye contact—but she never did.
“If I tell you about my ear, you’ll let me go?” she asked softly.
I stifled my growl. After my honesty, admitting I was drawn to her, all she wanted to do was leave. Fine. I crossed my arms. “I said maybe.”
Silence pulsed between us, thickening with tension. The ache in my c**k was overshadowed by an ache for something different. I needed pain. I needed a fight. Only pain could eliminate the confusion and give me room to breathe. I hated suffering such intense emotions, all while hoping they’d never leave.
I felt alive. And annoyed and horny and frustrated.
The fight with Everest had done nothing. His fists hadn’t hurt; he’d been too easy to defeat. Arrogant bastard hadn’t lived up to his boasting and now I’d have to find another way to self-medicate with pain.
I didn’t think Zel would answer, but finally she said, “It was my foster-sister. They were my ninth foster family, and I was more like a feral cat than a little girl. For the first day, I was a novelty, same as always, same as before, but then by the third or fourth day, I was the toy that got pulled apart. Her and her brother coaxed me into the garage, saying they’d seen a kitten running around.
“I related more to animals and only the thought of having a feline friend made me follow. Once we were there, they threw me to the ground and duct-taped my legs and arms.”
She paused, unconsciously tracing the piece missing from her ear. “They used their father’s tin-snips to cut me, saying I should be tagged like a wild animal seeing as I would never be a real girl. Afterward, they left me to bleed until their father arrived home from work. Instead of rushing me to the hospital, he attempted to sew it up himself. If child services had found out his own children hurt me, he would’ve been taken off the list for carers and denied the weekly paycheque.