'Til Death - Part 2 (7 page)

“I need another drink.” I giggle after half an hour.

“Admit it.” Landon laughs. “You lose!”

I bow in defeat. “I bow down to the king of the dance floor.”

Landon whoops loudly and I turn, still grinning, and shove my way through the people to the bar. I order another drink, and swallow it down quickly. I’m hot and sweaty; I need some cool. I’m also getting very, very drunk. I order one more drink, and carry it with me through the crowd until I find the back door.

When I get out, I find what seems to be a smokers’ garden. There are people everywhere. I purse my lips, contemplating if this air is any fresher than inside, but I decide it’s cooler out here and find a place to sit. A slow song comes on, pouring through the open doors. I recognize it as “Every Time” by Britney Spears. The words flow out, causing my body to tingle. The words are so close to home.

Couples begin kissing, cuddling and dancing. My heart aches and I stare down at my drink. I’m grateful for the airy, lightheaded feeling I’m experiencing right now, because it’s taking some of the deep hurt from my body for the first time in a long while. I sip my drink some more and look up, freezing.

Marcus.

Not alone.

My vision blurs as I see my husband with his arm around another woman. Well, it’s not exactly around her, but it is resting on her hip and he’s whispering something into her ear. Rage, pain, betrayal and hurt mix deep inside me. He’s not supposed to be doing
so
well. This isn’t supposed to be so fucking
easy
for him.

I stand up suddenly, too suddenly, and I fall forward, a result of the alcohol swimming in my system. I brace for my landing, but manage to catch the side of a table before I hit the ground. Glasses smash and people stop what they’re doing to turn and look at me. Tears are running down my cheeks and I want to scream for being so pathetic, so fucking
weak
.

I lift my gaze and Marcus is staring at me, his mouth slightly gaping. He lets the woman go and turns, striding towards me. I push up, turning quickly, tripping on my heels. I shove out of the garden and rush around the back of the club, pressing my back to a brick wall to catch my breath.

“Katia.”

I turn sharply to see Marcus standing under the dull glow of a streetlight. He’s wearing a tuxedo, and his hair is messy and unkempt, in serious need of a cut. His eyes burn into mine and my throat closes up, tightening with every breath I take.

“How
dare
you be happy?” I cry, my voice an angry rasp. “How dare you get to feel
good
? How dare you get a good life while I’m
suffering
? How dare you fucking look at me like you’re
actually
sorry? How dare you
exist
?”

He flinches and steps forward. “I do fucking care. If you’d talk to me—”

“You’d tell me what?” I scream. “You’d tell me I matter, that you made a mistake, that your life has been hell? You’d be wrong, Marcus. You don’t know hell; you’ll never understand hell the way I do. Does that woman in there make it better?”

His eyes grow pained and I want to lunge forward and rip them from their sockets. “She was business.”

“Do you always put your hands on your business associates?”

“Katia, I can’t begin to understand the hurt you are feeling, but I’m hurting too. Maybe not as much, but I am . . .”

“Stop lying.” My voice is a frantic, emotional shriek. “For once in your life, stop fucking lying to me. Just say it, say what it is, and stop hiding behind that insufferable wall of stone.”

His eyes narrow and he steps forward. I step back, pressing my palms to the cool brick wall behind me.

“You want to know what it is? You want to know what I did? I married you to keep my business; I didn’t love you, I didn’t care what happened to you. I used you, I fucked you, and I did all that so I wouldn’t lose what I’ve worked for.”

I make a pained, choking sound, wrapping my fingers around my throat, as if that will stop the hurt delving into my soul.

“You kept pushing.”

“Don’t you dare blame me,” I shout.

He puts a hand up. “You’ve had your chance to have your say, Katia. Now it’s mine.”

I shake my head, disgusted. He just keeps talking.

“You kept pushing, past my bullshit, past the wall, past the hardness. You kept pushing and I found myself
feeling
. Was it enough to give it all up? No. But it was more than I’d ever felt for any woman.”

He steps closer and my breathing becomes ragged.

“As time went on, I got comfortable. You fit me, you fit my life; we were working. You made me smile, hell—I hadn’t smiled in years. You made me believe there was more to life than business. I fell for you, and before I woke up and realized that, you found the contract and left.”

