“Start with how you escaped. I want to know everything.”
“Why?”
So I can prevent it from happening again. So I can be sure there are no hands to chop off or people to kill. “Making conversation. Once you start talking, the rest will flow.”
Inhaling deeply, she fixes her gaze in my lap. She tells me how she evaded Brink, how she ended up at the gym, and what happened at Phil’s place. She tells me about running away from Phil and being knocked over the head, how she woke in a strange room, and what her kidnappers did. She confesses that she heard Zane and Anne talking about killing her as she slipped into unconsciousness. I listen to everything in silence, unable to stop the growing rage inside me for the people who’d touched my wife, even if those people have paid. She tells me she went to the church in Brixton to think about Zane’s offer, and that going to Dalton wasn’t planned. It was a spur-of-the-moment visit to tell him she wasn’t going to get him the evidence.
Holy fuck. It comes as a surprise, but I believe her. I’ve already punished her for conniving to escape and for visiting Dalton. She’s got no reason to lie about it. Zane is gone. Even if she still wanted to find the evidence, her only chance of doing so is dead.
I’m left with one question. “Why did you decide not to do it?”
“I had to make a choice. You or my freedom.”
The statement hits me everywhere at once, right between the eyes, in the gut, and in my heart where it burns as conflicting feelings mash up inside me.
She chose me.
It’s what I wanted, for her to come to me willingly, yet, I find no joy in the sacrifice. She chose me, and I fucking broke her skin with a cane because a man like me has to honor his promises. A man like me has too many enemies to break even one. A man like me can’t cultivate trust by cutting anyone slack, least of all his wife.
I don’t deserve her choice, but I’m not a good enough man to refuse. I let the knowledge settle, let it feed my possessive side until my soul demands to hear the words again.
“You chose me.”
She looks away as if she’s ashamed about her decision, about giving up the fight. A better man would let her go, but I pull her closer. I feel the weight of my ring on her finger, my logo on her skin, my tracker under her flesh, and my seed in her womb. Still, it’s not enough. Her words aren’t cold yet, but they don’t dispel my fear. My fear of losing her is bigger than her word and my tokens of ownership. I don’t own her heart. I doubt I ever will. This is why I accept her decision like the greedy monster I am, ignoring the fact that I’m not that different from her dead husband, trapping her in a loveless marriage. I bet Clarke promised kindness. My promise is punishment. He lured her with honey. I’ll keep her with pain.
Kissing her neck, I inhale the sweet scent of her skin. Even now, after her shower, the seductive smell of her perfume clings to her hair. It’s everywhere—in our bedroom, on our sheets, in the study, and all over my clothes.
It’s too soon, but I can’t resist. I slip my fingers into the elastic of her pants and pull them down her thighs and over her feet. Making her straddle me, I unzip my fly and take out my cock. I barely push her panties aside before sliding into her. The shirt that’s too big for her obscures my view, but it’s not our fucking I’m interested in watching. It’s her face as I own her.
She gasps as I go too deep, hitting a barrier. I pace myself and take her shallower. If I can’t have her love, I’ll take her choice. It’ll be enough. This is what I tell myself as I grip her hips and move her on top of me with easy strokes. When she gets the rhythm, I grab her ass. Her globes are full and firm. I imagine the red lines running across them and my cock twitches. I imagine her skin, whole and unmarked, and I’m as close to ejaculating as I’ll ever get. I don’t need marks on her body to turn harder than steel. I only need her tight little cunt. I’m not going to hurt her in any way she won’t enjoy ever again, at least not in a physical way. There’s plenty not to like when love isn’t in the equation, but I refuse to think about it now.
Lifting her, I pull my cock free and gather some of her arousal before easing her back onto me. She moans as I spread her wetness over her clit and up her crack. She rises on her knees and sinks down over my cock while I rub her little button the way she likes. She cries out when I sink a finger into her ass, and squirms when I start to pump.
“Damian.”
“Come.”
