Breaking Her (Love is War #2) (11 page)

I'd already shot down two that just weren't cute enough.
 
More specifically:
 
reject number one wasn't tall enough and reject number two looked too wholesome.

I didn't like wholesome, never had.
 
I craved sinister categorically.
       

"Don't speak too soon," Farrah said, eyes aimed at the door.
 
"I'll let you have him if you want him, but damn, I sure don't want to."
 

I turned to see.
 
And smiled.
 

It was my lucky day.
 

Either he was actually looking for me or it was a hell of a coincidence but, Dante's half-brother, Bastian, had just walked in the door.
 

He was standing there, scanning the room, and it didn't take him long to zero in on me.
 

He grinned.
 

I tilted my head and grinned back, then pointed my chin at the bar, heading there with a bouncing little strut.

He beat me to it, and watched me approach, his eyes all over me.
 

I was glad I'd turned myself out well.
 

My minuscule nude dress was basically man catnip.
 
It hit all the right buttons: deep cleavage that left very little of my abundant breasts to the imagination, short skirt that showed off my sky-high legs.
 
The whole thing was fitted to show off my flat tummy and hourglass figure.
 

Pink platform stilettos and sexy bedroom hair didn't hurt my situation, and my makeup had been on point before I'd gotten sloppy drunk.
 
Who could say now?
 
Who could care?
 

Not me.
 
I felt sexy as hell either way.

"Hello, stranger," I said when I got within earshot of Bastian.
 
"You look good enough to eat."
   

And he did.
 
Three-piece suit, dark, messy hair, five o'clock shadow, a handsome as hell Durant face, and a devilish smile.
 

Yeah, he'd do.
   

"Look who's talking," he retorted, eyes on my catnip dress.
 
"My God, woman, you are trouble, aren't you?"
 

I went to hug him, because drunk, and breathed into his ear.
 
"You have no idea."

"Unfortunately, I don't."
 
He sounded truly regretful about that as he put his hands on my hips and set me back just the slightest bit.
 
"I'm sure you've guessed, but I came here to talk to you."
 

"How did you know I'd be here?" I asked him, cocking my head to the side.
 

His mouth twisted ruefully, and when he did that he reminded me so much of Dante that I wanted to smash something over his head.
 
And cry.
 
And run away.
 
And kiss him.
   

"Facebook.
 
You and your friends love to share your locations, and, you know, I live here."
 

I scrunched my nose up.
 
"Facebook stalking me, are you?"
 

He was unapologetic.
 
"Yes.
 
It's a helpful tool.
 
Actually, I was going to fly down to see you soon, but this worked out much better.
 
Well, it did if you're up for a serious talk that I'd like you to remember in the morning."

"I'm not up for a serious anything," I told him and, because drunk, I pressed my mouth to his.
 

He made a little noise in this throat, a hungry one, and I licked his lips, brushing my breasts against him.
 

He set me away, but he was breathing hard.
 

"You taste good," I told him.
 

He smiled but not like he was happy.
 
"Do I taste like revenge?"
 

"Exactly like that.
 
Yum."
   

"Trust me, you beautiful, edible, dangerous creature, I would love to take you up on that, but it's a line we can't cross."
 

"There's no line I won't cross," I said, meaning it.
 
I was feeling self-destructive to a dangerous, limitless degree.
 
"God, do you know what he did to me the last time I saw him?"
 

"I heard a bit about it," Bastian said solemnly.
 

That surprised me.
 
"What did you hear?
 
And from whom?"
 

He sighed.
 
"From Dante.
 
I'm sure you won't be surprised to hear that he's in rough shape."
 

That bit of unfair bullshit only made me more determined.
 
I moved closer and he let me.
 
I rubbed up against him, my lips in kissing distance of his again, teasing him.
 
"Let's make it rougher for him, huh?"

"
Jesus
," he said, and it reminded me so much of Dante that I wrenched away.
 

I leaned against the bar, flagging down the busy bartender.
 

He didn't make me wait, in fact stopped what he was doing and came to do my bidding with a smile.
 

I'd been flirting with him all night, but he wasn't my type.
 
He was tall but his shoulders weren't broad enough.
 
Still, the right smile got me some amazing service.
 

"Hey, Scarlett," he said, his tone when he said my name making it sound like we were old friends or new lovers.
 
"Another Black Label for you?"
 

"You're the
best
, Benny," I told him, leaning forward, shamelessly teasing him.
 
"Can you make it two?"
 

He nodded, eyes on my cleavage.
 
"Anything you want, gorgeous."
 

"Wow," Bastian whistled when Benny moved away to get our drinks.
 
"If I was Dante, I would
lock you up."
 

"Well, that's
not
what he did," I said, and it was an effort to keep my voice steady.
 
"He threw me away.
 
Again."

"Oh, Scarlett," Bastian sighed.
 
"I have a few things to ask you, and so much to tell you.
 
I'm not sure just how drunk you are, but I'm pretty positive that what I have to say will sober you up."

That was an understatement.
 
What he had to tell me didn't just sober me up.
 

It changed
everything
.
 

CHAPTER NINE

"No one can make you feel inferior without your consent."

~Eleanor Roosevelt

PAST

SCARLETT

I was so mad I was shaking.

