Married to the Bad Boy(19)
“I’ll be happy to do that for a small fee. Ten percent.”
Ten percent? That’s ten thousand dollars!
Not like I have a choice.
“Fine.”
“I’ll send some guys to pick it up. What’s your address?” He frowns when I give it to him. “Raf will be able to find that, easily.”
I don’t know what he expects me to do about it.
* * *
ELENA
Even after all this shit with my ex, I can’t stop thinking about that man in the bar. Here I am, sitting in my new apartment in Montreal, fantasizing about another man.
There are bigger fucking problems in my life, but I can’t stop thinking about his rugged face—so different from Rafael’s—and his five o’clock shadow, which gave him the perfect balance of disheveled and sexy. He’s the kind of guy who haunts your dreams after only one glance. Tall, dark, and handsome, but so gentle with his hands. He said things to me that I should hate for how fucking rude they were, but they gave me such a thrill from his honest voice. There’s something really sexy about a man who knows what he wants and doesn’t hesitate to go after it.
Tony was a breath of fresh air right when I needed it. He told me I was beautiful, promised to make me come on his tongue, and I wanted to let him. It was like feeling a ray of sunshine after a really long winter. I wanted to feel desired by a guy like that. Who wouldn’t?
But I panicked.
I slapped the most gorgeous man I’ve ever seen, and I can’t stop obsessing over it. It’s ridiculous. My ex-boyfriend wants me dead and this is what my brain chooses to obsess over.
I fantasize about that sexy bastard while I get ready for work in the apartment Tommy hooked me up with, hoping that Tony will be there.
No, stay the fuck away. Rafael was a nightmare, remember?
A grim sort of satisfaction stretches my face when I look in the mirror. Maria would be so proud. Here I am, making the same mistakes over and over again. The last thing I want to do is start dating, but when I think about how it felt to have Tony’s hands squeeze my tits, all reason flies out the window.
Maybe Rafael moved on. All week he’s been silent.
I eye the dark phone sitting on the white sink. A thrill of apprehension runs through me when I pick it up and turn it on. He hasn’t left any messages for days, but then I see a new voice mail and it’s from my sister.
I play it.
“Elena, where the fuck are you? Your psycho boyfriend has been over here three times—he’s completely out of his mind. What the fuck were you thinking, just leaving like this? You can’t just—”
I end the message, breathing hard as I stare at my whitened face in the mirror. My hands grip the edge of the sink and blood pounds in my ears. I never meant anything like this to happen. Why can’t he just leave me alone?
My phone rings on the hard counter, and I watch it like a bomb. Even though I deleted his name from my contact list, the numbers don’t lie. It’s him.
I need to talk to him—to explain to him that it’s over. Maybe then he’ll leave me alone. A stab of fear clenches my heart painfully, and I pick up the phone gingerly. It’s going to explode in my hands. I accept the call, cringing as I press it to my ear.
“I just got out of jail. Your cunt of a sister called the cops on me—Where the fuck have you been?”
So that explains his silence over the last few days. Fuck.
“Raf, it’s over. I don’t want to be with you anymore.”
“So this is how you do it, you dumb fucking bitch? You just get up and leave in the middle of the night like some coward?”
Fuck him.
“Right, I’m the coward. You’re the one beating on a defenseless woman. Go fuck yourself!”
“What the fuck did you just say to me, bitch? I’ll cut your fucking tongue out!”
“LEAVE ME ALONE!”
The phone trembles in my hand. His voice strikes me to my very marrow, infecting me with fear. It’s as though he’s standing right outside my bathroom.
“Did you really think you could hide from me in Montreal? Did you really think that would work, that I wouldn’t fucking find out? I’m on my way right now, and when I get there you better have my fucking money—”
“I’m not giving you anything—it’s my money, so you can go fuck off and find some other bitch to beat up on!”
“FUCK YOU! I’LL FUCKING KILL YOU—!”
I rip the phone away from my ear and end the call, tossing the phone away from me as though it’s a live snake. The bathroom echoes with my gulping breaths, which sound unnaturally loud.
Don’t fucking cry.
The room spins and I stumble to the toilet, sitting down hard as blood rushes to my face. It’s over—it’s all fucking over. He’s going to go straight to Johnny, who will tell him exactly where I am, and there’s no defending against him. I’m fucked. Fucked!