Make Me (Broke and Beautiful #3)(48)

The look that crossed the lawyer’s face said he was enjoying this. “Ran into Abby a few minutes ago.” With those words, Russell’s dread shifted and escalated into rage. She’d gone to that beach last night dressed in nothing but a swimsuit. A swimsuit he’d seen on the floor of the cabana. Meaning this f*cker had seen her in . . . what? The possibilities made his eyes burn.

Russell struggled for a modicum of composure, but the effort was useless. “If you even spoke to her, I’d be worried.”

“I did. Speak to her.” A too-long pause ensued. “You bruise up a lot of girls, Hart?”

He was instantly winded, unable to catch a breath. That axe above him didn’t just drop, it hacked away at him. Hacked, hacked, hacked, severing internal organs without mercy. Somehow, the guy knew his last name, but it was only a dim realization, swallowed up in the earlier statement. “What . . . what are you talking about?”

“Look, buddy.” Mitchell held up both hands, like they could have an honest exchange after the bomb he’d just dropped on Russell’s very existence. “I’m here as the fixer. As understandably upset as she was, Abby obviously needs one—”

“She was upset?” The words fell out of Russell’s mouth and splintered into fragments on the ground, alongside his heart. Had he been wrong about the connection . . . the understanding between them? She’d enjoyed what they’d done, hadn’t she? He wracked his mind, attempting to remember what she’d said in the darkness, before they fell asleep. We have a lot to talk about, don’t we? Christ, that could mean anything. Images assaulted him. Abby’s jaw in his grip. Her hands imprisoned over her head. The way he’d pulled out and bathed her in his release.

His knees felt weak with the need to give out. Was there a man of sound mind on this planet that would do those things to a virgin? No. No . . . he’d done it all wrong. He’d hurt her. Hurt Abby. God, oh God, oh God.

“Where did she go?” Russell managed.

“Probably somewhere you can’t hurt her again.” Mitchell rounded the car at a casual pace, reaching into his pocket and removing a wallet. “And I’m going to make sure it stays that way.”

Russell felt the horror down to his toes when the man presented him with a fist full of what looked like hundred-dollar bills. “What the f*ck is that?”

Mitchell attempted to look sympathetic, but satisfaction was written all over his face. “We both know Abby is a good person. She wanted you to have this. For that construction company you’re trying to get off the ground.” The green bills were thrust in his direction. As if he would take them. Christ, he could barely stand the sight of them. Or the knowledge that he’d lost. He hadn’t been good enough for her. No, it was worse than that. He’d . . . injured her. Ruined a night that should have been special. Maybe traumatized her forever. He deserved to feel like his stomach was being stomped on by baseball cleats. Deserved far worse.

True to form, she was still trying her best to help him, trying to help him succeed even thought he’d wronged her. That’s why she was the best. That’s what made her Abby. And he needed to get as far away from her as possible, for her sake. It’s what the man who loved her should do—and he loved her so much he was struggling not to lie down in the road and demand this * drive over him with that f*cking Mercedes. The symbol of everything he’d never be able to give Abby.

“I don’t want your money,” Russell choked out. “Or Abby’s money, for Chrissakes.”

The other man shrugged. “Fair enough.” He pocketed the bills. “How about a ride back to the city?”

“Go f*ck yourself. I’ll take the bus.”

Russell stood frozen on the road until the Mercedes drove out of sight. Then he bent at the waist and dry heaved over the sandy road.

ABBY BOUNDED DOWN the stairs, taking them two at a time. In the space of twenty minutes, she’d showered, changed, and answered five emails. Wonder of wonders, they hadn’t even stressed her out. Would anything ever stress her out again? Her body felt so deliciously utilized, her vocal cords just raw enough to give her a smoky sex voice, a discovery she’d made while attempting to sing in the shower. A long-sleeved swim cover-up handily concealed the bruising on her wrists, but she liked knowing they were there. Like a naughty secret, reminding her how much she’d been wanted. She’d never had one of those before.

Her progress came to an abrupt stop at the base of the staircase. Having snuck in as quietly as possible, she’d expected everyone to still be sleeping. But there was the super group, standing in the living room, looking as if they’d been caught talking about something uncomfortable. Most of them, anyway. Honey and Roxy were still in their pajamas, hair unbrushed. Ben and Louis wouldn’t even look at her. Trying to ignore the beginnings of alarm, Abby ran a hand down her ponytail and scanned the space for Russell but didn’t see him.

“Hey.” Abby headed toward the kitchen, well aware she was making an escape. From what, though, she didn’t know. Didn’t want to. “I was just about to make some coffee.”

Honey followed her into the sunlit room, Roxy close behind. The guys were nowhere in sight, which only spurred her worry. Ben and Louis didn’t go two feet without the girls if they could help it, meaning her roommates wanted privacy.

Honey climbed onto one of the breakfast stools. “Where did you sleep last night?”