Page 42 of Shattered Saint
"Maybe he wanted to surprise her," Easton suggested.
I scoffed at this idea. "They don't like each other. Why would he surprise her with a trip to the cabin? That doesn't even make sense." I shook my head, still not convinced Raven had gone willingly with Nash. I just couldn't shake the feeling something wasn't right. And it hurt that I ventured to think that my brother would do such a thing.
Easton didn't add anything, and we continued on in silence for the rest of the ride, but I could tell he was thinking about what I had said. He clearly didn't want to believe my theory either, but I knew deep down that it was true.
Easton sighed again. "Well, why don't we just wait and see what's going on when we get up there," he said.
I nodded silently as I looked out the window at the trees passing by, feeling more anxious than ever before. What was Nash up to? Was Raven in danger? I had so many questions that I desperately needed answered, and all of this was giving me a massive headache.
“I know something else we can talk about.”
Part of me wanted to ignore him, but that would make this car ride even less pleasant. “What is it that you want to talk about?”
“The offer I made you."
"How about we don't."
"What? You don't want to talk about how I'll be able to fuck you anytime I want? You're just denying the inevitable at this point.”
"And all of this in exchange for you keeping silent about my drinking? Blackmail looks so good on you."
"As I said before, I do what I need to do to get what I want."
I laughed sarcastically because he justhadto bring this up. “Why do I think this is my brother's philosophy as well?"
"It would explain why we're friends."
I rolled my eyes. "There’s nothing really to discuss, because I haven’t given you an answer.”
“Bianca, I’ve been very patient with you.”
I scoffed and slightly changed the subject back to the person of the hour. “Does Nash know you’re doing this?”
I watched as his grip tightened on the steering wheel, telling me that I struck a nerve. “No, he doesn’t. Plus, in a way, I’m trying to do the right thing here.”
“Oh really? Please share how you being able to fuck me whenever you want because you’re blackmailing me is the right thing in this scenario."
"We both know that I want to fuck you. And we also both know you've been partying hard since you got to Brentson and doing your best to hide it from your family. We’re not talking the occasional sip of alcohol here and there. It's getting black out drunk on weekends and sometimes during the week. It's only a matter of time before someone at one of these parties doesn't protect you. Then the news comes out about your drinking anyway. Hell, what I was able to collect was easy enough.”
He paused briefly, giving me the opportunity to digest what he was saying. I hated that he was absolutely right.
“Your parents will never forgive you if this ruins your father’s reelection chances. All in all, I'm just the one who is blackmailing you first, because it was only a matter of time before it happened. This isn’t some elaborate scheme just so I can get what I want from you… well, not entirely anyway. It’s also about the fact you need help in controlling your drinking and making sure it doesn't get worse."
His whole monologue felt like he’d taken the knife that I was walking with through Nash’s apartment earlier and stabbed me in the heart. He’d hit on so many key points that I’d thought about myself regarding my drinking, but never dared to focus on for long. Things had slowed down a bit in public, but he wasn’t aware about how much I was drinking in private.
“So let me make sure I’m understanding this correctly. If I have sex with you when you want, you won’t talk about my drinking problems with my family. If I don’t, you’ll send them all the evidence you’ve gathered. And somehow, this is going to stop me from drinking so much?”
“It’ll make you more aware of the consequences of your actions when it comes to drinking so much.”
“But what if this makes me drink even more?”
“Then we’ll have to take more drastic measures.”
This was ridiculous. “Most people would recommend going to a therapist or another professional that can help you with alcoholism.”
Easton shrugged. “I’m trying my way first. Do I have to put a deadline on this? If you don’t give me an answer, I’ll have no choice but to talk to your parents.”
I wanted to slam my hands down on the dashboard, but that might not be the smartest thing I’d ever done. “You do have a choice. You don’t have to tell them a thing!”
