Did I get dressed in a hurry?

I followed the trail of fuchsia pink dress draped over the wingback by the fireplace. I frowned at the unwanted lingerie on the foot of the bed.

Then I saw the zipped garment bag.

And everything propelled into me with razor blades.

Poker. Cognac. Blindfolds. Daniel. Cut. Kestrel.

My hands flew to cover my mouth.

Oh, my God. What have I done?

I cringed, reliving the way I’ve softened toward Kes, the way I’d found unwanted pleasure in his arms, then I buckled under my hate for Jethro at leaving me there. He just left!

And Kes stayed and helped and—

He drugged you!

My heart catapulted into a thousand beats.

Oh, God. What did they do?

Panic and horror shook my hands as I shoved the duvet away and looked at my body. I didn’t know what I expected to find—bruises and cuts and obvious marks of rape—but the stark whiteness of a nightdress hid answers.

I have to know.

I had to see, had to come to terms with what foul, disgusting things might’ve been done while I was unconscious.

I need a mirror.

Swinging my legs over the edge of the thick mattress, I leapt.

My feet touched something cool and hard, rather than warm and soft. My balance tripped, my ankle twisted, and I tumbled forward to land on all fours.

A masculine curse filled the space. Something shoved me, turning my fall into a somersault. I cried out, coming to a halt on my back.

Jethro.

The instant my eyes landed on him, the betrayal over the past few days choked my lungs. Those damn drugs. His twisted family. A lifetime of conditioning and a soul thoroughly broken from circumstances I could never understand.

My heart bled for him. But at the same time, I no longer cared.

He’d thrown me to the wolves and left.

He didn’t deserve my compassion or affection or tenderness.

He deserved nothing.

Jethro groaned, but his eyes remained closed. The fumes of alcohol soaked the air around him. His arm flung out, seeking something.

I scrambled out of reach.

He mumbled, his face screwed up and sunken.

What the hell is he doing in here?

I couldn’t stop the crashing waves of dislike, distrust, and utter resentment taking hold.

He flinched, grunting as if in pain.

Climbing to my feet, I darted around the bed and snuggled back into warm sheets. I wanted him gone!

Curling my legs up beneath me, I wrapped the covers tight like a fortress. “Get. Out.” My voice was full of contempt.

Shuffling sounded below, but no reply. A few tense minutes ratcheted my heart rate, before he slowly inclined from lying to sitting. His back rested against my bed as he groaned, grabbing his head. “Fuck.”

He didn’t look up. His long legs bent, the rest of his body wrung out and weary.

The love I’d had for him wanted to comfort, but the repulsion of him leaving me last night made me hunker deeper into my quilt and glower.

Rubbing both hands over his face, he yawned. Every motion was lethargic and reeking of drunkenness.

So he’d left me at the fate of his family to drink last night?

Asshole. Complete and utter asshole.

Looking over his shoulder, he froze.

My breathing ceased. My blood curdled. “Leave.”

The single syllable hung between us like a deflating balloon falling to the carpet.

Jethro swallowed. Pain and intoxication swam in his eyes. Finally, he nodded. Gone was the refined gentleman who hid so much. Gone were the chiselled cheekbones and radiant golden eyes.

The man before me…the man who’d hurt me, crushed me, and still held my heart in his traitorous hands was a mere shadow of himself—not even a shadow—an extinguished, extinct, broken thing.

We stared for a millennium.

Slowly, his lips tilted into a grimace; he bestowed the saddest, sweetest smile and staggered to his feet. “I’m sorry.” With an unsteady wave, he swayed to the door. “Didn’t want you to wake…alone. Wanted to keep you…safe.”

His voice roped around my heart, forcing it to beat and flurry. His steps were terminally empty, staggering toward the exit.

That was it?

No heartfelt plea or fervent explanation?

Just ‘I’m sorry?’

“No, you know what?” I threw the duvet away and hurled myself out of bed. Storming after him, I grabbed his forearm and dug my nails into his flesh. “Sorry isn’t good enough.” Tears exploded into being—a salty river flowing unheeded down my cheeks. “Sorry doesn’t cover what you’ve done to me. Sorry will never be good enough!”

He stood there like a township sacked by pillaging enemies. He didn’t move to shrug me off or argue or explain. He just curled into himself, squeezing his eyes as tight as possible.

I hit him.

“Tell me what they did to me!”

I hit him again.

“Look me in the fucking eye and tell me why you let them do this!”

I hit him again and again and again.

“Explain to me why you didn’t save me. That you left me to suffer when I know you care for me!”

He jerked away from my barrage, backing toward the door. “I’ll leave. I won’t put you through any more—”

“No!” I screamed. I’d never been so loud. My voice bounced off the chandelier, disappearing into luxury fabrics waiting to be turned into garments. “You leave now and you will never be welcome in my life. You hear me? I hate you for what you made me go through last night.” My voice cracked. “Kestrel—he proved to be twice the man you are and I liked him touching me. At least he deserved a reward for doing whatever he could to save me.”