I took her only a few hours ago, but we both explode as if we’ve been abstaining for months. Her ass and pussy clench with sporadic aftershocks as I empty myself, making sure every drop is spilled inside her. Spent, I lean back in the chair, bringing her with me. She wraps her arms around my neck and rests her head on my shoulder. I revel in the power of holding her like this, of rubbing my hands over her arms and not feeling her shiver with repulsion. I would’ve liked to stay like this forever, but our conversation isn’t over. I need to warn her of my intention with Dalton. She knows I’m going after him, but she deserves to know what I plan. She needs to be prepared.
I start carefully. “There’s no love lost between you and your father.”
“He’s not my father.”
I freeze. What? This is news.
“I’m a result of my mother’s affair.”
Well, hell. That explains a lot. It certainly explains Dalton’s animosity toward her. “Who’s your father?”
“I don’t know. My mother never said.”
To protect her lover, no doubt. “I thought Dalton doted on you.”
“He hates me, almost as much as I hate him.”
Fuck. If she didn’t accept my marriage proposal to save Dalton, then why did she? “If he’s not your father, and you don’t care for him, why try to get him the evidence? What hold does he have on you?”
She pulls away to look at me. The sight of her face, cheeks pale and eyes hollow, stills me. It not only scares me. It terrifies me. I’ve never seen her like this, not even when I tied her up, gagged, and caned her.
“I did something terrible, Damian.” She exhales on a tremulous breath. “I killed a man.” Her hands lie calmly on my shoulders, but it’s in her twisted expression that the storm prevails. With my cock still inside her body, she makes her confession. “I shot Jack, and I’m not sorry.”
I start at the divulgence. Holy damn. It’s the last thing I expected. I try to picture Lina with a shotgun in her hand but fail to conjure the image.
“My arms,” she continues, “Jack did this to me.” A tremor runs over her body. “He locked me up and starved me until I agreed to give him my body. I gave him sex for food.”
My shock explodes into a fury from hell, but I bottle it up and twist the lid on my anger to keep her talking.
“Every scar is a notch of victory, a reminder of what he won.”
That son of a dead bitch. I’ll have his gravestone flattened to the ground and crushed. It’s a good thing Lina killed him, or I would’ve given him the slow death he deserved.
“I fell pregnant,” she says, her voice so soft I have to strain my ears to hear.
She what? Sweet Mother of Jesus. Her baby. This is the baby she mentioned before I whipped her unconscious. I can’t formulate a question. My brain won’t function. It’s stuck on her words. I fell pregnant.
“It wasn’t supposed to happen. He was upset, angry enough to throw me through a window.”
The self-mutilation, hunger strike, locking herself in, jumping through a window, all of it was Clarke. Her dead husband imprisoned and tortured her. I was wrong. Clarke didn’t come to her with kindness. He came to her with cruelty. Dalton must’ve known about Clarke’s sadistic tendencies. They were too close for ignorance. I can’t speak for the fear of losing it.
A single tear drips from her eye and runs over her cheek. “The fall… The placenta ruptured. I lost the baby.” Her lips start to quiver even as she bravely meets my gaze. “I came back from the clinic, took a gun, and shot Jack. When I came to my senses, the housekeeper was alre
ady calling Harold.”
The bastard used it to his advantage to control her. “Dalton covered it up to look like a suicide and sent you to Willowbrook while taking over the management of your inheritance.”
Her answer is a broken sob. “Yes.”
That’s what he’s holding over her head. “He’s threatening to tell the truth if you don’t give him the evidence.”
“He won’t tell me what he did with my baby’s body. That’s what he’ll give me in exchange for the evidence.”
She’s breaking down on the outside, trying bravely to conceal her shivering and hold in her tears. Me, I’m falling to pieces for her on the inside.
I grapple with the information. It’s difficult to speak past the knot in my throat. “How many months?”
“Eight,” she says, and then the dam wall breaks. Sobs wrack her shoulders. “He was eight months old.”
“Jesus.” Wrapping my arms tighter around her waist, I pull her to my chest and let her get it out.
There are so many tears, enough for all the years she carried this alone. “I told them the truth at Willowbrook, but they didn’t listen.”
