The Devil's CrownPart Two - Monica James Page 0,60
top drawer, I grab a knife and go about making my sandwich. My growling stomach can’t wait. I grab a banana from the fruit bowl on the counter and peel it before cutting it into slices and laying them over my thick layer of peanut butter.
I press the slice of bread over my banana and peanut butter goodness and take a large bite of my sandwich. I actually hum in delight because nothing has ever tasted this good.
Leaning on the counter, I take everything in because this seems to be my new home for the next week? Weeks?
When I hear footsteps pound down the stairs, I quietly eat my sandwich, averting my eyes. It seems we’re the only ones on this yacht, which has me wondering what happened to Saint, Willow, and Irina. But I’m not ready to go there—not yet.
Alek is pissed off, but he’s also worried, which makes no sense. He wasn’t worried when he purposely lost the game of poker. Or when he insulted me in front of everyone. My anger just seems to grow. I know it’s misdirected and not all Alek, but I can’t help it.
Alek hurt me; he always hurts me. If only he’d trusted me and didn’t feel the need to send me away like some damsel in distress, then we wouldn’t be here. I don’t know what I feel for him anymore. I just feel numb.
I continue eating in silence, content on being left alone.
Alek calmly walks over to the bar and pours himself a drink. He doesn’t offer me one. The tension is so thick that I can barely breathe.
“So how long are you planning on ignoring me?”
I don’t take the bait and continue chewing.
“Ella, I’m talking to you.”
Inhaling deeply, I know he won’t go away unless I answer him. “That’s all you seem to do,” I reply, keeping my cool. “Talk. As I see it, the time to talk is over. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to eat my sandwich in peace.”
Just as I’m about to take a bite, Alek grips my wrist, stopping me. Lifting my eyes, I don’t check my irritation at the door.
“Being a brat will not work in your favor,” he warns, tightening his hold.
Laughing in his face, I mock, “I’ve fallen out of favor with you long ago.”
His eyebrows shoot up into his hairline, revealing genuine shock at my admission. But what did he think? I’d drop to my knees and thank him for saving me? It’s too little, too late.
“I know I’ve hurt you,” he confesses, his hardness waning.
“You don’t know anything.”
“Well, tell me,” he presses, running his thumb over my pulse.
The simple touch sends a current all the way to my toes, but I won’t be sidetracked. What he did was wrong, and I would be stupid to simply forget our past.
Fool me once…
Stubbornly, I keep my lips sealed shut.
“I know they hurt you. I saw what they did to you,” he reveals, his face twisting into a nasty scowl.
“Then why didn’t you do something when you had the chance?” I challenge, refusing to back down. “But once again, I was second, oh sorry, third best.”
“Please, let me explain.”
Ripping from his hold, I toss my sandwich onto the counter and stand on tippy toes, needing to be eye level when I tell him to go fuck himself. “Just save it. I don’t want to hear it. I don’t want to hear your excuses.”
“They’re not excuses,” he says between clenched teeth. “It’s the truth.”
“Fine then, tell me you didn’t lose on purpose,” I defy, wanting him to know that I’m already privy to the truth.
“Goddammit, it’s not like that.”
“It’s exactly like that!” I cry, shoving at his chest.
He staggers back a couple of steps, stunned I pushed him. “Yes, you’re right, I did know Santo had what he thought was a winning hand. I read people…well, I seem to be able to read everyone but you! I thought you’d be happy to get out of there. Do you think I was happy to lose to that son of a bitch? But I did it because my plan was to give Saint and Willow an excuse to be there so they could get to you!” he exclaims as if that’s supposed to excuse him.
“I would have been happier if you won and trusted me!” I shout back.
“This was the only way I could get to you without putting you at risk. I needed an inside man.”