C4, PT. 2 (Patreon)

“I’m going to set you on your feet.”

His overly patient tone grated on her nerves.

Once he set her down, she stepped back to close the door, but Roth stuck his foot in the opening.

“Leave it open,” he ordered.

She took in his hard expression for a moment before she tossed her arm out to encompass the small room that had nothing in it aside from the toilet. “What do you think I’m going to do in here?”

“I’m not taking any chances.”

She stood there for a full minute. If she wasn’t afraid of wetting herself, she would have continued the standoff or swanned out, but she didn’t have that luxury. The microscopic amount of pride she had left shriveled as she bowed her head and pushed her pants down. Shame, that ever present emotion, blanketed her as she did what she had to. Roth didn’t have the decency to turn his back or step to the side to allow her a modicum of privacy. When she was finished, she was forced to turn sideways to pass him, since he didn’t move.

The massive mirror mounted on the wall showed that she’d been dressed in Burberry jogging pants and a satin leopard print long sleeve pajama top. She wasn’t sure whether she’d forgotten to pack the other half of either outfit, or if Roth hadn’t bothered to dig through her bag to find it. It didn’t matter. What she was wearing was the least of her problems.

There was a peppering of burn marks and faint bruising around a large bandage along her hairline that covered half of her brow. According to Mo, she had three stitches. As she held her hands beneath the cold stream of water, she examined her reflection. Her eyes were as expressive as an overcast sky, her features smooth and remote. Her reflection was undoubtedly her, but there were subtle differences that made her feel like she was looking at a doppelgänger.

She couldn’t help glancing at the tub. There was no sign that anything dramatic had taken place. No water on the floor, and not a speck of the large quantity of blood Mo said she lost. The white tiles were dry and pristine. If it wasn’t for her injuries, she may have wondered if she’d imagined the whole thing.

Roth came up behind her. She didn’t react when he wrapped his arms around her middle and buried his face in her hair.

“I’m sorry,” he rasped. “For letting you believe you mean so little to me. For letting you think this was about business.”

She turned off the faucet and shook her hands to get off excess water.

“I’ve never been so fucking scared in my life. I’ve never said a prayer, but I’ve uttered thousands in hopes that you would open your eyes again.”

She nabbed a towel that was within easy reach and began to dry her hands.

He gave her a gentle squeeze. “Please look at me.”

“What happened wasn’t your fault,” she said, keeping her eyes trained on what she was doing instead of meeting his gaze in the mirror. “Let me go. I don’t want to be touched.”

Her tone was as cold as her heart. The emotions that had surged to the surface when she first woke were slowly freezing behind layers of ice.

Roth’s hold tightened before he let out a little sigh and released her after kissing her shoulder. She sidestepped to get out from between him and the counter and re-entered the bedroom, back ramrod straight. Her only focus was on getting to the bed before she collapsed.

The door opened, revealing Mo, who had a loaded tray balanced on one hand. His gaze went from the empty bed to her on her feet. His brow creased before he focused on Roth and announced, “They’re here.”

Something about the way he said that made Jasmine pause. “Who’s here?”

She glanced at Roth, wondering if he’d summoned a doctor to look her over more thoroughly or a therapist to assess her mental state. Maybe he’d place her in a psych ward to keep her out of trouble. She wasn’t opposed to that, as long as they didn’t strap her to a bed. She’d prefer being in a room with white walls and no stimulation than here with him.

She didn’t know how to interpret Roth’s determined expression or the way he crossed his arms over his chest as if he knew she wasn’t going to like his answer about the new arrivals.

“Who?” she clipped impatiently and then heard someone shout her name. “Is that…?”

“Where is she?”

Although she’d never heard Colette raise her voice, she was eighty percent certain that distant shriek was her sister. “You called Colette?”

It never occurred to her that he’d contact anyone. Maintaining their image as a happily married couple was paramount. Since there weren’t any permanent repercussions to this incident, such as a hospital visit requiring documentation, there was no need to share what happened with her sister. So, why had he done it?

As her sluggish brain tried to sort through Roth’s motivations, she was aware of her sister’s voice taking on a hysterical note and that she was getting closer. Roth never looked away from her. It was his implacable, grim expression that made the pieces fall into place.

“You used this to get Colette to tell you what happened at the ball?” Her lip curled in disgust. “You’re a sick bastard. This is a new low for you.”

A muscle twitched under his eye. “I called your sister because you need her.”

Anger burned in her gut as she demanded, “How would you know what I need?”

“Jasmine!”

Mo hastily stepped aside as her oldest sister appeared in the doorway. Colette, the uber controlled ice queen, was a distant memory. Colette looked as wild as she sounded. Her blonde hair was loose and wind-blown around her shoulders instead of being styled in its customary twist or chignon. She wore an open double-breasted trench coat over what appeared to be burgundy velvet pajamas and snow boots. Colette’s eyes were so swollen, she could barely see out of them, but what Jasmine could see of that Hennessy glacial blue eyes was livid. The moment Colette clapped eyes on Jasmine, she flushed an unbecoming shade of red.

“How dare you?” Colette screeched.

“Colette.”

Her sister didn’t seem to register Roth’s warning tone. When she charged forward, Lyle appeared, wrapping an arm around his wife’s waist and hauling her backward. Colette went apeshit crazy, screaming and kicking savagely.

**This is a raw draft of Bitter Sins. Please do not share or distribute.

Copyright © 2025 Mia Knight. All Rights Reserved.