Taking It All (Surrender Trilogy #3)(45)

A knock sounded and a moment later, Damon returned with Chessy’s clothing. She stared at the items, distaste in her wounded eyes. They were evidently a reminder that Tate had arranged this evening when she wanted to do nothing but forget.

Her lips trembled and she closed her eyes, her brow knitted in an effort to regain her composure.

“Tell me what you want to do, Chessy,” Damon said in a gentle voice. “I’ll have a car drive you wherever you want to go. Is there someone you’d like me to call for you?”

Tate bristled and was near to exploding as he whirled to confront Damon. “I will bring my wife home,” he said icily.

“I don’t recall consulting you in the matter,” Damon said. “You lost that option when you abdicated your responsibility as Chessy’s Dominant and allowed her to come to harm.”

Tate had no response to that, which only served to piss him off even more. His hands shook violently. He was rattled to his very core when he usually met each situation with calm and decisiveness.

“I’ll ride home with Tate,” Chessy said so softly Tate wasn’t sure he’d heard her right.

He was afraid to hope or read too much into her statement. She still wouldn’t look at him. As if she couldn’t bear the sight of him.

“Let me help you dress, baby,” Tate said gently. “Don’t worry about your shoes. I’ll carry you out to the car.”

She shook her head. “I can get dressed on my own. Just leave me be for a few minutes. I’ll come out when I’m done.”

Tate dug in his heels. “I need to make sure you’re all right and I need to see for myself just what that bastard did.”

“Do you care?” she threw out in a bitter tone.

His jaw clenched. “Of course I care. Goddamn it, Chessy.”

She waved her hand like she just wanted it over with.

“I’ll wait outside,” Damon said, leaving unsaid the fact that he’d wait to see if Chessy changed her mind about wanting him to see to her ride from The House. But it was implied in his tone.

As soon as Damon left the room, Chessy allowed the blanket to fall loosely away but hunched forward protectively as if she didn’t want Tate to see her. Tate immediately turned her on the sofa, swearing softly when he saw the welts on her back. There were already bruises forming at her hips where the ass**le’s hands had gripped her.

“How far did he take things?” Tate asked hoarsely.

She shrugged indifferently. “Far enough.”

He ran a hand through his hair in frustration. Chessy pinned him with the weight of her stare, her eyes accusing and utterly devastated. “Oh, I’m sorry, Tate. Have I annoyed you? How selfish of me that I’m not giving you my full attention.”

The heavy sarcasm in her voice made his heart sink. Self-loathing filled him, brimming in his heart until hatred was a living, breathing emotion in his soul. He was utterly sick at heart, knowing full well that he didn’t deserve forgiveness for what he’d done. For what he’d allowed to happen to her.

She got up, moving away from him to dress. She yanked on her clothing without care and then glanced down in disgust at the formfitting dress.

“I’m ready to go,” she said.

“Chess, are you sure I don’t need to take you to the hospital?” Tate asked uneasily. “How badly did he hurt you?”

Her gaze found his and she stared unflinchingly at him. “Not nearly as much as you have.”

EIGHTEEN

THE ride home was silent and tense. Chessy leaned against the passenger door, her forehead pressed to the glass as she stared sightlessly at the passing streetlights. She was strangely numb. She felt empty and desolate but couldn’t summon any emotion. No anger, no sorrow. Just … nothing.

Her marriage was over. As far as she was concerned, Tate had crossed a line he could never erase. While such knowledge would have devastated her twenty-four hours ago, right now she couldn’t bring herself to feel anything but resignation.

She could feel him looking her way, but she didn’t acknowledge him. Instead she pretended he wasn’t even there, already making plans for a future that didn’t include him.

When they finally pulled into their drive, she opened her door before the car came to a full stop and she got out, the concrete tearing her stockings at the feet. She hadn’t brought her keys so she had to wait for Tate to unlock the front door, but as soon as he accomplished that, she pushed past him in a direct path to their bedroom.

Wasting no time, she went to her closet and hauled out one of her large suitcases, flinging it onto the bed to unzip it.

“Chessy, what the hell are you doing?” Tate demanded from the doorway.

She ignored him and went back to her closet to yank clothing from hangers, returning to dump them into the suitcase without bothering to arrange them in any way.

His hand closed around her wrist and she froze when he prompted her to look up at him and meet his gaze. His features were gray, deep grooves lining his forehead. Sorrow and regret swamped his eyes. He looked tortured.

Not her problem.

She wrested her hand from his grip and took a step back, her tone as frigid as an Artic wind.

“Do not touch me.”

He took an immediate step back and when she went to her dresser for underwear and bras he repeated his earlier question.