Reparation (The Kane Trilogy, #3)(23)

“Then I guess that's all I can ask. But Tatum, he does not think you are trash. He has strange ways, and he doesn't know how to talk to you at all, but he cares very deeply for you. If you left him, he would be devastated, in his own way. I know this,” Sanders replied, resting a hand on her knee.

“'In his own way' loosely translates to 'so devastated, he fu-cks every woman in the tri-state area',” she joked. He made a face.

“I wouldn't have put it quite like that, but yes, pretty much like that,” he said, but she knew he was joking.

“What about you? If I decide I'm not strong enough for Mr. Jameson Kane, are you going to disown me? Let me go? Or would you run away with me?” she asked. He thought for a long while.

“I would never disown you, because I don't own you, and if you have to go, then I have to let you go. Sometimes, running away sounds very appealing, but in my experience, it just makes things worse. I suppose we could be penpals,” he offered, and she burst out laughing.

“Okay, I'll take that.”

She pulled him close and hugged him, wrapping her arms tightly around his shoulders. For once, there was no tensing up, no hesitation, he just hugged her right back. Sighed into the side of her hair.

“I used to hate it when you touched me,” he said softly. She laughed.

“I know, I think that's why I liked doing it so much,” she replied, scratching his back.

“Now I almost think I like it. Sometimes. Thank you, Tatum.”

“You're very welcome, Sanders.”

She squeezed him tight, and he finally pushed her away when she tried to leave a hickey on his neck. He walked her to the door after that, though she hesitated to leave him. He waved her away, assuring her that he would be perfectly fine, that he would just go to bed. They said goodbye and she made her way back around to the main house, using the path he had pointed out. She shoved her hands in her jacket, guarding against the cold as she made her way home.

Home.

Her universe had, once again, shifted a little. So many things she had been holding against Jameson, poof. Gone. So angry at Jameson, all because Sanders was loyal to a fault and because she was a crazy bitch.

She was telling the truth, though; the incident with Petrushka would probably never sit right with her. Jameson had done that to hurt, had no regard for her feelings. He still had never officially declared how he felt, probably because he didn't feel any certain way towards her. Sure, he wanted her, wanted to own her, wanted to be the only person to own her. But that didn't equal feelings, or caring.

Or love.

As Tate stomped up the porch, she decided she needed just a little more time. She had learned a lot of new things – from Ang, from Sanders, from herself. She felt like one more blow, and she would be thrown irrevocably into crazy-fu-cking-bitch land. Then no one would want to be her friend.

As she pushed in the front door, she took a deep breath. Tomorrow. Or the day after. Then she would have a nice, long, chat with Mr. Kane and he would definitely -,

“Where the fu-ck have you been!?” his voice snapped from behind her. But before she could turn fully around, she was being grabbed around the waist. Thrown over his shoulder. Carried down the hall.

“Out to dinner! What the fu-ck are you doing!?” she demanded.

“It's almost midnight. Who the fu-ck has dinner from eleven o'clock in the morning until midnight?” Jameson demanded.

“Apparenly I fu-cking do! What is your problem!? Wait, stop. What are you doing!?” she all but shrieked as she heard a door get kicked open.

“It is most definitely time to rip off the band aid,” he growled, and then he was walking through the door he had just opened.

I just needed a couple more days, then I would've done anything you wanted.

She threw her hands out and gripped onto the doorframe, wiggling her hips against his head. He had one arm wrapped around her thighs, and he dug his fingers in painfully. His other hand went up and grabbed one of her arms, yanking it free. She shrieked and tried to pull away, but it was too late. A couple strides, and she was in the library.

“What the fu-ck, Jameson!? You can't just grab people and make them do -,” she started to yell, but it ended in a shriek as she was tossed onto a couch. She bounced around and gripped onto the back of it.

“Apparently, I fu-cking can. I have been waiting all day for you. Do you not answer your phone anymore?” he asked, leaning over her. He looked pissed. She felt a shiver run over her skin.

“It's in my purse! I was busy,” she told him.

“Too busy to answer your phone. I see. So what were you and Angier up to for so long?” he asked.

“Humping our way across Boston,” she snapped back.

“Goddamn, took you long enough.”

“Not everyone can be as quick as you.”

His hand was at her throat in an instant.

This is not quite how I imagined this evening ending.

“Watch what you fu-cking say to me,” Jameson growled. “I have babied you. I have been nice to you. I have bent over fu-cking backwards for you. I have done things for you that I have never done for anyone else. The least you can do in return is answer your goddamn phone when I call.”

“Someone missed me,” she said softy.

“fu-ck you, Tate,” he spat out, his fingers digging in harder. He wasn't pressing down on her, though, so she slowly sat up.