Psycho Ex Boyfriend (Standalone New Adult Romance) (The Alpha Brotherhood Book 2) (20 page)

“I wasn’t thinking clearly.”

“They all told me I was a whore. I thought I was. You turned me into the one thing you always told me I wasn’t.”

“Fuck,” he breathes. “I’m sorry.”

“Did you have that guy rape me, too?”

“No,” he says emphatically. “God, no.”

“Like I can believe you.”

“Sabrina, I would never in a million years.”

“Yeah, what am I thinking? You would never let somebody else do that. You’d rather wait until you snap one day and do it your fucking self. I mean, my uncle used to and so did my mom’s shitty boyfriend, so why the fuck shouldn’t you get a ride, too?”

“Sabrina, stop it!” he screams. “Just stop it. I wouldn’t… I would never let that happen to you, Bree.” I can’t tell whether or not he’s crying and I don’t give a shit.

“Yeah, because you’re right here to protect me, aren’t you? I’m just so fucking safe with you around. Oh that’s right. You aren’t here!” I scream. “You aren’t here and you
never
will be. Ever!”

“Bree, one day… one day soon—”

“Fuck that and fuck you. I don’t want you anymore.”

“Don’t say that,” he croaks.

“Why not? It’s true.”

“No, it’s not!” Adam yells. He sounds completely frantic, it’s so difficult not to fall into old habits and want to comfort him. “That can’t be true, Bree. It’s can’t be—”

“I don’t love you anymore, Adam. I don’t.”

“Sabrina!”

“You can come out here and beg outside my door, which has extra locks from the inside that don’t take keys anymore now, by the way. You can beg, cry, and plead all you want. But I don’t want you anymore, and
I
don’t fucking love you!
”

He’s speechless for a moment, nothing but his ragged breathing on the other side of the line. “Well, I’ll still love you,” he murmurs, breaking down. “I’m sorry. I should have just let it fizzle with this guy, I shouldn’t have interfered.”

“It’s too late, you fucking asshole. It’s over. It was never even happening anyway.”

“Yes, it was. It is. I—”

“Nope,” I cut him off. “I’m fucking done.
Done
. Goodbye.”

“
Sabrina!
”

I hang up the phone and start sobbing. It rings again and again and again and it’s so hard not to answer, not to fall for all his bullshit and pretend that all of this bullshit is okay. It’s not romantic, it’s not flattering, and it certainly isn’t love. It’s pure fucking crazy.

Sabrina

Age 23

I block his number and the next day, I do the unthinkable. I move back in with my parents. Adam isn’t the only one with a well-connected daddy and there’s no way he’s barging in here.

There’s nothing to stop him from sending apologies in the form of presents, though, and does he ever. It’s generic at first, mainly flowers and jewelry. Then it becomes more personal. Commissioned artwork. Advanced copies of books from my favorite authors. Cute little toys that remind me of our happier high school days.

Eventually, my father wants to meet the guy sending it all and tells me that I should consider forgiving him for whatever he did. My mother agrees and asks if it’s the cute blond guy that helped me study for the LSAT. Apparently there’s no such thing as a deal breaker when you’re this rich and this persistent. Nice to know that I’m for sale.

And these conversations are just
perfect
examples for Sun. It’s hard to talk to her about it because she’s only 13, but I do my best to make it clear that superficial displays like presents are not the most important part of a romantic relationship. Still, she’s enthralled with each package that arrives and can’t wait to see what’s inside. Now he’s confusing my impressionable little sister and that really starts to piss me off.

After a month, Adam of course manages to pull some strings and get his number unblocked. Fucking stalker! It’s only a matter of time until he shows up at school. I’m surprised he hasn’t already. So I finally answer and lie to his sorry ass, telling him that I need time and some space so I can process everything.

Adam flat out asks me if there’s any shred of a possibility that I’ll take him back and I tell him yes even though we were never even together. How can he not see that? He’s so relieved. I hate him so fucking much and he has no idea, not a clue. But the presents get fewer and farther between and the phone calls all but cease.

