“Stop it, Seychelle. Be still. I have to get you to the car.” He spat the command through clenched teeth.
They shared the vision of the woman on her knees, her naked body striped with his mark, his brand, her mouth eagerly devouring his cock. He was there with her, just as upset as she was. Just as horrified. As disgusted. As fiercely rejecting the truth that was in that highly detailed vision between them because he’d come straight from the woman to Seychelle. He hadn’t even taken the time to do more than empty himself down her throat, pull away, jerk up his jeans and run for his motorcycle.
“Damn it. Stop it.”
She’d landed a punch to his jaw. It wasn’t hard, because she couldn’t find the necessary strength when she was so sick, but at least he had the door to the car open, and he all but dumped her on the front seat. She curled up in the fetal position and rocked herself, closing her eyes, trying not to think. Trying to force herself to just count. She needed to get home. Find peace.
“Baby, listen to me. I know you’re hurt. I know this fucking hurt you.”
The car was in motion and he was talking. That voice. The one that could wrap her in velvet and smooth over every abrasion and cut on her skin. Those scars she wore for him. Nothing could soothe this away. Nothing. She had no skin left; he’d torn it all off her.
“It would have hurt a lot more if this had been done to you.”
She wanted to cover her ears. She felt the victory in the woman. The greed. The hot need for sex. She was practically begging him. The worst of it all was, Seychelle knew Savage could have cared less about the woman. He didn’t know her name. He didn’t want to know her name. She was absolutely nothing to him. He’d found a woman more physically attractive, had sex with her and didn’t even know her name or care one thing about her. He’d given her that side of himself, depraved, sick and violent—it was still Savage, her Savage, and he’d given that man to someone else. Not her.
She detested that she felt so betrayed. She detested that she was so weak, that she loved him so much she was that hurt. She wanted him gone. She kept counting over and over in her head to drown out the sound of his voice, refusing to hear what he said. She could smell him, smell the woman, the mixture of sex and the coppery taint of blood. Thankfully, he wasn’t touching her, so she didn’t have to feel his emotions or the woman’s. She just had to feel sick and shiver with the pain of Doris’s vicious migraine and twisted ankle and the knowledge of Savage’s betrayal until her body would finally reject everything.
The car slowed. Behind them, she heard the sound of the motorcycles. Her hand fumbled for the door handle the moment the car was turned off. She managed to get the door open, but there was no way to walk. When she tried, she was too dizzy to take a step, and her ankle collapsed under her.
“I’m taking you into the house.”
“You can’t touch me.” Seychelle backed up to the car, pressed hard against it for balance and forced herself to look at him. Savage. God. She was so in love with him. What was wrong with her that she’d let herself step off that cliff? She’d promised herself she wouldn’t, and yet she must have, to hurt so bad.
“It can’t be helped. It’s only a few steps, and you know the worst. I’ll get you inside and we’ll talk.”
They weren’t talking. There was no talking his way around this one. This had been her greatest fear. She’d wondered if she could handle it. She had almost persuaded herself that she could. Now she knew she couldn’t. There was no way.
She didn’t argue with him. There was no arguing with Savage when he made up his mind. He had that look on his face. He came at her, caught her up and strode toward the front door. Seychelle did her best to keep her mind blank. To not inhale. To not breathe. She concentrated on counting. She didn’t want to feel his emotions. Or her emotions.
Savage put her on the bed, and she scrambled to the familiar headboard, grateful that she’d taken the time to make every single space in her home count. The crystals sang to her, and sitting right there, in that exact spot, always made her feel so much better. Only, nothing helped. Nothing would ever help again.
She moistened her lips and forced herself to say the one thing that would make him have to leave. The one thing she knew he couldn’t ignore. “I want you to leave, Savage, and I don’t want you ever to come back. I mean it. We’re not friends. We’re not ever going back to being friends. I can’t do this, so you have to go.”