I shake my head from side to side. He’s lying. He’s only saying this so I’ll go back to him, so I’ll give in and he can use me for something else.

“Stop it,” I shriek, lunging forward. “You’re lying.”

He catches my shoulders, shaking me slightly. “I’m not lying, Katia. I haven’t fucked another woman since you left, and I haven’t wanted to. The only thing I want
is you
.”

“Liar!” I bellow, lashing out with my hands. I hit him in the jaw and he roars in pain, stepping back. It doesn’t deter him; he lunges forward, catching my wrists this time. I thrash, pulling, kicking and screaming.

He doesn’t love me. He doesn’t want me. He’s lying. He’s a liar. This is what he does. This is who he is.

“I’m not lying,” he grates out. “Fuck, Katia, I want this.”

“No,” I scream.

“Yes.”

I lift my head. “There’s nothing you could say that would make me believe this is real.”

“Not even I love you?”

My knees tremble and my eyes hold his. “You’re sick, Marcus Tandem.
Sick
.”

“For telling the truth?” he barks.

“What do you want from me?” I cry. “What do you want? Do you want to torture me some more? Or do you just want the convenience of me?”

“Fuck it,” he barks. “I want you because you’re
you
.”

“No!”

“Yes.”

I jerk my hands from his and launch my fist at his face again, he catches it, pulls my body forward and suddenly his lips are on mine. My knees go out from beneath me and I fight, God, do I fight. I swing, I tangle my fingers in his hair and pull, I kick his shins and squirm but his lips hold mine, kissing, burning into mine.

Then I’m kissing him back and hating myself for it.

Hating myself for going with something so
familiar
, for needing it so badly I’m willing to put myself through the pain I’ll no doubt feel afterwards just to have it. Just to feel okay for a moment.

My back is slammed against the wall and Marcus doesn’t move his lips from mine. He kisses me until I’m gasping for air. His hands are in my locks, tugging, and his body is crushed against mine, his erection pressing into my belly. Then his hands are wrenching free of my hair and going down to the hem of my dress.

We’re in a frenzy; emotion is gone. There is nothing but raw lust, a lust that is dangerous for the both of us. My head swims from alcohol and emotion. I can’t think straight, not when his lips are on mine, not when his hands are everywhere. He jerks my dress up and finds my panties, tearing them off as if they are no more than a flimsy piece of material.

Then he’s jerking his pants down, freeing his cock. What’s happening? What am I doing? My thoughts are taken from me when he thrusts upwards, filling me in one fluid stroke. My head falls back and I scream. Thrilling, sensational agony rips through my body and I arch, trying to ease it, trying to get more—I don’t know which. Marcus places a hand on the wall beside my head and the other firmly under my ass, and he fucks me.

He fucks me like this is our last day on earth and I’m the
only
reason he’s fought.

He fucks me like I
matter
.

He fucks me like I’m his lifeline and he can’t
survive
without me.

I come shamelessly hard and fast, gripping his suit, running my fingernails desperately over the fabric. He growls low and deep, and fucks me so hard I feel the brick wall tearing into my skin. Then he’s coming too, hard and fast, rasping my name.

I close my eyes, shame filling me.

What have I done?

I shove at his chest, but he doesn’t move.

“Let me go,” I rasp.

He turns his face, pressing his nose to my neck.

“Let me go!” I’m becoming frantic.

His hands move to my hips and he pulls me closer.

“God damn it,” I wail, shoving his chest. “Let me the
fuck
go.”

He steps back and I dislodge myself from him. I’m ashamed of myself. Horrified that I could be so pathetic and weak. He used me, abused me, and I just let him take me as if nothing ever happened. What the hell is wrong with me? I straighten my dress, refusing to look at him.

“Katia,” he begins, but I turn and rush off.

“Fuck it,” he barks. “Katia wait.”

I run inside, pantie-less and broken. I shove through the crowd until I find my brothers. Landon notices me first and his big smile is quickly wiped off his face when he sees me. He runs over, capturing my shoulders. “What’s happened? Did someone hurt you? Jesus, Katia, are you—”

His voice trails off, and when I look up his eyes are trained on something behind me. I know it’s Marcus. Landon quickly shoves me behind him into Wyatt’s waiting arms. He steps towards Marcus and barks, “What the fuck are you doing here? She doesn’t want to see you. Leave.”