Three months later, I feel comfortable enough to move into my new place. Okay, I’m not even remotely comfortable, but I just can’t deal with my parents anymore. They are so self-absorbed and couldn’t hate each other more if they tried. Just get a fucking divorce, already!

I get a roommate, who I basically despise, but it’s mainly a deterrent to keep Adam from showing up. I know he will. And I know I’ll probably let him in. I just can’t help myself. He’s calling more and more, and every once in blue moon, my guard is down and I answer.

Then one morning, I’m sitting at my laptop drinking a cup of coffee and my world implodes. I have a Google alert set up for all things Goodson, so when the major scandal erupts, I’m one of the first to know.

It’s a scorned lover of an older brother, one from the first group of boys that ‘Father’ raised, a man with a name and picture that I don’t recognize. Lover is a generous word. My stomach turns as I read the story. She sounds more like a sex slave that was shared by the Goodson brothers for years. She was 19 and signed a non-disclosure agreement, but the boys were minors when it started.

Sixteen year olds. The same age Adam was when he disappeared and now I know what he disappeared into. Every sordid detail tears my heart out and makes my stomach churn. Some of them hit a little close to home. Adam’s never hit me, even as some form of kinky punishment as this woman, or perhaps I should say victim, describes. But to say that he’s dominant in bed is an understatement.

One story chillingly details being restrained and interrogated by one brother when he suspected that she favored another. It’s a little too familiar. Clamps. Gags. Biting. Fear. It would be called torture under any normal circumstances. Apparently it’s just another day at the office in their network of private clubs, where there are hundreds of women available to all of them for whatever devious desire suits their fancy.

Adam doesn’t call an escort service when he wants sex. He doesn’t go to an upscale bar. He goes there. And I don’t want to think about what he does, but I can’t stop myself.

The princes diligently chase down every article and journalist that dares to expose them for what they really are, but I save every shred of evidence that I find. They file an injunction to stop a book deal that’s in the works, but the legality of that NDA is questionable at best, especially considering there were minors involved. More women come forward, each story more horrible and outrageous than the last. I find footage of Adam exiting the conglomerate’s headquarters in California. His face is furious and he holds up his hand to block the flashing cameras.

He looks like a criminal. Maybe he is.

I cannot do this anymore. I barely make it through classes that day and I don’t check the news anymore that night. I can’t take it. After locking up the all the doors and windows, I curl up in bed and lose my shit, sobbing and doing my best not to rip my hair out. I don’t even want him anymore. I shouldn’t feel deceived, but I can’t find a way to rationalize my way out of this horrible feeling of betrayal that overwhelms every one of my senses.

I never liked thinking about Adam with other women, so I rarely did. The idea of him touching them is bad enough. Savoring them. Kissing them. But it’s better than the idea of him hurting them. Does he actually enjoy that? Does he have favorite girls, or worse, only one of them? What would she know about him that I don’t? And if he ever did get his shit together and we ended up an actual couple, what would he spend his life wanting that I wouldn’t know about. Would he feel entitled to go get it? Would it not count as cheating to him?

My mind keeps spinning for the better part of the next day, which happens to conveniently be a Friday. Adam sent me a voucher for a plane ticket out to California a while back. I almost tore it up. Instead, I’m ripping through the boxes that I’ve barely unpacked until I find it.

I’m on autopilot as I book the flight and pack a carryon bag. I take a bunch of his jewelry and the clothes he’s sent me, but I can’t decide if I want to wear it for him or throw it back in his face. It’s the weirdest combination of emotions in the world. I’m jealous and disgusted, competitive and desperate for it to finally be over all at the same time. I love him so much. I hate him even more. I need to see him right fucking now and then I never want to see his face again.

I wonder if he’ll be notified of my arrival in L.A. I want to ambush the bastard, but I’m still a little upset that there’s no one to meet me at the airport. I rent a car and drive past his house, but by the time I get there, I’m so outraged again that I can’t bring myself to ring the bell at the gate. It’s a good thing I didn’t, because once I take a closer look, I spot the reporters.

What the fuck am I going to do now? Just wander around as I continue to lose my mind?

