Home > Dominated (The Enforcers #2)(13)

Dominated (The Enforcers #2)(13)
Maya Banks

Oh God, if she didn’t shift her train of thought, she was going to die of humiliation. What a pitiful, tragic weakling she was. She was going to have bruises from the number of times she’d kicked herself over her presumptuousness.

Her mother had always said that if something seemed too good to be true, chances were it was precisely that.

Where had that little nugget of wisdom been when Evangeline found herself catapulted into Drake’s glittery world?

But at the end of the day, she had no one to blame but herself. She’d willingly worn blinders. Embraced them. She hadn’t wanted to know the blunt truth. She was too busy immersing herself in a fairy-tale world of her own making to ask the important questions, to question her own judgment. Because if she did, then her fantasy would shatter and break apart, collapse around her like a devastating landslide and bury her in its suffocating debris.

Eddie, her ex, had been right about one thing. The sudden, bitter thought burned like acid and left an acrid taste in her mouth. She was nothing more than an ostrich going through life, burying her head in the sand at the first hint of adversity. Only, right now, Evangeline didn’t feel shame over the comparison. Who the hell embraced adversity? Certainly not her. She didn’t thrive on pain—whether hers or someone else’s.

Although a secret part of her wished she could have that night back all over again. Just five minutes of it. With foreknowledge this time instead of having her feet cruelly pulled from beneath her. She’d love nothing more than to take Drake Donovan down a few notches.

The thought took hold and pleasurable warmth bathed her stomach. Drake being humiliated by a woman. Now that was an image that had staying power. His business cronies holding their sides and laughing as Evangeline bloodied his nose. She’d follow it up with a knee to his balls that would have him singing falsetto for weeks to come.

She leaned her forehead against the window of the car and closed her eyes to the blurred sidewalks. Another warm trail slid silently down her ravaged cheeks. Damn it!

What was the point in this? Why had he come for her? And what was all that crap about necessary this and necessary that? No one had put a gun to Drake’s head and forced him to tear Evangeline to pieces, and yet Drake seemed to expect her to think he was the victim here.

She shook her head. Oh hell no. She wasn’t playing stupid little mind games, nor was she going to give him absolution, something he apparently wanted or needed, judging by his demeanor and words.

He could damn well make his peace with God in the end. But since he had no soul, it was doubtful he even believed in a higher deity. Her eyes slid to the corners of her lids in his direction in disgust. Who was she kidding? He likely thought he was God.

Fear and panic slithered down her spine as the car slowed to a halt in front of a prestigious New York City hotel. She wanted to laugh at the idea of Drake hauling a woman dressed in a service uniform into the swanky interior. He’d likely receive looks of pity. A man with his wealth and social standing being so desperate as to fraternize with the common folk.

“Angel?”

Drake’s hesitant address broke into her bitter reverie. She whirled around, careful to keep as much distance as possible between them.

The fury she’d finally worked up the nerve to express came to an abrupt halt when their eyes met. She flinched at how haunted and . . . devastated . . . he looked. She promptly slammed her eyes shut before her resolve could weaken even further than it already had.

What the hell was wrong with her? This was her opportunity to take him apart verbally just as he had done to her. To rip him to shreds and destroy him every bit as much as he had her. To give him a taste of what it felt like to be on the receiving end of . . .

Hatred.

She dropped her face into her hands as a shudder rolled violently through her body. Oh God, oh God. She was sounding—acting—just like him.

Tentative hands skimmed up her arms, hesitant as though Drake feared rejection. But hadn’t he already rejected her? She hated mind games. Why had he come after her? Why was she in his car? He’d washed his hands of her. He’d made that clear enough. So why the elaborate charade?

Her head ached vilely but not nearly as horrifically as her heart.

“What do you want, Drake?” she asked in a low voice. “What will it take for you to leave me alone—in peace? Surely that isn’t too much to ask. I’ve had to come to terms with how very wrong I was about you, but I didn’t think I could possibly be this wrong. That you would derive enjoyment from my emotional pain.”

She stared through her tear-filled vision to meet his agonized gaze, determined to stand her ground.

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