I roll my eyes and snag a hand through my hair.
Breathe.
Focus.
“You’re reaching for something that isn’t there,” I warn.
“Am I?” There’s a plea in her voice. A sorrow so raw it flays me. “Despite the agreement, I know you won’t hurt me.”
“No?” I look down my nose at her. “Haven’t I already been doing that for years?”
Her shoulders tense. It’s another painful reminder of the damage I’ve inflicted. “You’re turned on, Raffael. You want me.”
True.
So goddamn fucking true.
“Wanting to fuck a broken little lamb doesn’t make me a good guy,” I snarl.
She gapes, as if the malice has reached down into her lungs and stolen the air she breathes.
All I can do is stand there and take it.
Pretend I’m not affected.
“I’m sorry to inform you your needy display didn’t save you from the mess you’ve created.” I give her a sad smile tinged with condescension. “Nothing has changed.”
“Everythinghas changed.” She stumbles to her feet, shaky.
I force my hands to stay at my sides—tonotsteady her.
Then that creaking from the hall returns, the sound of moving floorboards triggering rage I struggle to contain.
I twist toward the door, my pulse flaring. “Who’s there?”
More silence.
“Who the fuck is in the corridor?” I demand.
The door creaks open.
The prick who almost got her killed creeps forward.
“I found your phone,” he mumbles, raising my cell in his hand. “I thought you might want it.”
Red.
It’s all I see.
I thunder toward him, not giving a fuck when he scampers backward in retreat.
“Do you realize what you did?” I grab him around the throat and slam him into the wall. “You could’ve fucking killed her.”
“Raffael,no.” Isla scrambles forward.
“What the fuck were you thinking?” I tighten my grip.
“I’m sorry.” He cowers. “I-I?—”