It'd been a hell of a morning.
 

It was my own fault, I knew.
 
It was a Saturday.
 
My grandma was off work on Saturday and Sunday, and on every single one of her days off, no exceptions, she went into a calculated and steady drunk.
 

She was unpleasant and surly when she was sober.
 
Drunk, she became outright hateful, and if I was stupid enough to stick around, I was automatically the go-to target for all of her animosity.
   

When I was being smart, which was most of the time, I didn't come home until she was passed out cold, and I left quietly in the morning before she roused.
 

This morning was one of the exceptions.
 
I'd overslept, somehow even more so than her, and boy was I in for it.
 

Of course I'd been out late with Dante.
 
Out doing all of the things that would drive her the most crazy, and she always seemed to know it.

But this morning was worse, because instead of her usual tirade where she accused me of things she couldn't prove, this time she'd actually found something to vindicate her venomous rant.
     

In our defense, Dante and I
had
hidden the evidence.
 
The crazy woman must have gone outside and dug into the trashcan to find the handful of used condoms that she threw in my sleeping face.
 

"At least you're the kind of
whore
that uses protection," she spat.

I was still blinking awake, automatically batting off the sticky objects that she'd flung at me.

When I realized what I was touching, I recoiled, my face drawing tight in distaste.
 

"What the—?" I grumbled.
 

"I suppose you think I should be happy?
 
You're one step up from your slut of a mother," she continued, screeching the words.
 

I wasn't sure what smelled worse, the day old-plus used condoms, or her breath, which was a combination of her usual halitosis, mixed with vomit and liquor—a particularly putrid, if familiar, stench.
 

"What time is it?" I asked her, voice flat, even, not letting her know that no matter how old I got, she still terrified me.
 
"What are you doing up already?"
 

My casual tone just set her off more.
 
"What the hell does it matter what time it is?"
 

"Because usually I'm gone long before you wake up from one of your blackouts.
 
Did you never notice?"
 

I got a sharp slap across the face for that bit of sass.
 

"That's all you have to say for yourself?
 
Not even defending your behavior now?
 
Shameless!"
 

I supposed she was right.
 
I was a bit shameless about what went on between Dante and me.
 
I just couldn't see it as wrong.
   

Maybe a part of me even wanted to rub it in her face.
 
She'd been telling me I was going to be a whore since I was too young to know what the word even meant.
 

Now here I was, a sex-obsessed teenager that spent as much of her free time as possible underneath or on top of her equally sex-obsessed boyfriend.
   

I wasn't sure if you could really call me a whore for having sex with one guy, no matter how
many
times we'd done it, but I knew my grandma would have no problem doing so.
 

"You know there's something wrong with you, don't you?" she asked me, voice gone deadly calm, which I knew from experience was even worse than her shouting.
 

"You're the one digging around in trashcans, looking for used condoms," I muttered back.
 
Sometimes I just couldn't help myself.
 

I was rewarded with another ringing slap, and then another.
 

"You think you're so smart," she said, punctuating the words with another slap.
 
"But you're as stupid as your mother.
 
You think you're special, spreading your legs for a Durant?
 
Every girl in the county gave it up to his daddy, and I'm guessing the son's not much different.
 
That boy is going to use you and throw you away, just you watch."
 

"I'll take my chances," I told her stubbornly, not so much as flinching from her slaps.
 

"Your mom threw you in a dumpster because even
she
thought you were trash, but that's not what made you trash.
 
You've done that to yourself."

And there it was.
 
Her slaps weren't the terrifying thing about her.
 
Her words were without a doubt her best weapon.
 

She didn't just exploit weaknesses, she opened them wide, put her unfeeling hands inside, and sifted through you until she unburied new ones, uncoiled them, and let them plop down at your feet.

"Y-y-y—" I tried, but my temper, and my fear, and her damned slaps, had gotten the better of me.
 
I was so frustrated by it that I just got up and left, wearing nothing but a now soiled T-shirt and the first pair of jeans I grabbed off the floor on my way out.
 
I couldn't even get to a bra, she was blocking that part of the room with her body, and I needed out
now
.

"Good.
 
Get out!" she shouted at my retreating back.
 
"But remember, if you're running to that boy, he doesn't care about you!
 
He thinks you're trash, too.
 
You're just the little trailer girl he sticks it in.
 
Mark my words!
 
He'll leave you for one of his own kind, I promise you that!
 
He's never going to stay with some piece of filth that came from the dumpster!
 
Especially not a slut like you that gives it up for free!"

I ran and didn't look back.
 
I was trembling in rage as I made my way up to Gram's house, but in the short time it took, I'd nearly calmed myself, because I knew that as soon as I saw Dante, I'd feel better.
 

That was the point of him.
   

He made the world make sense again with just a look.
     

I was so caught up in thinking about him that I forgot I was a complete mess.
 

I remembered again as I caught sight of a pristine looking Dante.
 
He was already at Gram's house, hanging out in her front yard, wearing a suit and tie; his hair combed, parted, and slicked back.
 

Oh, that's right.
 
He'd had some country club thing he'd told me he had to attend this morning.
 
He hadn't invited me along.
 
He never did.
 
He claimed I'd hate the country club, and I believed him.