Page 213 of Hate to Love You
“No,” I spit, completely and utterly done with this man.
He thinks he can control me?
That he can own me?
I’m a person.
I was controlled once before, and even though in my bones I know this is different than it was with my husband, it still makes me feel like I’m suffocating.
But then, at the same time, a part of me demands I throw open the door and fly into Romans arms.
“Foxy, open up,” he repeats, his dominating frame casting a shadow through the glass.
“Why should I? You’ve locked me in my house! Why? So you could control me like I’m some pet?!”
“That’s not why I did it, Foxy,” he says slowly. “You know that. I just can’t let you kill any more of my men.”
“Your men,” I scoff. “You mean rapers and abusers! Exactly the kind of people who deserve to die!”
Angrily I kick over the umbrella holder by the door, as I notice that I’ve slowly crept forward, gravitating to his presence.
“Foxy, you know if I let you kill any more of my men, I can’t save you from them.” I see his hand run through his hair, sweeping it back from his forehead. “Just… let me in, baby.”
A sharp laugh bubbles out my mouth, which turns nearly maniacal as I struggle to understand my own emotions warring within me.
“Why, Roman? Why? What will that achieve? Then I’ll just be locked in here… with you.”
I slam my hand against the door, my eyes stinging with tears as I glance toward the ceiling.
“Would that be so bad?”
“Yes!” I snap, turning to stomp my way up the stairs.
“Abigail!” Roman yells out again, stopping me in my tracks. “Just…tell me why you kill them.”
My breath hitches in my throat as I tighten my hand on the banister.
He wants to hear it from me. He wants to know why I kill them?
“I know everything else about you, Abby,” I hear him sigh, seeing his hand press against the glass. “Before you came to work for me, I had Ana put together a file on you. I know where you went to school, your parents, your employment history, about your fucking…husband.”
The disgust in his voice is evident even through the door.
“I know what you do,” he says firmly. “And I’m not here to punish you. I just want to know why you became a killer.”
I hear a thud as something hits the door, but I’m already on my way back down the stairs, my eyes taking in Romans intimidating frame hunched behind the glass, his head resting against it. I press my forehead to the door, the mirror of his as my lip’s part, my breath steaming the cold glass beneath it.
“I just want to understand you,” he says softly, an ache in his voice. “To know what happened to you that made you decide to kill men. Who did this to you, Foxy?”
“What does it matter?” I mutter, but he still hears me.
“It matters to me, Abby. Who drove you to this point?” He curses. “You didn’t wake up one day and decide to kill people.”
“What does it matter to you who started this, Roman? This is who I am! I’m exactly who I want to fucking be!” I snap, wiping my eyes. “Why do you care?”
“I care because I’ll fucking kill them for hurting you,” he growls lethally. “Anyone who made you feel like you have to kill—”
“They didn’t! That’s what you’re not getting!” I fire back. “You kill people all the time, Roman, why is it a problem when I do it? And why is it so hard to understand that this was my decision and it’s who I am?”