Those Boys Are Trouble - Willow Winters Page 0,4

neck, “Thanks for the payment, doll.” With that he turns his back and shuts the door without giving me a second glance. That’s the moment the lust-filled hope dies, and my heart cracks and crumbles in my hollow chest.

I count the money and start pacing. I need her info from Johnny. I need to know who this woman is. Whoever she is, she’s going to end up being mine. Not five minutes after she’s gone, Johnny comes back. “The first drop just left. She came with everything but the interest.” I pocket her panties so he won’t see them. “Twelve grand, right?”

“We didn’t charge her interest; she didn’t know about her husband’s debt until yesterday.”

“Since when is that how we do business?” I don’t even try to keep my voice down. Blood starts pounding in my ears. “Why the fuck is she paying her husband’s debt, anyway? He doesn’t have the balls to come here himself? He sends his woman?!” The words jump from my lips before I have a moment to think.

I’m usually more controlled, more thoughtful. If this job has taught me anything, it’s that silence is deadly, and being a hothead will get you killed. But I’m shaking with rage. Anger seeps out of my pores. Anger that she’s married to a fucking coward and a bastard. But more than that, I’m fucking pissed that she’s taken.

Johnny shakes his head in confusion and slows his movements as he takes in my temper. “No, it’s not like that. He died last week, heart attack or something.”

The moment Sarah sees me, the last bit of my hardened exterior cracks. I feel my lips tremble, and bite down to prevent the tears. “What did you do, Becca?” Sarah’s pleading eyes makes me feel even shittier. She knows; she can tell. I’m sure I look like I just got fucked. My neck is pulsing from where he was biting me.

Her eyes want me to tell her she’s wrong, and they’re begging me to tell her she’s mistaken, but I can’t lie. I can feel his cum leaking out of me and running down my thigh. Evidence of my weakness, and my betrayal. The tears well up in my eyes and I can’t stop a few from leaving angry, hot trails down my cheeks. All I can manage to reply is the barest of truths, “I slept with him.”

“Don’t cry, Becca. It’s alright.”

“Rick just died, and I slept with a stranger.” I can't keep my own disgust out of my voice.

“It’s not like you two were even together in the end anyway. You'd been separated for nearly two months.” My breath comes in spasms as I rest my head on the door of my car. I loved my husband, but I can’t remember the last time he held me, the last time we made love. A criminal who probably would’ve hurt me had I shown up empty-handed gave me more compassion and showed more desire for me than Rick had in years.

My breath catches in my throat. I took advantage of her in a moment of weakness, but I didn’t fucking know how vulnerable she was. I slam my fist against the window. I didn’t fucking know! A sick, twisted churning in the pit of my stomach makes me want to heave. Fuck, I treated her like some random slut. She probably thinks I’m a fucking animal for doing that to her. Fuck! I knew she needed me. I fucking knew it.

I just needed to be held and feel like I was loved. This shattering feeling in my chest, jagged pieces of glass digging into my heart, tells me it wasn’t worth it. It hurts too much. The worst part is that a very large part of me wants--no, needs to crawl back to him and beg him to hold me again. Just one more time.

I wish I hadn’t let her go.

I wish I’d never had to meet with him.

I clench my teeth and close my eyes, wondering if I’ll ever see her again.

I breathe deep and steady myself as I drive away, knowing I’ll never see him again.

I hate myself.

I hate myself.

I’m such a dirty bastard.

Dom

“Give me her number.” After I’ve had a moment to calm down, I finally take a seat and decide to work out a plan to see her again. I can’t fucking let her go, especially not after the way I treated her.

“It’s her husband’s number.” The tic in my jaw twitches again, and I grind my