Page 102 of Crave Me

“I’m here,” he says behind me.

His tone keeps me in place, the lack of inflection and emotion causing my worry to rocket out of control. I turn slowly, the heels of my shoes clicking as I cross the room toward his workstation.

I reach the desk where he sits and peer over the collection of monitors. His forearms are pressed against the slick wood and his hands are balled into tight fists. He’s angry, that much I see. But it’s the way the light from the computer monitors flash across his bleaching skin that scares the hell out of me.

“What’s wrong?” He doesn’t answer. “Evan, what happened?”

He rises slowly as if stiff from pain. I race around his desk, ready to throw my arms around him. But his rigid stance and the fury spilling from his tall form stops me in my tracks.

This isn’t business. It’s is personal.

I scan his face, searching for any of trace of him that remains. All I find is barely controlled rage. “Baby . . .”

He rams his eyes closed. Torment replacing his anger, but it’s brief. “Ashleigh came by today,” he says.

“Ashleigh?” I ask, wondering what she could have possibly done to upset him this much.

“She showed me something I never expected.” He swallows hard. “Much less wanted to see.”

“What?”

I heard what he said, but it’s like he’s speaking in code. His glance toward his desk my only clue that there’s something there I need to see.

I walk toward it, giving him ample space. Something bad is coming, I can sense it by how it’s effecting him and how he doesn’t want me anywhere near him. I’m expecting a tragic event, maybe the start of a war, or God forbid, children who were somehow harmed by his products.

I reach his desk, expecting to see a document or letter. When I don’t find anything other than the familiar pile of reports, I look up. His screen bounces across each frame. It’s a picture of me and him from Fiona’s first birthday party. His arms are wrapped around me and we’re smiling, happy. But I don’t feel happy now.

All I have is the fear that something awful has happened to him.

I swipe my fingertips across his mouse pad, jarring the system awake. The image of us is replaced by multiple shots of a naked woman, one begging the man doing her against the wall to go faster, and yet another touching herself, her dark hair falling around her and veiling her face. Ads for the hardcore porn site flash beneath. On the bottom screen, the same woman is covered in sweat, shaking her ass as some guy takes her hard from behind.

It takes me a moment to realize the man is Bryant.

And that the woman he’s fucking is me.

A chill, as fierce as any winter storm, carves its way into my bones. Every image is of me. Me moaning. Me writhing. Me begging for it.

My remaining breath leaves me in a painful rush. I cover my mouth as horror claims me, trying not to scream when I see how many thousands of ratings the feature has received—how many disgusting comments are posted, how many horny bastards are begging to screw me.

My hand slaps against the chair as I stumble backward, trying to keep from falling. “What is this?” I ask, my voice shaking as hard as my hands. “What the hell is this?”

For all I think my world is ending, Evan is barely holding it together. His shoulders rise his fall with explosive rage. “You didn’t know about this—any of it?”

“No!” I yell, backing away. “I would never do something like this!”

Bile beats my stomach in waves, burning into my throat when Bryant tilts his head back and comes. It’s what he looked like when we were still together. His hair cut short to his scalp and his face clean-shaven. He groans, rubbing off when he pulls out and smiling in the direction of what must be the camera.

It’s his final “fuck you” to me, and holy shit is it ever brutal.

My eyes burn as I bolt. I don’t realize how fast I move until I’m almost halfway across the room. Footsteps stomp behind me as Evan clasps my elbow and whirls me around.

His voice is barely audible, but his rage is as evident as his grip on my arm. “There’s an entire page filled with pictures, Wren, and videos. All of them of you with the name Ivory O’Malley.”

I shake my head slowly, not because I don’t believe him, but because I can’t believe I was so fucking blind. “I didn’t make those videos or pose for any pictures . . .” My voice trails when doubt plagues his face. “I know I’ve taken pictures of us—and-and we’ve watched ourselves, but that’s different.”

“Why?”

Sometimes the truth is more painful when it involves the person you most love. “Because you’re the only one I’ve ever trusted.”