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I massaged my temples. If only I could get my memory back. “Didn’t take long for your true colors to come out.”
“Jesus Fucking Christ,” he exploded. “Enough with the drama. You don’t want me with you in bed? Fine. I’ll sleep in the guest bedroom.”
“No. I don’t want to put you out of your own room.”
“Don’t be a martyr,” he snapped, getting off the bed, and grabbing a shirt off the floor. “You’re injured. I’ll move.” He pulled his shirt over his head and I couldn’t help but notice the ridges of his ab muscles. At least I picked good-looking assholes. Said asshole leaned over and snatched my phone out of my hand.
“Hey? Give that back to me!” I exclaimed, outraged.
“We don’t know who else is after you. I won’t have you randomly calling your contacts and tipping them off where you are,” he explained matter-of-factly. “I’ll make sure to get word out to your mom. Until then, everyone else is a suspect.”
Without waiting for my answer, he turned and slammed out of the room.
I was suddenly jolted with a rush of images of a similar encounter and words that cut deep.
“I don’t do repeats, Grace, especially not with you. This is a one-time fuck.”
He’d walked out on me before. I tried to remember more. The musty smell of the room and the sheets hit my consciousness followed by the feeling of humiliation of not being enough. My breath caught with a flash of naked, sweaty, tangled bodies, and my brain shut off, not willing to peek further into the past because I wasn’t strong enough to handle this yet.
“Oh God,” I rubbed the ache in my chest. “What kind of woman was I?”
My trust in one person was hanging by a thread, and if that broke, where would that leave me?
I couldn’t help feeling like I was a prisoner. He didn’t need to take my phone. Matt could have simply told me not to call anyone yet. We could have had a rational discussion of who was suspect and who was not. But he hadn’t done any of those things, and I was left wondering if there was someone in particular he didn’t want me to call.
Someone who would tell me the truths Matt wouldn’t.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Matt
He’d lost his temper.
He had to get out of the room before he let his unfiltered way of talking take over and prove to her that he was, indeed, an asshole. He didn’t care what most people thought of him, but somehow seeing how Grace had labeled him on her phone pissed him off. Could he blame her? He’d been nothing but a jerk to her because he was trying not to fall for her. That much he’d admit to himself. Matt had been attracted to her ever since they’d teamed up for the Blood Bull mission to capture the kingpin of the Carillo Cartel. Hector Vargas was sitting in a U.S. prison, but it had cost Matt three days of torture at the hands of the cartel. All because of Elliot Holden.
He fixated the blame on Grace. Even when he found out the truth, he continued to be a dick to her. Almost losing her two days ago forced him to face the truth.
He cared for her deeply.
Whether it was something more, he wasn’t sure.
“How’s our patient?” Millie asked while setting bags of pancakes and bacon on the counter.
When Matt went to get them breakfast, he left word with Axe to keep an eye on Grace. He realized a disturbing pattern after he’d rushed down the stairs from his loft to the garage. He always turned his back on Grace when he couldn’t deal with his emotions for her. It happened at the motel. He had freaked out when she suggested they spend the weekend together. Then he did it again at Millie’s office. And now?
“She’s pissed at me.”
“What did you do?”
“What do you think?”
Millie huffed in irritation. “You know when everyone tells you to put your best foot forward when you’re trying to win the girl?”
“I’m not trying to win her.”
“Then why are you going through all this trouble for her? Why not just turn her over to her boss?”
“Fucking hell, Millie. You know I hate Holden.”
