“Fuck.”

“Get. Off. Me.”

“Not until you listen to me.”

“Fine,” she whimpers, as tears fill her eyes. “What? What do you want to tell me, since I don’t have a choice but to listen to you?”

“Please, don’t cry.”

“Do you think I want to cry?” Her chin wobbles. “I don’t. I hate that I’m so weak that I can’t get away from you even when I want to.”

Closing my eyes, I drop my forehead to hers. “Okay,” I whisper. “I’ll let you go, but you have to promise to hear me out before you leave me.”

“Fine,” she whispers back, and after a second of hesitation, I release my hold on her wrist then sit up on my knees.

As she scrambles away from me and off the bed, I watch with my muscles on fire ready to chase her down if need be.

“Talk!”

My heart starts to pound as I look into her eyes, because I know after I admit my truths, I might not ever see her again.

“My parents were both druggies, the two of them were in and out of jail so often, I don’t have many memories with them before I went into the system at nine. After I was taken from their custody, I bounced around from house to house, because no one wanted an older kid and especially not one with issues.” She holds my gaze. “I moved in with the Patrick’s when I was twelve. They were good people, but they had a family of their own and we all knew that we were not apart of their family.” My jaw twitches. “When I was thirteen the Patrick’s got me a job at a steak house, washing dishes because they thought that a little responsibility would be good for me.

“Is there a point to this?” She bites out and I can’t even fault her for being so angry.

“When I started working there, I met Albert, the owner, and after a few months he took a special interest in me. He had multiple businesses all over Denver, and before long I was going everywhere with him. And as a kid who never had an adult looking out for him before, I soaked up every word he said and thought that he cared about me.” I watch her swallow. “I had no idea how wrong I was about him until it was too late.” My hands ball into fist. “By that point in my life I was so used to being mistreated and used by the people in my life that were supposed to look out for me, that I didn’t fucking say a word. Or maybe I thought no one would believe me even if I did.”

“Clay, stop.”

“It didn’t last long, I grew up fast,” I tell her but remind myself because the memory is almost enough to bring me to my knees.

“Please, no more.” She presses her fist to her mouth as tears fill her eyes.