The Wrath of Cain (The Syndicate, #1)(8)

Fuck him and his death glare. I’m not about to back down. He’s the one who turned me into the cold-hearted bitch I am today. The one who will never fully trust another man for the rest of my life.

“I want a divorce. I have the papers right here for you to sign, and then I will be gone.”

Reaching inside my purse, I retrieve the papers, shoving them in his direction. He doesn’t move a muscle to try and take them. He doesn’t even blink.

“Goddamnit, Cain. Just take them and sign.”

I shove them at him again. This time he rips them out of my hand and flips them over his shoulder, scattering them all over the floor.

“Jesus! What are you doing?”

I move to step around him to collect the papers. His arms slashes out, gripping my upper arm, pulling me directly into him so our fronts are pressed firmly against each other’s. I can smell the alcohol on his breath.

That little devil on my shoulder has a mind of her own. She’s urging me to dip forward and sneak one little taste of that sweet, spicy scent. Fucking traitor!

Cain continues to stare, his grip tightening. The way his rock-hard body is pressed against mine, I can feel the firmness of his chest and the length of his erection boring into my stomach. I don’t like being manhandled and I sure as hell don’t like the man standing so close to me. He’s pissing me the f*ck off.

“What am I doing?” he growls. “Shouldn’t I be asking you that question?”

“Let go of me now, Cain. I’m not messing around, and to answer your damn question, I’m here because I want a divorce. This was never a marriage to begin with and now it’s in my way. Can you just sign the papers? Please?”

All of a sudden I become all too aware of what kind of man he has turned into when he switches our position, backing us up until my spine is firmly resting against the wall behind me.

“It’s in your way?”

“Yes. I’m engaged,” I lie, hoping he can’t tell. It’s the first thing that came to mind.

“You’re lying.”

He dips his face closer to mine. He still smells the same. All man. Intoxicating. Addicting. I need him to get away from me. I’m on edge and even quicker to defend myself while being trapped beneath his brute force. Anger rears its ugly head.

“I’m not. It’s been six goddamned years, Cain. Besides, even if I’m not engaged, what the hell business is it of yours, you son of a bitch?”

“I’m not signing, Calla. Never!”

On impulse my free hand comes up to push him back, but he’s firmly rooted in place, not budging at all. He brings one of his legs in between mine, nudging them apart. The slit on my skirt threatens to give way.

How dare he try to turn me on? How f*cking dare my * clench with a familiar ache? How dare my eyes want to divert down to his dick? I’m just as mad at myself for being a disloyal little tramp as I am at him.

“You don’t know me anymore. I don’t know you. I never knew you. You’re a cheat. A drug dealer. A gun smuggler. And a f*cking coward. I want nothing to do with you. I hate you. Goddammit, get away from me!” I scream.

“Shut up.”

He gathers both of my hands in his and lifts them over my head. I shake my head back and forth, my long hair flinging all over the place. I’m about to go stark raving mad. It’s been so long since he’s touched me. His rough hands feel the same. I’m on the verge of asking him to touch me here or kiss me there. He threads our fingers together and I clamp down on my tongue. Why after all this time is he doing this? Doesn’t he want his freedom, too?

“Calla.”

The sound of my name coming out of his mouth, as gentle and smooth as it used to, is my undoing. My mind tries in vain to block out how much I’ve missed having him this close, his lips only a hairsbreadth away from mine. A tear slips from the corner of my eye. I don’t want him to think I’m weak or for him to see he is getting to me. When he speaks again, my head is down. I keep it this way and close my eyes.

“You will never marry another man, not as long as I’m alive. You’re mine, Calla. I’ve waited way too f*cking long for you to come back to me, and I will be damned if you are leaving here without hearing me out.”

The man before me has changed from the one I knew all those years ago. I can tell he is used to getting what he wants, and he may be the boss around here, but there is no damn way I will let him stake a claim on me after what he did. He threw away his rights the day he decided to f*ck that whore. I feel like spitting in his face and then tearing his damn head off.

“I don’t want to be married to you anymore. I just want to be free. I’m not yours; I never was. You proved it, you bastard, on our wedding night, of all days. So, no, you egotistical son of a bitch. I belong to myself. Now step the hell back away from me and sign those papers. Or don’t. Either way, I will get my divorce from you.”

The corners of his mouth turn up in a smug grin.

“Did Bowie let you in the gate the minute you told him who you were?” he asks, completely ignoring my previous statement. The question throws me off guard.

“What the hell kind of question is that? Of course he did. He said he knew who I was. And by the looks of it when I walked in here, everyone does.”

I pull my brows together, trying to get some clarity as to why he’s asking.