Page 37 of Vicious Butterfly
It’s probably the latter.
Either way, it doesn’t matter. It’s not something I can give him.
“What’s the other thing?” I say, taking another sip.
“Marry me.”
I spit out my water. “What the fuck? For a measly hundred grand?”
“Name your price, then.”
“A million,” I say just to hear him say?—
“Done.”
What? That’s not what he was supposed to say. He was supposed to laugh and reject me. “For how long?”
He frowns, the crease between his brows deepening. “Marriage is forever, Ryan.”
I’m tempted to point out that divorce is a thing, but something tells me that wouldn’t go over well. My first instinct ishell fucking no. If I thought joining a hockey league more brutal than regular hockey was the worst idea out there, the universe has proven me wrong. Marrying Tate is worse than playing murder hockey. Tate is the literal devil. Trading one monster for another cannot be my only option.
And there’s something else. All my senses are tingling. An army in my head waving thousands of red flags. Tate has no intention of letting me go, no matter what my answer is, does he? I’m in his web. He’s about to immobilize me with his spider venom. Maybe he already has, and the venom is affecting my brain—I’m not desperate to escape.
“A deal like that requires more than money. I’d need protection.” Negotiate. I’ll negotiate. At the least, it’ll buy me time. If I’m lucky, he’ll give up on the idea.
Psychopaths lose interest in their obsession when they’re annoying—that’s got to be a thing. Someone tell me it’s a thing.
“Done.”
“A home.”
“I have several, you can take your pick.”
“A life of luxury.”
“You’re making this easy. Look, whatever you want, it’s yours.”
“Anything?” My insides fucking relax—not what I want. He’s luring me, anyone can fucking see that. My brain knows it. But like Pavlov’s little dog, my body’s ready to follow him as if it can already embrace the relief. My body’s a selfish bitch for wanting that relief. This is about saving Griff. To fuck with what I want. I don’t get to want anything.
He pauses. There’s the fucking catch. Always is. “There’s only one thing I can’t give you. C’mere.” He sets his glass down. I gulp my bottle of water back, crushing the plastic and tossing it into the small recycling bin by the snack table.
The distance closes between us. His hand finds my face, thumb settling in that place under my bottom lip like it belongs there. His gray eyes stare into my soul.
“Freedom. You get everything you could ever want, but you’re mine. You belong to me in every way. That’s the trade-off. There will be a few rules, but they’ll be a small price to pay for what you get in return.”
Got it. I trade one cage for another. God. Fuck. I don’t know. Maybe it’s time I accept that I’m going to be someone’s prisoner, at least I can choose my jailor. What a daunting reality. That can’t be all there is for me.
Not about you, Ryan. It’s about Griff. It’s a business negotiation—you for Griff. You don’t matter.
“Th-That’s some trade off.” A dangerous one. But I haven’t moved away from him. I like his hand right where it is. There shouldn’t be anything comforting about Tate, and yet there is.
Am I that much of a fool? Am I that pathetic?
“What if I agree to one and not the other?” I’m not saying I’m going to marry him, but that’s the only one that’s plausible. I can leave and play for Shadowridge with Tate’s help, but Father would never support the team.
He shakes his head. “I need to secure the Pacific Conference Commissioner position. Fundraising is part of how I plan to impress the current commissioner. Most of the board likes me, but they’ll want someone with more experience. I need his vote to sway them.”
My father’s on that board. That’s exactly how he’d vote.
