Page 67 of His Turn

“Fuck you,” I say. “You’re the one who wants me here.”

“You want to be here, Nadia. Otherwise you’d have never agreed to any of this.”

“I was playing with Jordan, not you.”

“And now you’re playing with both of us. So either get on board or get the fuck out.”

I just stare at him for a second, then recover. “You’re an asshole, you know that?”

“Everyone knows that, Nadia. Try to keep up, will you please? You’re making this so easy.”

“Easy?” I scoff.

He reaches across the table and grabs me by the hair so fast, I gasp. “Do you want to play the game or not?” He growls it out. A low, deep rumble like it came from deep inside his throat. His eyes are intensely serious. No trace of a smile on his lips. No sign of the man who just cooked me breakfast.

And all this while wearing that ridiculous apron.

I grab his wrist and push him away, but he holds onto my hair and pulls me halfway over the soapstone counter.

“Stop it,” I say.

He lets go and I ease backward. A smile slowly forms. His lips barely curling up at the edges. An evil smile, I realize. A smirk. Nothing friendly about it. “Do you want to know why you’re here, Nadia?”

“I came here to fuck,” I say, practically spitting the words out. “And I did that. And now I’m done.”

I turn away, but he grabs my hair again and it pulls. Harder this time. I refuse to react again. I refuse to give in to him like this. “If you hurt me again I will press charges.”

“You’re the one who said—what was it again? ‘We’re all gonna get hurt, that’s not a secret?’ You said that, Nadia. You came into this game to hurt us. And now you’re what? Mad because we’re gonna hurt you back?”

“Let go of my hair,” I snarl. “Now.”

He lets go and then eases himself back over to his side of the counter. “Do you know why you like to submit?” he asks.

I have to laugh at that. “I don’t like to submit, Bric. I’m playing a game, remember?”

“You like it because you’re out of control. You like it because someone hurt you in the past. You like it—”

“Shut the fuck up,” I say, cutting him off. “You have no goddamned idea what you’re talking about.”

“Were you abused, Nadia? Did your daddy—”

I slap him. Hard. Right across his stupid fucking face. And then I slap him again and make it count.