Thicker Than Blood (Thicker Than Blood #1)(77)

It wasn’t that I wasn’t happy for her, for them, because I was. But I hated that I was happy for them, and I was jealous that I didn’t have what they did. My thoughts quickly strayed to Jami and the ways he’d always eased my pain with his experienced hands and sinful mouth. And right then, I needed him—needed that. I needed something, someone to fill this hole inside me, to fill this hole that watching them just made worse.

Still clutching tightly to my can of corn, I padded toward the door and slipped quietly out into the hallway, forcing back my angry, bitter tears.

Once I was outside, I headed toward the marketplace, the delectable smell of grilled rat calling my name. But when I arrived, I found myself feeling guilty at the idea of trading this can for something better, something more fulfilling. It wasn’t the can’s fault that no one wanted it. The can was simply doing its best, making do with what it had to offer, hoping that one day someone would…

I glanced down at the can, suddenly realizing that I was being ridiculous.

“You hungry, Wildcat?”

I didn’t bother to turn. I’d sensed his eyes on me the second I reached the marketplace, as if he’d been waiting here for me, waiting for me to leave my room and find him. As if he had already somehow known that I would need him.

Eventually, he came to stand in front of me, leaving me no choice but to look up at him. He looked the same as he did the day before—big, tattooed, and scary as shit. Without breaking eye contact with me, he gestured toward the man and woman manning the grill. Out of the corner of my eye, I watched them, their eyes flitting between him and me, until the man silently handed him two skewered rats without him having to ask. Or pay.

He offered one to me and as I stared down at it, still clutching tightly to my can, trickles of traitorous guilt welled inside me at the thought of giving it away. But eventually I held it out in offering, this poor can of corn, simply because I was weak. Weak and hungry.

Breaking eye contact, he glanced down at my can, his mouth twitching, his dark eyes dancing with laughter. Seconds passed, during which he still didn’t take my can, and I didn’t take his rat. It was him who ended our standoff, laughing and turning away. As he walked off, he glanced over his shoulder and jerked his chin, signaling that I should follow him.

As he walked off, his obscenely large frame casting dark shadows down the walkway, everywhere people hurried to move out of his way, their reactions telling me this man was exactly what I’d figured him to be. Dangerous.

Several more tense moments passed before I found myself trailing after him, part of me curious as to where he was going and wanting to know why he wanted me to follow. The other part of me already knew exactly what he wanted from me, and knew that I was going to give it to him.

Right before he was about to round a corner, he stopped, waiting for me to catch up. I didn’t hurry, simply took my time reaching him, already knowing how this game worked. I’d played it before I married Shawn, and then again after I lost him. In a way, with the exception of my first marriage, my only real marriage, I’d been playing this game my whole damn life.

But for the moment, I didn’t care. I needed this. Needed someone to take away the ache and fill the emptiness. Someone to quiet the insane buzzing inside my head.

Because this was what I did, this was my thing, the only way I knew how to survive. It was what I did, who I was. I needed that connection to make me believe I was complete and whole and sane again, something to still the constant churning of useless emotions that coursed through me. We all had our ways. Alex was quiet, forever internalizing his demons, always a silent soldier. Leisel was the victim, constantly relying on everyone else to save her from herself. And I was…

I was the whore.





Chapter Thirty-One



Leisel

“You’re holding back,” I accused Alex, narrowing my eyes at him. Here I was straddling his lap, wearing nothing but my lacy red bra and matching thong, and he was being so infuriatingly gentle. While his kisses had initially been demanding and full of hunger, they had slowed and softened, his touches nearly nonexistent as his hands barely skimmed over the surface of my skin. I wanted the Alex I’d seen last night, the one with the fire in his eyes, his body strung tight with wanting.

“And don’t say it’s because of the bruises. They’re all nearly healed and you know it.”

As was typical of Alex, he didn’t respond, just continued to sit there, his face an unreadable mask as his hands gently held my hips.

Throwing my hands up in the air, I let out a huff. “Fine,” I snapped, readying to move off him.

“Stop it,” he said quietly.

I paused, glancing back at his face. “Stop what?”

“Stop acting like Evelyn.”

My eyes flew open, widening. Hurriedly, I scrambled off his lap and stood. “What is that supposed to mean?”

He looked up at me, his expression still giving nothing away as to what he was truly feeling, and rolled his eyes. “You’re pissed off, Lei. You’re pissed and you only want to f*ck because you’re pissed.”

“That’s not true!”

Only it was true, maybe a little bit. I was pissed off, pissed that I’d been shortchanged after eight hours of continuous dancing, pissed off that I’d had to swallow my pride and my standards yet again, and pissed off at myself for blowing up at Evelyn like I had when she hadn’t done anything to deserve it. And now I was pissed off at Alex for being such a big fat know-it-all.