That’s why she didn’t run away when Dalton brought her home from that fucked up institution. He held her hostage with a murder and her baby’s remains. That son of a bitch.
Grabbing her face, I force her to meet my eyes. “Listen to me. You did the right thing to kill that bastard. He raped and tortured you.”
She shakes her head. “I sold my body. I’m a whore.”
“You’re not a whore. He starved you. He cut you up. He killed your child. He deserved a lot worse than his fate. We’ll find the remains of your baby. I promise you. I swear to God, Dalton will pay for what he did to you. He’ll pay with his life.” I kiss her forehead. “I’ll find you what you want if it’s the last thing I do. You can count on me.”
My wife’s sudden attachment to me is part separation anxiety due to her trauma, and part a cunning way of preventing me from committing another murder. I’ve given her time. It can’t wait, any longer.
After feeding Lina and putting her to bed, I instruct Brink to stand on duty by the bedroom door while I put five guards at the front door. I wait until my wife is in a deep sleep before I dress and holster my gun. Two cars with armed guards wait in front of the house on my instruction.
Word of my friendship with Zane got out. A television crew and several journalists are camping outside the property. I’m not worried. I don’t own the police force, but I have enough connections who do. Paparazzi follow on motorbikes as our cars clear the gates, but my driver is skilled. We lose them in the busy hub of Centurion, cutting across to the R21 that will take us to Johannesburg.
The man I’ve put on watch in Brixton calls to say Dalton’s flat is quiet. No movement. No lights. It won’t do him any good to hide under the bed. He’s out of resources. He’s got nowhere to go, except hell.
“Coast is clear,” one of the guards say when we park a block away from the flat.
“Has anyone been inside?” I ask as we make our way down the deserted sidewalk.
“No, sir, as you requested.”
“Good.” Dalton is mine.
We’re quiet on the steps, not because I’m afraid of warning Dalton of our arrival, but for the sake of the neighbors. I know exactly where I’ll finish Dalton off. I’ll drag him by his hair to the train tracks. There’s only one train that passes these days. It’s a long time until 5am. Long enough to find a place on his body for each of my bullets before I tie him to those tracks.
Drew, my guard, takes up a position on the landing and nods. It doesn’t take much effort to force the door. The first thing that hits me is the smell. The place stinks of rot and decay. Drew covers his nose and reaches for the light switch. I already know the flat is empty before the overhead bulb flickers on. From the looks of it, Dalton ran in a hurry. Clothes are strewn over the unmade bed and floor. A half-eaten plate of ham and mashed peas, the meat green and the peas black, are covered in flies. A thick crust of fungus grows on a glass of milk. Maggots crawl from the overflowing trashcan.
“Fucker,” Drew says, shaking off and stamping on a maggot that climbed up his shoe.
Dalton didn’t leave today or yesterday. Judging by the decomposing food, at least two weeks ago. He must’ve been scheming with Zane for longer than I’d thought.
Assessing for themselves that there’s no threat, the men stand back, as far away from the stench as possible, while they wait for my orders.
“Clear out.”
“The coward ran,” Drew says.
I holster my gun. “I’ll find him.”
On the way back to the car, I call Maze and put word out that I’m looking for Dalton.
All the way home, I contemplate how to break the news to Lina. How do I tell her I don’t have what I promised because her no-good excuse of a stepfather escaped?
To my agitation, she’s not in bed when I arrive, but drilling Brink in her sleepwear. The only thing that prevents me from killing him is that she’s pulled a robe over her revealing nightdress. When she sees me, she flies down the stairs and into my arms. The action takes me so much by surprise I almost bring us both to the floor.
“Easy,” I say, gripping her waist.
She hisses like a cat. “Don’t ever do that again.”
“Study. Now. We’ll talk there.” The mention of the study is enough to shut her up.
My men shoot me sympathetic looks as I march my angry wife upstairs. She’s the only person with so much power over me. There’s only one, fragile, dainty, little female who can rake me over the coals.
When the door is firmly closed, she turns on me. “Don’t you dare leave me sleeping when you’re putting your life at risk.”
