And I didn’t want to be ripped away from my baby the moment he was born.
A shadow crosses Frank’s face. “Listen—”
“No, you listen. I know what you think about the Mafia, but Luc never hurt me. He was good to me. I didn’t want to do it. I testified against him because I had to.”
Because the alternative was to give birth in prison.
“Do you still have feelings for that bastard? After everything he’s done?”
I stand up from my chair, heart pounding against my chest. “Frank, please.”
The warning tone in my voice doesn’t dissuade him.
“You do,” he says, disgust curling his lips back.
“I don’t!”
Every day I fucking curse him. He ruined my goddamn life. I wish I could turn off my feelings, and not tremble with excitement when I imagine the heat of his mouth on my skin, his hips joining mine, that moment of ecstasy when he’d come inside me.
He grabs my arm, twisting me around. My stomach turns as his mouth hovers within inches of mine. I think of Luc—how he’d beat Frank’s face in if he saw this.
“You should give me a chance.”
Fuck.
“I told you, I’m not interested.”
The thought of dating anyone else resounds hollowly inside me.
“You’ve no idea how good I’d be to you.”
He slides his thumb over my wrist and I yank it out of his grasp.
“I don’t want you.”
For some reason, this fucking cop thinks he loves me even though I’ve turned him down every time. He still comes back like a dog begging for scraps. It repulses me.
Frank flinches, his arms dropping from my sides. Redness blooms on his cheeks, and then his footsteps echo in the kitchen. He turns around and heads for the closet, ripping the door open.
Goddamn it, I really don’t like this, but he left me no choice!
“Frank!”
He shrugs the trench coat back on, stuffing his arms through the sleeves as his cold glare hits me right in the chest. “You don’t deserve to be a mother.”
Wow.
It’s like a slap to the face, and before I can feel anything but stunned disbelief, he disappears into the night, slamming the door shut. The whole apartment vibrates.
Tears slip down my cheeks silently as I watch him storm to his car through the peephole.
It’s not true.
I don’t know how long I stand there, waiting for the well of hurt to come down. I just fed the baby and put him to sleep, so that’s done. Maybe I’ll read some more romance, or catch up on some TV. I can barely muster excitement to do anything else these days.
I back away from the door, and my back hits something rigid. Arms snake around me, a gloved hand smothering my scream as he yanks me into his chest. I already know him from the way his body fits against mine, and then his voice comes out, a guttural, inhuman sound: “Claire.”
LUC
My head burns with the image of her face the moment I step outside, inhaling fresh air that for once isn’t recycled or tinged with the slightly sour smell of the sweat of inmates. A tall, dark-haired man in slacks waits for me at the bottom of the steps. He smiles and gives me a little wave.
I force a grin.
It’s hard to give a shit about seeing this asshole—or any of them, really. I gave up my life the moment I became one of Johnny’s soldiers, and what did it get me?
A girl who ratted on me.
A year in prison.
My parents won’t speak to me.
I was born for the streets—born to muscle and con my way through life. I’m fine with that. A year ago I had a sweet deal, running the VIP poker rooms and organizing the money-laundering scheme through the casino. Before her, I was a fucking man-whore, sinking my dick into any hot girl I could get my hands on. She was different. I couldn’t let her go the first time, or the second. I got her working for me, helping me run cash through the casino. There were so many times I’d catch a glimpse of her walking around in a short cocktail dress, and I’d drag her to an empty room. She’d wrap her legs around my waist and I’d fuck her until she begged me to let her come. Then I’d have her again at my place.
It was perfect. I thought we had something good going.
The betrayal seethes like a vat of bubbling acid.
Jack’s arm slides across my shoulders in a brief, one-armed hug. “You’re finally out!”
“Yeah.”
“Johnny wants to see you.”
Of course.
They won’t recognize the man in front of them.
“I’m not really up for talking.”
He gives me a strained look. “You need to see him.”
The gaping hole yawns.
A year without a single soul visiting me in prison.
* * *
I tug on the poorly fitted suit. It’s uncomfortably tight around my chest and arms. I filled out in prison. Working out was something to do—it kept my mind off the fact that I was going insane. My haunted reflection stares back at me. I look hardened—like a convict. That gash runs right down the side of my face like a tear streak. The memory makes me seize the porcelain sink. Prison wasn’t easy. Johnny has lots of enemies.