Damage
chapter one
Black hair. Olive skin. Wicked mischief that lived under the perfect curl of those lips. Jesse Toro could charm someone while carrying a body bag. And in a way, he’d done that to me. He’d conned me blind, shattered me to pieces. Forced me to hate myself with his deceit. And I had to give him credit for it because he was damned convincing with his disguise. His smile, the way he moved, all the cute skater boy stories he made up for his scars – they had swayed me into believing that he was really just “Sean”, my boyish, laidback neighbor. An irresistibly sexy adult version of all my high school crushes. I’d slept with him without detecting a single flaw. I hadn’t suspected even once that he’d planned every second of our first meeting. That he didn’t actually live across the hall, or know any of my neighbors. That he was lying about who he was and why he wanted me. A flood of darkness unfurled in my stomach as I squeezed my eyes shut, letting the reality sink in. I had climbed right into bed with the enemy – the very man Abram had left me to hunt and kill. I’d been had, pinned against the wall in every way possible by the infamous Jesse Toro.
Breathing jaggedly, I felt every ridge of his torso as he pressed himself against me. I could barely pull the bitter words out from between my chattering teeth. “Why did you do this?”
“You know why.”
“I don’t.”
I flinched when I felt his rough hand cup my jaw, tilting my face up. “Look at me.” I opened my eyes for him, tears spilling from the corners. “Is Abram not trying to find me right now? As we speak?” Jesse’s emerald gaze burned into me as he paused, my silence a good enough answer. “I know he wants me dead, Isla. And forgive me, but I’m not exactly one to roll over and let someone stick a gun in my mouth, so why don’t you take a seat on that nice, comfy bed of yours and answer me a couple questions.”
My throat tightened at the mention of my bed. I flashed back to just a couple days ago, to the sound of my headboard slamming into the wall with Jesse’s every thrust between my legs. I thought about how he’d groped my breasts with the same hands that had drawn a blade across Gavin’s neck. The same hands that had spilled the last drops of his blood onto a dirty bathroom floor. With a sudden lurch, my stomach turned. I thrashed out of Jesse’s grip as nausea and hatred spread through me. “And what if I don’t?” I hissed.
“You will,” Jesse replied easily, his shirt lifting as he casually palmed the top of his close-shaven head. My stare immediately dipped to his exposed waistband – to what glinted out from the back of his jeans. Something shiny. Hard.
A pistol.
Fuck. Panic seized my judgment. He’s going to kill you, I told myself. And without thinking, I snatched the front of his shirt, jerking him into my chest till his body crashed onto mine. Our hot mouths grazed, Jesse’s breath on my tongue and his lips twisting in a smile till he felt me reach around and yank the weapon straight from his waistband, shoving him off my body once my fingers wrapped around the grip. Holy shit. White-knuckling the gun, I stared him down. Holy shit, holy shit. Eyes wild, I squeezed the cold metal tight with both hands, trying to look maniacal as I pointed the barrel between Jesse’s eyes. Respectfully, he held his hands in the air but unless I imagined it, a faint smirk twisted his mouth.
“What are you doing, Isla?”
“I know what you did to Gavin Theroux,” I said between my teeth, my hands steady but my words trembling. “So give me one reason why I shouldn’t shoot you right here myself and have Abram’s men clean up the mess for me.”
“Because you’re just a pretty little girl and I’ve done my research on you.” Jesse’s reply prickled my skin, that faint smirk of his getting bolder. “I know who you are, Isla Maran. Born on September Eighth. Your last boyfriend was Evan Clark and you lived with him in the Upper East Side, on Eighty-Ninth Street. He’s engaged to your friend Holly now. Your parents are Rick and Patty. You taught fifth grade and participated in two of Gavin Theroux’s citywide fundraisers. You never met him. And you quit the job when you lost your sister. Elle. Her thirteenth birthday just passed.” Jesse paused, his hands sliding into his pockets as the curve slid off his lips. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be,” I bit back fast.
“Why not?”
“Because,” I sputtered. I wasn’t sure if I was acting anymore, the hot tears burning out from the narrowed corners of my eyes. “Because if you know all that, then you should know that I’ve lost everyone I ever cared about and spent the last year flirting with the idea of swallowing a bullet, so why don’t I just shoot you before I shoot myself as a last thank you to Gavin?”
