A shaky smile from Charlotte as she pulled out the letter.
Gabriel read it along with her. The bastard had written how sorry he was, how he’d tried to write before but the prison authorities wouldn’t permit it. They had okayed this letter because he was about to get out and it was considered a healthy sign of rehabilitation that he wanted to apologize to his victim to give her “closure.”
That wasn’t me, Charlotte. I don’t know what happened that weekend, who I became, but I take full responsibility for it. It’s important I do that. It’s on me. It had nothing to do with you and how we broke up. It wasn’t your fault you couldn’t give me what I needed—I shouldn’t have taken out my annoyance on you. I hope one day you can forgive me.
The fucking psychopath had the nerve to sign it “Love, Richard.”
“Passive-aggressive bullshit,” Gabriel snarled, unable to keep his mouth shut any longer.
“Manipulative,” Charlotte said. “That’s always been his MO.” She lifted the letter, went to rip it up, then frowned. “I’m going to give this to Detective Lee, just in case.”
“Good idea.” If Richard did come after her again, Gabriel wanted him locked up for the rest of his miserable life. “You okay?”
A wondering expression on Charlotte’s face. “Yes. He’s been the bogeyman for so long, but now that I’ve read this, I see him for the pathetic, manipulative son of a bitch that he really is.” She threw the letter down on the table. “He was such a big man when he ambushed me, had me alone, that pencil-dicked, scum-sucking fuckwit!”
Gabriel had never heard Charlotte swear. It was impressive.
It got even more impressive.
“Closure, my ass! That slimy excuse for a human being just wanted to get inside my head. Fuck that!” She poked Gabriel in the chest. “Annoyance? Annoyance? I’ll show that ass-faced peckerhead annoyance! His name shouldn’t be Dick. It should be Dickweasel Shit for Brains!”
Leaning with his forearm on the counter when Charlotte swept past him, Gabriel grinned as she marched around the kitchen, slamming pots and pans together and pouring flour into a bowl, taking out cocoa and chocolate chips and eggs and vanilla pods, other things he couldn’t identify. He decided not to remind her he’d picked up dinner and it was going cold.
Instead, he stole chocolate chips from across the counter, said, “Yes,” and “Absolutely” when she paused in her diatribe to wait for a response. The question was usually something along the lines of: Don’t you think so? after she’d murdered Richard’s character in ever more creative ways.
It wasn’t until the smell of muffins baking permeated the kitchen and Charlotte had hand washed the dishes—with more banging and clattering—that she began to calm down. Exhaling, she turned to him. “I didn’t know I had that in me.”
He kissed her cheek, adoring her. “That’s my Ms. Baird.”
The blush was back, pink and pretty. “I have to remember all the bad words I used so I can tell Molly.”
“Dickweasel?”
“It seemed appropriate.”
Chuckling, Gabriel went and got the food he’d left on the hallway table. “Come on, let’s reheat this and eat and you can tell me what some of those words mean. I grew up on a rugby field, but Jesus, baby, I have no idea where you learned all that.”
“You should read more” was the prim response from the tiny blond Valkyrie he didn’t ever want that pissed with him.
CHARLOTTE LAY IN BED that night, staring up at the ceiling. Her body was satisfied and yet not. Gabriel had touched her with the same raw tenderness he always did, but again, it had been in an armchair, with her in his lap. She knew in her gut that that wasn’t anywhere close to his favorite position. A man like Gabriel enjoyed being on top, liked to have total control.
“Don’t rush it. It appears you’re doing very well with Gabriel.”
Dr. Mac was right; she knew that. She also knew it infuriated her that even though she could see Richard for the spineless psychopathic wimp that he was, she couldn’t forget what he’d done to her. It felt as if he’d branded her and she hated it, hated it. She wanted to wear Gabriel’s brand, not Richard’s, wanted to know the feel of Gabriel’s hand sliding around her nape to hold her close for his kiss, not the ugliness of Richard’s fingers digging into her flesh as he dragged her around the town house.
And she wanted Gabriel’s big, hot, protective body beside her, didn’t want him walking out the door night after night because neither of them was sure she wouldn’t panic in the middle of the night.
Aggravated, she shoved off the blanket and stomped into the kitchen to make some coffee. She had no idea what time it was in whatever city Molly was in now, but she picked up the phone and made the call. Her best friend came on sounding groggy. “Charlie?”
“I said Richard was a pencil-dicked, scum-sucking fuckwit.”
A dramatic pause, and then Molly whooped. “That’s my girl!” A rustling sound followed, with Molly whispering, “Go back to sleep. I’m going to talk to Charlie.”
More rustling announced that Molly was moving about. “What precipitated this awesome assassination of pencil-dick’s character?” she said after a few more seconds.
Charlotte told Molly about the letter. “All this time, I’ve been afraid of him, when he’s a coward who could only feel good by attacking a woman half his size.” Seeing his weaselly words had made that truth crystal clear to her. “I think part of it is because I’m not vulnerable anymore.” The grieving, insecure girl Richard had known was gone—in her place was a woman who tangled with a far stronger man on a daily basis. “He can’t get at me by attacking my weaknesses.”