The Brit

by Jodi Ellen Malpas

  My smirk must be borderline cruel, my fingers digging into the backs of her thighs. “With you? Always.” I ram home once more on a roar, and Rose hisses, gripping my hair harder.

  “Then let’s play.” She slams her mouth on mine and moves her hands to my back, sinking her nails into my shoulder blades and dragging them down. I squirm, tensing and pushing my front forward, as I match the frantic, hungry pace of her tongue, our kiss crazy. I slam into her unforgivingly, pound after pound, eliciting scream after scream, and it feels so fucking good. We both need this. Crazy, uncontrolled madness amid the madness. Madness we’re both in control of.

  My torso presses her to the tiles, enabling my hands to reach up to her hair. I fist it and cling on, pinning her head to the wall and holding her eyes as we tumble down the void of never-ending pleasure. When we hit the bottom, it’s going to hurt. My manic pumps become more urgent, Rose’s yells into my face fueling me.

  And when it strikes, it takes both of us out, bringing me to my knees on the shower floor, Rose clinging to me as I shout my way through the force. I mildly feel her teeth in my shoulder, her body rolling against mine. My arm circles her waist, and I lower to the floor, splayed on my back, my labored breathing not being helped by the hot, steamy air drenching us. “Was that dessert?” she wheezes, stuck to my front, her cheek on my pec.

  “That was main and dessert.” I smile when she looks up at me; she’s a vision of soaked perfection. “Is madam satisfied?”

  “No.” She sighs, settling her head back on my chest. “I could binge on you forever and never feel full.”

  “Greedy.”

  She shrugs, unapologetic, and settles. “What now?”

  I’m not burdening her with what happens next. Today was a gift. Sick as it sounds, but I know Rose, and I know she would want to see for herself that the root of her misery is dead. Now I need to kill off the stems of that root. “Now, you don’t worry about a thing.” I negotiate us up off the floor and place her under the spray, ignoring her indignant face. I shampoo her hair, rinse, and work through some conditioner, and all the while I can hear her mind working overtime. When I’m done cleaning her, I take care of myself while she dries off, and the moment I step out from the spray, I can see she’s ready to launch an attack of questions. Her mouth opens and I slam my palm over it. “What did I say?” I ask, forcing her eyes into slits. I release my palm for her to talk.

  “I want to know what you’re going to do.”

  “No, you don’t,” I assure her, walking away. “You’re not going anywhere near him.”

  “And I don’t want you to, either.” She makes chase, following me into the bedroom. “He’ll hurt my son, Danny. That’s his ace card, and Ernie gave it to him.”

  With my back to her, I close my eyes briefly, searching for calm. “He won’t hurt your son,” I assure her.

  “How do you know?” She grabs my shoulder and yanks me back to face her. “That’s what he’ll do. That’s his promise every time he thinks I need reminding of my place. Of who I belong to.”

  Talk about sending me over the edge. “You belong to me,” I grate, my jaw out of control, ticking madly. The panic in her face could send me over the edge too, but I’m saving my barely contained wrath for someone else. I grab her wrist and squeeze. “Trust me.” It’s not a request, nor is it a plea. It’s a demand.

  And she can see that. Her mild nod as she swallows is almost subservient. My little warrior backing down. I don’t like it at all, but it’s what I need from her right now. I move my hand to her nape and bring her close, pressing my lips to her forehead. “Good girl,” I whisper. “Tell me you love me.”

  “I love you.”

  “Tell me you trust me.”

  “I trust you.”

  “Tell me you’re happy.”

  “I’m so happy.”

  I smile. So am I. “Tell me you’ll marry me.”

  “What?” She dives away from my body, shock a blanket over her face.

  “Not the reaction I was hoping for,” I admit.

  “Marry you?”

  “Is it that outrageous?”

  Her arms fly up into the air in exasperation, loosening the towel around her. It drops to the floor. She leaves it. “It kind of is, Danny.”

  “Rose, I can’t have a serious discussion with you when you’re standing there naked like that.” I reach down and do the unthinkable. I cover her up, re-wrapping her in the soft white towel while she stands frozen and uncooperative. When I’m done, I move back, out of touching distance, forcing my eyes to her startled face. She looks utterly thrown. It’s endearing, if a little worrying. “Well?” I ask.

  “You want to marry me?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I fucking hate you,” I quip dryly, making her huff a disbelieving puff of misplaced laughter. “With a passion.”