Black hair. Olive skin. Wicked mischief that lived under the perfect curl of those lips. Jesse Toro could charm someone while carrying a body bag. And in a way, he’d done that to me. He’d conned me blind, shattered me to pieces. Forced me to hate myself with his deceit. And I had to give him credit for it because he was damned convincing with his disguise. His smile, the way he moved, all the cute skater boy stories he made up for his scars – they had swayed me into believing that he was really just “Sean”, my boyish, laidback neighbor. An irresistibly sexy adult version of all my high school crushes. I’d slept with him without detecting a single flaw. I hadn’t suspected even once that he’d planned every second of our first meeting. That he didn’t actually live across the hall, or know any of my neighbors. That he was lying about who he was and why he wanted me. A flood of darkness unfurled in my stomach as I squeezed my eyes shut, letting the reality sink in. I had climbed right into bed with the enemy – the very man Abram had left me to hunt and kill. I’d been had, pinned against the wall in every way possible by the infamous Jesse Toro.
Breathing jaggedly, I felt every ridge of his torso as he pressed himself against me. I could barely pull the bitter words out from between my chattering teeth. “Why did you do this?”
“You know why.”
“I don’t.”
I flinched when I felt his rough hand cup my jaw, tilting my face up. “Look at me.” I opened my eyes for him, tears spilling from the corners. “Is Abram not trying to find me right now? As we speak?” Jesse’s emerald gaze burned into me as he paused, my silence a good enough answer. “I know he wants me dead, Isla. And forgive me, but I’m not exactly one to roll over and let someone stick a gun in my mouth, so why don’t you take a seat on that nice, comfy bed of yours and answer me a couple questions.”
My throat tightened at the mention of my bed. I flashed back to just a couple days ago, to the sound of my headboard slamming into the wall with Jesse’s every thrust between my legs. I thought about how he’d groped my breasts with the same hands that had drawn a blade across Gavin’s neck. The same hands that had spilled the last drops of his blood onto a dirty bathroom floor. With a sudden lurch, my stomach turned. I thrashed out of Jesse’s grip as nausea and hatred spread through me. “And what if I don’t?” I hissed.
“You will,” Jesse replied easily, his shirt lifting as he casually palmed the top of his close-shaven head. My stare immediately dipped to his exposed waistband – to what glinted out from the back of his jeans. Something shiny. Hard.
A pistol.
Fuck. Panic seized my judgment. He’s going to kill you, I told myself. And without thinking, I snatched the front of his shirt, jerking him into my chest till his body crashed onto mine. Our hot mouths grazed, Jesse’s breath on my tongue and his lips twisting in a smile till he felt me reach around and yank the weapon straight from his waistband, shoving him off my body once my fingers wrapped around the grip. Holy shit. White-knuckling the gun, I stared him down. Holy shit, holy shit. Eyes wild, I squeezed the cold metal tight with both hands, trying to look maniacal as I pointed the barrel between Jesse’s eyes. Respectfully, he held his hands in the air but unless I imagined it, a faint smirk twisted his mouth.
“What are you doing, Isla?”
“I know what you did to Gavin Theroux,” I said between my teeth, my hands steady but my words trembling. “So give me one reason why I shouldn’t shoot you right here myself and have Abram’s men clean up the mess for me.”
“Because you’re just a pretty little girl and I’ve done my research on you.” Jesse’s reply prickled my skin, that faint smirk of his getting bolder. “I know who you are, Isla Maran. Born on September Eighth. Your last boyfriend was Evan Clark and you lived with him in the Upper East Side, on Eighty-Ninth Street. He’s engaged to your friend Holly now. Your parents are Rick and Patty. You taught fifth grade and participated in two of Gavin Theroux’s citywide fundraisers. You never met him. And you quit the job when you lost your sister. Elle. Her thirteenth birthday just passed.” Jesse paused, his hands sliding into his pockets as the curve slid off his lips. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be,” I bit back fast.
“Why not?”
“Because,” I sputtered. I wasn’t sure if I was acting anymore, the hot tears burning out from the narrowed corners of my eyes. “Because if you know all that, then you should know that I’ve lost everyone I ever cared about and spent the last year flirting with the idea of swallowing a bullet, so why don’t I just shoot you before I shoot myself as a last thank you to Gavin?”