As I struggle for composure, I see Sam’s suspiciously bright eyes in the rearview mirror. This beautiful, strong woman in my arms has brought two strong men to their knees with what I know is just one horror story from her past. She was one of the lucky ones, even if she doesn’t know it. She has lived through Hell and came out stronger for it. What happened today has knocked her down, but she is far from out. Whether she knows it or not, her hate fuels her need to succeed, and there is not a more-powerful motivator; hell, I know it firsthand.

Hate with a healthy dose of guilt has driven me straight to the top. Cocaine might be my crutch, but hate is my drug of choice. A general hate will distort you, make you weaker, but a focused hate on one person is power. When that hate is born from grave wrongs committed against you, it is an unstoppable train. Lia’s hate had been born that day, in that kitchen when her mother severed the bond between mother and daughter.

My hate had been born the day eight years ago when Cassie had attempted to end three lives, only succeeding in ending one. That I was back in this moment again, caring for someone scarred by their past, wasn’t lost on me. I felt both the urge to jump from the car and run and the even-stronger desire to shield her from any further harm. I couldn’t help but wonder what love between us would do to the hate that had driven us both so far. There were only two possible outcomes I could see: We would either save or destroy each other.

Even as those fears churn through me, I’m powerless to pull away from her emotionally or physically. Instead, I pull her onto my lap, tucking her head against my neck and simply hold on. “You slay me, baby, fucking cut me open.” She sobs against my chest, and I let her have that moment without trying to stop the flow. She needs this outlet, the release from the pain. The anger and hate will take over again soon, but for now, she needs to grieve.

Chapter Fourteen

Lia

Lucian had put me to bed like a child when we had gotten back to the apartment. It had taken a lot of encouragement to get him to continue on to his office as he had planned. I knew he had obligations and truthfully, I needed the space. I needed an afternoon to hold an ugly pity party full of thoughts of my evil mother and equally unsavory stepfather. Facing them both today in the courtroom had been more traumatizing than I had imagined; my stepfather’s eyes on me today had made me feel dirty.

When I woke a few minutes ago, I had gone straight to the shower, desperately needing to wash the filth away. His eyes on me brought back memories of all the times he had touched me, defiled me. I scrub until my skin is bright pink. Lather, rinse, repeat, over and over. I sink to the floor of the shower and allow myself one final cry. My feelings of betrayal are definitely on me. Had my mother not proven to me many times over that she has no feelings? She isn’t capable of love; she isn’t capable of being a human being. I hate her with a passion…I own that. I might loathe my stepfather, but my mother, in ways, is worse. She abandoned me…her own daughter. She is the lowest of life forms. I refuse to let her have another moment of my time. I can only hope the bed she has made with the devil today burns her for an eternity.

Standing, I step from the shower to find the bathroom full of steam. I open the door to release some of it before turning back to the sink. I towel off before applying a layer of the orchid-scented lotion Lucian loves. I drop one of his t-shirts over my head and walk around picking up clothes from the floor. Lucian has gotten more and more insistent about hiring a housekeeper. I stubbornly refuse to relinquish that role, needing to earn the money he has spent on me. He has tried to entice me into a position within Quinn Software, which I refused, as well. I enjoy taking care of him, and I don’t want people at his company thinking I have gotten a job there because I am sleeping with the boss. At least with me here, we can have privacy. And, let’s face it, it’s not like his million-dollar apartment is a pigsty; he is a neat person and always picks up after himself.

I take the clothing I have gathered and dump them into the washer. I am folding the ones that were in the dryer when a pair of Lucian’s boxers gives me an idea. Maybe we both need a distraction from the ugliness of the day. Sex might not be the answer to all of life’s problems, but it certainly helps sometimes. I jump up, quickly putting away the rest of the clothes before running to the kitchen. In the third drawer, I find what I’m looking for: a pair of scissors. Holding the scissors to the boxers, I hope fleetingly that his underwear isn’t as expensive as his suits.

Thirty minutes later and the scene is set. As long as my nipples didn’t fall off from lack of blood flow, things will be fine. I have just settled back on Lucian’s favorite chaise lounge when the door opens. I have a moment of hoping to God it’s not a surprise visit from Sam before my beautiful lover crosses the threshold, thankfully alone. He drops his case on the entryway table before looking toward the bedroom. I know by his intent expression that he is listening for me.

He starts walking in that direction when his gaze flickers to the side, sliding over me before continuing on. My breath catches as he stops abruptly. I almost expect to hear the sound of brakes being hastily applied. Astonishment washes over his face, then desire. I can see the flames flicker before catching fire. Those emotions are tempered by amusement. I am, after all, dressed…or undressed, in a way I’m certain he’s never seen before. Crossing my legs at the ankles, I beckon him closer with my hand. “Hey, baby, I’m glad you’re home.” His eyes blaze at the endearment I so seldom use.

Stopping beside the chaise, his eyes leisurely trace the lines of my body. He reaches out to pinch one plump, erect nipple. “I can see that. I like what you’ve done with my things.” He pulls my ponytail before blinking in shock. “Is that…my boxers?” When I grin, he starts chuckling. I know we both remember him teasing me about my penchant for finding strange things to tie my hair up with. Today, I’ve taken that to new extremes, and I can tell he loves my creativity. I have a string of dental floss wrapped around one erect nipple, a bread-tie around the other, the elastic I cut from his boxers holding my hair up and his purple silk tie wrapped around my neck as a necklace. He pulls his phone from his pocket, activating the camera. “I promise I’ll never share this with anyone.” I stiffen for a moment, wanting to refuse, but finally relax back, raising my arms over my head and giving him the shot I know he wants. He clicks twice before tossing the phone on the nearby couch along with his jacket. Before I can offer my help, he has his clothes laying on the floor and his head between my legs, eating me as if starved.