“Trust you?” I seethed. “Someone was in my bedroom, Bobby. My room. Mine. And you didn’t tell me. Fuck, someone was in my house. What else?”
Bobby’s eyes skidded around the table before they came back to me. In a hoarse, weak voice, one I’d never heard her use, she muttered, “Your panties. They had…um…you know…ejaculate on them.”
I shot to my feet so fast my head spun. The chair tipped over, hitting the floor with a loud bang. There was commotion around me but I was too disgusted and angry—and did I say, disgusted—to pay attention to what was happening.
“Someone jerked off in my fucking bed and you let me sleep in there after that?” I screamed. “I slept in there! Someone was in my house and you let me go back there. In. My. Bed.”
“Vivi—”
That was all I heard because suddenly my face hit a wall of muscle, strong arms wrapped around me, and I wanted to disappear so badly I pressed myself close to Chasin, praying my body would fuse with his and I’d vanish.
Then I wasn’t standing. Chasin swept me up in his arms. I should’ve fought. I should’ve demanded he put me down and take his hands off of me, but I didn’t.
I couldn’t.
I was in shock. Emotionally destroyed. And so thoroughly creeped out I was on the verge of going berserk. I was also trembling. No, I was shaking so hard my teeth were rattling. So I didn’t fight Chasin. Not when he climbed a set of stairs. Not when he pushed into an office, slammed the door, walked across the room, and sat us down in a chair.
It groaned under our weight. I ignored that, too, the possibility of it giving out from under us, and instead I shoved my face further into his neck and burrowed deeper.
I knew I shouldn’t have wondered if my life could get any worse.
5
Chasin had never seen a woman so undone.
And that was saying something considering Chasin had been in the room when his buddy’s wife, Kennedy, had found out someone had planted cameras in her house. Those cameras had captured her and Jameson together—private moments that no one should’ve ever seen.
Chasin had also been with Weston when they’d rescued his wife, Silver, from the hull of a boat after she’d been captured and handcuffed to a pipe.
And he’d seen the aftermath of Nixon’s wife, McKenna, being beaten to shit.
All three strong women, all three undone after their situations. None of them as bad as the woman in Chasin’s arms.
He was unsure what to say so he kept quiet and held Genevieve, something he never thought he’d get to do again. And as fucked as the reason why—the news her friend had delivered— was, he couldn’t deny holding her felt good.
After a week of mentally chastising himself for not being able to stop thinking about her, he was free to remember the hours they’d spent together and not do it in anger.
He’d overreacted.
He’d been wrong.
He’d said shit that was uncool and he planned on rectifying that as soon as it was appropriate to do so. But even he knew that time was not after she’d learned some sick fuck had been in her home, in her bed, and had jerked off using her panties as a come rag.
That shit was beyond the beyond. So goddamned disgusting, he understood why she was shaking in his arms.
Chasin also planned on having words with Bobby. In his mind, there was no reason good enough to have kept that shit a secret. If nothing else, Genevieve was right, her friend had allowed her to sleep in a bed where a psychopath had pleasured himself looking at a picture of Genevieve.
Fucking goddamn.
The mere thought of that sent Chasin into a rage.
“I’m selling my house,” she announced.
He couldn’t blame her for never wanting to go back there but now was not the time to make any decisions. Chasin didn’t tell her that, instead he remained silent.
“They let me…” Genevieve trailed off and Chasin felt his heart constrict. “I slept there. And they all let me. The people I trust. They all knew and still let me crawl into my bed thinking I was safe there, that no one and nothing could touch me. I was free to be me in my house. I didn’t have to be what everyone thinks I am. And he was in there. They didn’t tell me.”
Free to be me?
“Babe, why aren’t you free to be you?”
“Because no one wants Genevieve. They want Vivi. They want the star. No one wants just me. That’s all they care about—more Vivi, more music, more records to sell, more venues to fill, more purses to buy, and trips to take. Genevieve doesn’t do that. Vivi does.”
Chasin hated that she talked about herself like she was two different people.
The fuck of it was, from what little he knew he reckoned she was right, but she was also wrong. Genevieve Ellison was Vivi Rush. But it didn’t matter what name they used, she was their cash cow.
On that thought, his anger ratcheted up and he held her tighter.
There was a knock on the door.
“Come in,” Chasin called out.
Nixon poked his head in, took in Chasin and Genevieve, and wisely didn’t comment on their position. Instead, he announced, “Bobby gave Alec a list of people who are likely to be in touch with Genevieve, so we don’t disrupt her life. He and McKenna are starting on those now.”
McKenna wasn’t only Nixon’s wife, she also worked for Gemini Group. The woman was scary smart, and behind a keyboard, she made magic happen.
“I’ll call my uncle and get you those names,” Genevieve said and tried to scramble off his lap. “Chasin, let me go.”
“In a minute.”
“I need to—”
“In a minute, Genevieve.”
Golden eyes sparked, and damn if Chasin didn’t like the fire he saw. So much better than the pain, but more than that, he simply liked her looking at him.
“I’ll wait downstairs.” Nixon shut the door behind him. Genevieve remained stiff but didn’t try to move.
Chasin’s hand moved to her face, his palm grazed her soft cheek. Genevieve went from stiff to solid but he ignored the change. His hand glided into her hair, and as the silky strands slid between his fingers, for the first time in a week he could breathe without a stabbing pain in his lungs.
“I’m sorry.” He heard the swift intake, felt her chest expand, and watched as her eyes gentled, but she gave him nothing else.
Just a tiny crack in her armor.
That was all he needed.
“I was a dick and jumped the gun. I should’ve asked—”
“You already said that,” Genevieve snapped, and the little bit of softness he’d gained turned hard. No, it turned into pain.
“Said what?”
“Nothing. Let me up.”
“Babe, we gotta talk about this.”
“Seriously? You wanna talk about this now?” Genevieve asked incredulously, and shifted again. “Let me up.”
“Shit timing, I know. But we have to clear the air.”
“No, we don’t. I have to call my uncle. Deal with Bobby, Melissa, and Leslie. Then I have to call a real estate agent and put my house on the market. When I’m done doing that, I need to find a book on how to grow your own food, and find an island. Selling my house won’t suck, I hate that place anyway. Moving to a deserted island so I can live in seclusion for the rest of my life won’t suck, either. But you know what will? If I starve to death. So let me up, so I can make my calls, find my books, and start learning how to live off the land so I don’t die.”