Beautifully Cruel (Beautifully Cruel #1)(80)

“What’s our next move?”

I open my eyes, lift my head, and look at the FBI agents sitting across the table staring back at me.

I say, “I’ll let you know soon,” and disconnect.





29





Tru





I don’t sleep that night. I pace back and forth in my bedroom, my mind whirling. I’m sick, furious, hurt, confused, enraged, ashamed, disbelieving, and furious.

Did I mention furious?

I’m so angry it feels like I could birth a rage monster through my vaginal canal.

I want to smash every single piece of furniture in sight.

He wanted the arrangement. He was the one who concocted the idea of me moving in with him. He was the one who kidnapped me to make it happen!

And he was the one who sent his second-in-command to whisk me away like a dirty plate three days before it was supposed to be over.

He could’ve been a gentleman and handled it himself. I mean, I probably would’ve gotten teary-eyed and emotional when the time came, but I certainly would not have begged…

Okay, I would’ve begged. I’m addicted to his magical dick.

Plus—horribly, tragically, stupidly—I’m in love with him. So there would have been begging.

But that’s no excuse for shifting the responsibility of getting rid of your willing captive to a man who doesn’t have the manners to refrain from blowing cigarette smoke into a lady’s face.

I hope that slap I gave Declan left him with a nasty bruise.

And if I ever see Liam Black on the street, he’ll wish I hadn’t.

“Who are you kidding?” I whisper to my tear-stained reflection. “Not me.”

My bedraggled self stares back at me from the mirror over my desk. We both know that if I saw Liam on the street, I’d throw myself at his feet like a demented groupie, wailing for him to take me back.

So this is love.

What a nightmare.



First thing in the morning, four goons in black suits show up at my door with all my things packed up in cardboard boxes. Without a word, they drop the boxes on the step and turn to leave.

“Oh, no you don’t!” I holler after them.

The biggest one—his name is Kieran, I remember—turns back to give me a raised eyebrow.

I stand aside from the door and jerk my thumb over my shoulder. “In you go.”

In this thick Irish accent, Kieran says, “What’re you on about?”

“I’m guessing you lot were the ones who packed all my stuff up and took it over to Liam’s place a few weeks ago, am I right?”

Shifty-eyed, the goons look at each other.

“That’s what I thought.” I step aside and sweep my arm toward my bedroom. “You know where everything goes.”

Kieran laughs. When his disdain doesn’t make me wilt, he glares at me.

I fold my arms over my chest and glare right back.

An hour later, my clothes, toiletries, and books are back in their rightful places in my bedroom. Kieran and the goon squad trundle out silently, looking like they’re not exactly sure what just happened.

Standing in the open doorway of the apartment watching them go, Ellie says, “You know that old saying, misery loves company?”

“Yeah?”

“Tyler and I broke up again. So at least you won’t have to be miserable alone. My miserable ass will be keeping you company.”

I’m lying on my back on the living room floor, staring up at the ceiling, flattened with longing for a man I’ll never see again. “What happened this time?”

She sighs heavily, closing the door and wandering into the kitchen. “He said he felt smothered.” Her chuckle is dark. “Apparently, the girl he was seeing behind my back didn’t make him feel quite so penned in.”

“That’s shitty. Are you okay?”

“I’ll live. I’ve been rage eating the past few days. That always helps.”

I told her the short version of Liam’s heartlessness last night. Being a good friend, she was righteously angry on my behalf. I feel a little guilty that I can’t muster enough outrage to return the favor about Tyler’s mistreatment at the moment, but judging by my mood swings over the past several hours, later on I’ll break a mirror or throw a vase off the balcony, and we can be outraged together.

Ellie grabs something out of the freezer and comes to sit cross-legged next to me. She says, “You want some pistachio ice cream? There’s tons of it left. We’ll probably be eating this stuff forever.”

I look at her, holding out the container and a spoon, and burst into tears again.

She takes that as a no and starts to eat, every once in a while reaching out to pat me comfortingly on the shoulder.



Miserable and heartbroken, I hide in the apartment for three days. I don’t go anywhere. I don’t call anyone. Except for Liam, because I can’t help my sad sack self, but his phone number is disconnected.

That cruel, horrible, cowardly, lying, no-good, pretending-to-have-a-heart bastard.

I miss him with every fiber of my being.

Now I understand how otherwise rational people can snap and commit violent acts. The human body wasn’t designed to contain so much emotion.

On day four, I decide I’m fed up with myself. I’m still heartbroken, but lying around sobbing for hours at a time isn’t helping anyone. And I’ve still got the bar to pass, if I can manage it.