I sat up, nursing the fire in my belly. “Ask. Then leave me the hell alone.”
What are you doing?
Everything inside screamed for me to clamp my lips together and not play his horrid little game, but there was a small part of me that still hoped for redemption.
Grasshopper swallowed, taking his time to form the first question. “When he took you—did he fuck you doggy-style?”
My mouth fell open. “That’s the most disgusting, prying question I’ve ever—”
“Just fucking answer it. Did he?”
I narrowed my eyes. I refused to answer such an invasive, personal question. Didn’t matter, though, because my silence gave away the answer.
He took me on all fours once. The other times had been different…
Grasshopper sighed, dragging a hand over his face. “He did. Just like he always does with Club whores or any other woman who slithers their way into his bed.”
My heart twisted green with envy, rotting with jealousy for a man who I hated. Who’d kicked me… taken everything from me… who’d burned down my—
It wasn’t him.
I slapped that thought away, but the thread of truth worked its way past my defenses and grabbed a bullhorn so I couldn’t ignore it.
It wasn’t him with the match. You know that.
I balled my hands. No, it hadn’t been him who set my house alight.
A man with green eyes. An older man in a black leather jacket and a vicious smile.
Green eyes.
Green eyes.
Green eyes.
“Next question,” Grasshopper said. “Did he tie your hands so you couldn’t touch him?”
I couldn’t stop the spring of tears shining my shame and answer.
Grasshopper nodded. “I take that as a yes.” Lowering his voice, almost as if he felt sorry for me, he muttered, “Last question.”
I already knew what it would be.
“Did he blindfold you so you couldn’t look at him?”
I couldn’t. I just couldn’t.
I placed my palms over my eyes and turned away, hating the sobs that boiled in my chest.
A small cry spilled from my lips as Grasshopper rested a heavy, comforting hand on my back and rubbed circles. “Three yeses. That means, whatever you think you saw—whatever you thought you felt—it was all a lie.”
He kept stroking me, the gentleness of his concern seeping into my weary bones.
I sucked in a breath, whispering raggedly, “Explain how I know about the eraser. That he trades the stock market. That he’s the kindest, sweetest boy I’ve ever known? That I loved him?”
Silence was thick, before Grasshopper replied, “We can’t explain what happens when our minds decide to go on fucking vacation. Who the hell knows how and why we create fantasy worlds. You said so yourself, you don’t remember anything. You’re making it up. You’re creating lies that you believe so deeply that to you they’re truths—but to Kill… It’s fucking killing him.”
He stopped stroking me and stood in creaking leather and boots. “Don’t take it personally. He’s an asshole to all women. I probably shouldn’t tell you this, but he lost his virginity the day he got out of prison. He only did it ’cause the bastard was twenty-four, had never been in a pussy, and was the youngest president to inherit the Club. He needed to man up—and fast.” A proud glint formed in his gaze. “I was the one who brought the whore to him. I was the one who was there from the beginning, helping him turn this Club around.”
I bit my lip, willing my breathing to be silent—to hear every word this man might spill.
He nodded, lost in his own thoughts. “He bound her, blindfolded her, and fucked her from behind. To this day, he’s never done it any differently.”
He took me facing him. Twice.
My heart twisted in a weird combination of disgust and optimism.
“Why?” I breathed.
“Why?” His eyebrows rose and he chuckled. “Thought that would be obvious.”
I waited, not moving.
He sighed and muttered, “Because he can’t stand them to be close, because they aren’t her. He can’t stand for them to look at him, because he thinks they see what he did. And he can’t stand to be touched any more than necessary as he can’t—under any situation—be offered comfort when he’s the reason why she’s no longer around to be loved.”
My heart shattered.
Kill confused me utterly.
But I pitied him more.
“How—how do you know all this?”
Grasshopper smiled sadly, moving toward the door. “How does anyone ever know the inner secrets of a man ridden by demons?”
I shifted onto my knees, begging him silently to finish his riddle before abandoning me to loneliness.
He cocked his head. “By watching. By listening to what they don’t say. By riding beside them when they snap and fly from the compound to visit the grave of a corpse. By being the only one they confide in.”
He opened the door, stepping through.
“Wait!” I cried.
He turned, his eyes resigned. “What?”
I wrung my fingers, wishing I had more knowledge. Wishing upon wishes that all of this made sense to my mind while it made implicit sense to my heart.
I ached for him.
“Why are you telling me? Why show me his secrets, when you just proved I’m just like all the rest? That I’m not… her?”