Her blue eyes flashed fire at him. It took a few minutes for her statement to actually penetrate when he was expecting something altogether different.
Shit. Shit. That look on her face. Those eyes of hers. They had softened into that unusual teal color. She took his breath. Robbed him of his ability to think with his brain. He had to be realistic. She had to be realistic. No one, no one could love a monster, least of all an angel.
He couldn’t fucking drive when she was looking at him like that. He did pull to the side of the road. His hands were shaking. She couldn’t look at him like that. She couldn’t. Rage was close, welling up like a volcano. He left the engine running, and he gripped the steering wheel with both hands hard because he didn’t trust himself.
“Do you think that’s the worst it gets?” He spat the truth at her. Snarled it. She couldn’t look at him like that. She had no idea what was close to being loose in the truck with her.
“No, I don’t. I believe it will get much worse than that.” Seychelle spoke very calmly and swiped at the tears on her face with the pads of her fingers.
She looked so fucking young. So innocent. Her face was soft. Adoring. Her eyes so damn blue and looking at him with …
“For fuck’s sake, Seychelle,” he exploded. He reached across the console, turning fully toward her. “Stop looking at me like that.”
“Like what? How am I looking at you, Savage?” She challenged.
He knew it was deliberate by that defiant little chin lift. Her eyes just got bluer. Went to pure teal. Underwater. Completely immersed with those tears, but still her gaze clung to him, refusing to look away. She defied his command completely, staring at him with that look of utter and unconditional love. There was no such thing.
She was going to leave him. She would. It wasn’t possible that she really felt that way about him. She couldn’t love him. He was ugly to his core. He didn’t have a soul anymore. They’d ripped it out of him when he was a child, and no matter what he did to those fuckers, how many he took out to save other children, he couldn’t redeem himself and get his soul back.
He would forever have this cycle of rage and the need to see his woman suffer for him. Prove to him over and over that she was willing to give to him what he gave to those he loved. Pain. He took their anger and rage, and it became his pain. He gave that to Seychelle. That cycle would never stop. He needed to feel the whip in his hand to gain back control. He needed to see those welts and red stripes on her body to settle the terrible chaos in his mind. To take away the demons ruling his world and restore order. To make him man enough to be with a woman he loved. He needed her. Seychelle. And he was driving her away because he knew the longer she stayed and gave him that solace, the more he would need her. Depend on her. Believe in her. He already believed.
“Damn you. Fuck you, Seychelle. Stop looking at me like that. I fucking mean it. I’ll put you out of the truck right on the side of the road dressed in nothing but my T-shirt.”
She shifted her weight slightly, easing off her sore left cheek to give herself a reprieve. He could tell her it wasn’t going to help. Her ass was a mess, and she needed to be off it. He let his gaze travel over her body, a slow, leering, possessive inspection, down to the hem of his tee, where her hips showed the dark welts. She shifted again, easing up on her sore ass.
Deliberately, he gave her a shark’s smirk. “Hurts, doesn’t it, baby? Even with the painkillers I gave you. You move around and keep your weight on it and it will only get worse. You know what that does for me?” He dropped his hand to the bulge in his jeans and slowly opened the zipper, giving his aching cock some fucking relief from the tight restriction. “Makes me hard as a rock knowing I put those hot welts on my woman and she’s going to wear them for a long time.” He rubbed his palm over his cock, watching her face.
She was watching him just like she had that first time in the hospital, with just a little hint of amusement. “Damn you to hell, Seychelle. Don’t you dare laugh. I will throw you out of this truck. Stop looking at me like that.”
She sighed and wiped at the tears on her face again. This time she pressed a hand to her stomach. “I can’t stop looking at you this way. I’ll never stop, so you’re going to have to get used to it. You’re having a panic attack, just like I did. I can love whoever I want to, Savage, and I chose you. I will always choose you.”