Marcus glares at Landon, but makes no move to step closer to me. His eyes lift to mine and they’re telling me so much, so much I don’t
want
to hear. I drop my face down again, and Wyatt turns me, leading me from the club. When we’re outside, I break down, sobbing uncontrollably.

“Hey,” Wyatt says. “You’re okay, come on.”

He takes me to a park bench and we sit. Landon joins us a moment later.

“What happened?” he asks.

“I’m a whore,” I cry. “That’s what.”

“Hey.” Wyatt shakes me. “You are not a whore.”

I turn to him, my body trembling with emotion. I don’t think; I just speak. “I just let him fuck me.
Fuck me
. Like none of the bad stuff ever happened. Like it didn’t matter.”

Wyatt blinks and Landon curses.

“He’s your husband. You loved him; mistakes happen.”

“He took my life; he took it and he fucked it up. How could I be so pathetic? I just basically told him everything he did was acceptable.”

“That’s not true,” Landon argues. “You are fragile, Katia. He mattered and no matter what, somewhere deep down that changed something inside you. You can’t beat yourself up over a moment of weakness.”

I drop my head. “I want to go home,” I whisper.

“Katia . . .”

“Now.”

They wave down a cab, and I keep my head down until it reaches us. Landon calls Dusty, who was meant to meet us after work, and tells him what happened. I say nothing the entire ride home. My heart is breaking, my emotions are destroyed and I’m ashamed of myself. When we arrive at the house, I walk straight inside, ignoring Candy and Ford, and heading upstairs.

I can hear them talking about me as I slide into my bed next to Penny. I reach out, tucking her hand in mine and clench my eyes shut, trying to forget tonight, trying to forget Marcus and how much he damaged me, trying to forget everything in the past twelve months, but most of all, trying to forget how good it felt to be in his arms again.

“Marcus was there,” I hear Landon say. “Something went down.”

He’s not saying what; I love him for that.

“What?” Candy asks. “She . . . I’ve not seen her like that since the day she found that contract.”

I hiccup and begin to sob.

“I don’t know what,” Landon adds. “All I know is she’s devastated.”

“You don’t think she . . .
slept
with him, do you?”

I clench my eyes closed with shame.

“No,” Wyatt pipes up. “I don’t.”

“Should I go to her?” Candy asks.

“No,” Wyatt adds again. “She needs to be alone. Just let her be.”

Everything goes quiet after that.

I tuck my daughter into my arms.

Then I cry myself to sleep.

“C
ome on honey,” a feminine voice purrs.

My drunken mind is struggling to process what’s happening. I’m on my back, there’s something heavy over me, but I remember fuck-all else. I try to force my eyes open, but see nothing through the haze. Something cool touches my face, stroking down my cheeks.

“You’re so hot, Marcus.”

Is that a female? On top of me? I blink rapidly, and slowly a figure comes into view. She’s blond, naked, and straddling me. A mixture of anger, humiliation and guilt swarms through my body. I try to lift my arms, but nothing happens. I’m numb.

A hand strokes over my cock.

I’m fucking naked? How the fuck did that happen?

“L . . . l . . . let,” I try, but my voice is slurred and pathetic.

“Shhh, let me help you.”

She’s stroking my flaccid dick. What the fuck? I try to buck my hips, but I’m so fuckin’ smashed nothing is happening. I bellow with rage, jerking my hips up again.

“Hush, let me fuck you, gorgeous.”

No.

No fuckin’ way.

I buck again, and this time she launches off me. “Get the fuck out!” I bellow.

The door swings open and I hear a familiar voice. “Fuck, bro. Shit.”

Mack.

“Get the fuck out,” I bellow, clawing at my chest. “Get the fuck out.”

“What did you give him, bitch?” Mack roars.

“I . . . I just . . .”

“What did you give him?”

“I don’t know,” she cries. “A friend told me it would help me . . .”

“Get him into bed?” Mack hisses. “You better get out of my fuckin’ sight before I come over there and throw you out the damned window.”

I hear the scurrying of feet and then someone has his or her arms around my shoulders, hauling me up. “Fuck, dude,” Mack mutters. “Cover yourself.”