Page 89 of Caging Liberty
He laughs again, shaking his head. “You don’t know Angel, sweetheart… You will, though. Keep rejecting him like you have been, and you’ll find out who he is sooner rather than later.”
My mind searches for a retort, but the look on Sawyer’s face muddies my thoughts. He isn’t amused. He doesn’t sound or look like he’s forcing seriousness. He’s … well, he’s bothered by something. This is the most vulnerable I’ve seen him.
“He told you I was rejecting him?” I ask, fear working its way in. Fear of who? Of Angel? That’s a weird twist.
Sawyer shrugs. “He said you won’t talk to him. I’m curious, is it because you’re pissed about April? Because in his defense, he was against Jasper taking her. He’s been trying to convince Jasper to buy Desiree. But of course,” he laughs dryly and waves his hand toward me, “Jasper only wants you.”
The hairs raise on the back of my neck, and a lump clogs my throat. None of what Sawyer’s saying is surprising, but it’s terrifying to hear the words spoken aloud.
“Angel wants impossible things,” I force the words past the lump, my voice soft.
Sawyer nods. “That’s typical of him.”
“I’m not angry with him or trying to reject him, I just … don’t think I can be who he wants me to be.”
Sawyer smiles compassionately, which only makes this exchange stranger. “You and I have more in common than you realize.”
I blink at him, unable to say any more with my throat closing.
He’s a master manipulator,I remind myself.This is the mask he’s chosen to show you before, as saltyshells.
Sawyer slaps the table and turns. “You know what, you and I could use a drink.” He walks to the wine rack to grab a bottle and two glasses that dangle from a holder.
He sets everything down on the granite island, then turns, hesitating like he’s forgotten something. When he remembers whatever it is, he walks to a drawer and sifts through it before pulling out a corkscrew. My eyes move to the bottle.
Cabernet.
I can’t place when the churning in my gut starts, but one moment I’m focused on the clog in my throat, and the next, it’s out of my mind. I stare at the bottle until my eyes become dry.
I blink several times, trying to clear my vision as Sawyer removes the cork and fills the glasses.
My heart cracks, and pathetic, sad tears well in my eyes. He scoots mine toward me, red wine sloshing onto the counter when his movement falters. I keep my gaze on the glass instead of meeting his eyes, but I can tell the moment he notices something’s wrong.
The air dissipates from the room.
Don’t cry.
It’s just a lapse in judgment. It means nothing.
Sawyer is a predator. He talks to so many women, he couldn’t possibly remember everything about me. It makes sense he wouldn’t remember that I don’t drink wine.
Everything Sawyer and I had was fake. It was just an act. None of it matters.
Don’t you fucking cry, Lib.
“What’s wrong?” Sawyer asks, his tone laced with concern.
I close my eyes and shake my head.
“If you’re worried about Jasper, don’t be. I’m not allowing him to take home any more slaves until he purchases one, and it won’t be you. You can relax.”
My breath stutters. “It isn’t that.”
I meet Sawyer’s soft blue eyes and picture him as the man I almost fell in love with. The man I thought was my one reprieve from my shitty-ass life.
He looks so handsome, soinnocentwith his wavy blond hair and stretched T-shirt. It feels impossible for this man to be both the monster I’ve come to know and the man I thought I knew better than anyone.
He frowns. “What is it then?”