I look up a few addresses associated with Goodson enterprises. Some of them are all the way up in Silicon Valley, a five hour drive from here. Calling him would obviously be easier than stalking around his various workplaces, but I can’t help but give in to the urge to spy on Adam in his natural habitat. He does it to me all the time.

There’s a huge office in an upscale neighborhood not too far from his house. Lord knows, he’s probably working, he always is. It’s late now and I’m just becoming more and more unhinged, so I wander into a bar for a drink.

And then I see him. The perfect revenge.
Trent
.

I want out of the lion’s den and there’s only one thing I can think of that would make Adam hate me forever.

Trent’s coat is hanging on the back of his chair, his tie draped open on either side of his chest, the buttons on the top half of his shirt undone. And he’s stressed, constantly checking his phone and running his hand through his dark hair.

I rush into the bathroom and change clothes, redoing my make up with a dramatic smoky eye and ruby lips. My heart is pounding its way into my throat as I step back into the bar, half expecting to run into Adam.

I sit down at a table across the room and watch Trent drink alone. And drink he does. Women notice him and exchange whispers. A man that looks that good should have ladies all over him, but he seems to be something of a pariah tonight. But not to me.

He should be drunk enough now that he’s incapable of being as violent as the papers are saying all the Goodson boys are. The scandal is fresh and the princes will surely be on their best behavior. It’s risky, but I can handle it. I think. I hope. I’ve been through worse before.

I saunter over to a man I know quite a bit about, but have only spoken to once or twice. My stomach twists into a knot as I flag down the bartender and order him a drink. Trent looks up at me, at first surprised. Then he eyes me up and down and his gaze becomes uninterested and indifferent.

My ego takes a hit, but in a way I’m relieved. But then every crazy story I’ve read starts flipping through my mind in flashes.

“Hi,” I say, faking confidence.

“Thanks for the drink.” He takes a sip.

“You look like you could use another one.” I push my chest out oh so subtly. He doesn’t notice. “I’m pretty sure that I know one of your brothers,” I add casually. If those reports are true, that should pique his interest.

It does. His demeanor changes as he inhales deeply, squaring his shoulders. “Do you?”

I nod, blinking rapidly a few times.

“Which one?”

I can’t bring myself to say Adam. It just won’t come out. I don’t know if it makes the betrayal I’m about to commit more real, or if I’m afraid that it will jog Trent’s memory about meeting me a few years ago in his brother’s house. So I say the only name that I think I can get away with faking. “Shane.”

A crooked grin crosses Trent’s face and he orders us another round of drinks. “Well, depending on how well you know him, you probably don’t want anything to do with me.”

“And why is that?” I gently put my hand on his forearm, trying not to wince.

“Picked up a paper lately?”

“Oh, that,” I scoff. “What a crock of shit. Jealous bitches will say anything.”

He breathes out a laugh and stares down at the bar, tracing his finger through the circle of water from his glass. “Yeah.”

“I mean…” I lean closer to him. “I know from experience that it’s a
little
bit true.”

“Do you now?”

“Yes,” I murmur, biting my lip as his fingers start toying with mine. “Why do you think I came over here?”

“You’re not a reporter, are you?”

“No,” I laugh. “Just in the mood tonight.”

“In the mood for what, exactly?”

“For something that’s not very easy to find. And something that I’m pretty sure you can give me.”

Our eyes meet and he’s certainly interested now. “Want to get out of here?” he asks.

“Definitely.”

He offers me his arm and my head spins. It’s like I’ve been watching myself from above the whole time, somehow able to say the perfect thing at the perfect time. I’m like a spider weaving a web and now my prey is finally tangled up, right where I don’t really want him.

If I’m going to spend my life looking like a whore, I may as well be one. But we get back to his place and Trent passes out cold after he takes off my dress without even a kiss. That was a little anticlimactic.

But I went home with Adam’s brother. Trent is too drunk to realize that we didn’t do anything. All I have to do is get Adam over here to see the scene of the nonexistent crime. Then he can feel what I feel, he can experience everything he put my confused former lovers through.

I could walk out the door right now and no one would know I was here. Instead I tuck myself in next to a different Goodson and pray that he doesn’t wake up in the night.