“Calm down.”
She shoves me. “Don’t tell me to calm down. I was worried sick, and Brink refused to tell me anything.”
Kudos for Brink. I can’t help the smile that creeps onto my face. “Worried? About me?”
“It’s not funny.”
“No.” I grab her around the waist before she can escape. “It’s sweet.”
She lets out a little humph when our bodies collide. With her palms on my chest, she tries to push away. “It’s cruel. Inconsiderate.”
I’m not going to contest the cruelty, but ask, “Inconsiderate?”
“How would you feel if you wake up in the middle of the night and I’m gone?”
Her words elicit a growl from deep within my chest.
“See? You won’t like it either.”
Her wiggling and feistiness make me hard. I’m trying to cushion my dick in the soft spot between her legs, but she arches away from me.
“Lina.” It’s a groan. It’s a warning. I need her.
“No,” she says, stubbornly turning her head away.
Frustrated, I concede to something I never thought I’d do. “Please.”
The fire in her ceases a little. Her body relaxes marginally as she turns her head an inch back to me. “Please what?”
I fucking beg. “Please let me fuck you. Here. Right now. Against the wall.”
“Not before we lay down some rules.”
The minx is blackmailing me. With sex. Fine. I’ll play along. This could be fun. “What rules?”
“If you’re going on whatever mission, you don’t leave this house, or wherever we may find ourselves at whatever point in time, without kissing me goodbye, even if you have to shake me awake from the deepest sleep I’ve ever slept. Understood?”
I grin. Fuck, she’s cute. “Yes, ma’am.”
“I’m serious, Damian.”
“Yes, angel, I know.” Nuzzling her neck with my nose, I sneak in a kiss. “I still think it’s sweet that you care.”
“Worry,” she corrects.
Whatever. To worry she needs to care. “Worry,” I agree readily because I’m eager to sink my cock balls deep into her.
“Fine,” she huffs.
“Fine.”<
br />
All her fire suddenly gone, she looks like the dog that caught the car. “Okay.”
I pull at the tie of her robe as I back her up to the wall. “Don’t you owe me something?”
She pants as I push the robe off her shoulders. She watches me warily as I move the strap of her nightdress aside. When I clamp my lips down on the soft spot between her neck and shoulder, she leans her head against the wall.
That’s right, baby. I know exactly which buttons to push to make her surrender.
Cupping her hand, I place it over the erection straining in my pants. While I mark her skin with a hickey, she rubs me. It feels so fucking good, I pivot my hips into her palm. I try to go slowly as I free the other strap and let the nightdress fall around her feet, but my body has other ideas. Taking just enough time to remove my jacket and holster, I free my cock through my fly. When I align my dick with her pussy, she catches my wrist.
“No,” she whispers.
No? I’m beyond myself with lust-crazed desire and a hairbreadth away from impaling her, and she tells me now?
“Everything,” she says, looking at my pants. “For once, I want you naked.”
Fuck, I can do that. I disrobe in record speed before crushing her body to the wall. It feels good all over, her skin against mine. I can do this forever. I want her. Forever.
Pressing our foreheads together, I grab her thigh and lift her leg around my ass. I don’t slide in gently like I intended. I slam everything in with a single thrust, cramming as much of myself as I can inside her. I cover her mouth just before she screams, knowing she’ll scream a hell of a lot more before I’m done. I want to drag it out, but she makes me go straight for the kill with her sweet concern and sexy blackmailing. I hammer out a rhythm that’ll make me shoot before she’s climaxed. With my fingers on her trigger button, I help her get there with me. We explode together. She sags in my arms, but this was just the appetizer to take off the edge. I’m not close to being done with her.
“Damian,” she cries out as I twist her around and bend her over.
I can never get enough of my name on her lips.
Taking her again with her hands braced on the wall, I make her say it over and over until we’re both covered in sweat, and I climax dry. I go down on her and fuck her again. By the time I carry her to bed, she’s as limp as a deflated stickman balloon.
Beauty in the Broken: A Diamond Magnate Novel Page 36