  Her lips purse. “I hate you too.”

  I move in, unable to refrain from touching what’s mine any longer. Snaking my arm around her waist, I tug her forward, her palms lifting and resting on my chest as she leans back, keeping my eyes. “Then we’re perfect for each other,” I whisper, licking from one corner of her mouth to the other. “Don’t you think?”

  “I think you’re crazy,” she whispers.

  “I think you’re mine.”

  “I think you’re a murderer.”

  “I think you’re mine.”

  “I think you’re depraved.”

  I take her nape and apply pressure, and she inhales sharply. “I think you’re mine,” I murmur, my gaze burning into hers. “So you’ll marry me?”

  “Do I have a choice?” she asks, a small curve lifting the edge of her mouth.

  “What do you think?”

  “I think I want a crazy, murdering, depraved husband.”

  “Whose name is Danny Black.”

  “Whose name is Danny Black,” she confirms, jumping up to straddle my hips, attacking me full-force with her mouth. “I’ve never been so happy to not be given a choice.”

  It’s the best yes I could have hoped for. If she’s going to be mine, she’s going to be mine in every way. “Forced my arse, Miss Cassidy.” I return her kiss and carry her to the bed, ready to consummate our agreement. I toss her on the covers and crawl up to join her, pushing her hair back off her face and grabbing the box from the bedside drawer.

  She stills when she spots it, her lip disappearing between her teeth. “What’s that?”

  I raise my eyebrows and nod at the box, silently encouraging her to open it. Her eyes flick constantly from mine to the small black box, her lip getting a punishing chew. “Hurry up, Rose. I want to fuck you with this ring on your finger.”

  Her lip slips from her teeth as a smile breaks, her hands tentatively reaching for the box. Gradually lifting the lid, I watch as she slowly pulls in air too. I’m mesmerized, but my dick is becoming restless. So I reach forward and yank the box open, pulling the ring free and shoving it onto her finger. “Done. Deal.” I rip the towel from her body and shove her legs apart as she laughs, but it turns into a sigh when I slip into her. Jesus Christ, is there a better feeling in the world? I tense my muscles, ready to withdraw.

  “Wait,” she gasps, and I still, scowling at her. Wait? Smiling knowingly, she holds her hand up in front of her and studies the square-cut diamond that’s sitting pretty on a platinum band. Her smile is epic.

  “Is madam happy?” I ask sardonically, knowing damn well that any sane woman would love the ring I chose. And not just because of the price tag.

  “Madam is very happy.”

  “Good. Then madam can open her legs wider and let her husband-to-be fuck her hard.”

  “With pleasure.” She reaches for my hair and yanks it, her eyes narrowing playfully. “So what are you waiting for?”

  She’ll regret that. The first smash of my body into hers drenches the whole mansion with her scream.

  There’s never been room in my life for a woman. At le
ast, that’s what I thought. There’s always been room, just never the desire to take on the responsibility of loving someone. Of protecting them. Of making them my life. Rose is very easy to love. She made me love her without me realizing. And protecting someone you love is natural instinct, therefore very easy. What’s not easy is loving someone in my world. What’s not easy to deal with is the fear that my life and how I’ve lived it could trump all of my intentions to keep her safe. And on top of that, her life and how she’s lived it, though how Rose came to be where she is today wasn’t through choice. She was forced into debasement, whereas I walked into it willingly.

  With Rose’s leg thrown over my thighs, her face nestled close to my neck, my arm holding her to me, I stare down at her hand splayed on my chest, the sparkles of the diamond ring twinkling madly everytime I inhale and make her hand rise slightly. Just seeing that ring on her finger does things to me that I could never explain. We’re doing something neither of us ever imagined, and with it, we get everything neither of us ever imagined. Someone to love. Someone to keep. Someone to live for. Peace.

  My mobile vibrates from the bedside table, and I reach for it, seeing a message from Brad asking if I’m joining him in the gym. I have no desire to work out. Here is where I want to stay, yet I know I need to talk to him. To update him. I fire off a quick reply telling him I’m on my way and start to gently negotiate Rose from my body, smiling when she clings to me in her sleep.

  “I’ll be back,” I tell her softly, stroking her hair off her face and placing a light kiss on her cheek. I go to the wardrobe where Esther has stored my clothes and pull on some gym kit, slip my feet into my trainers, and head out to find Brad. On my way down the stairs, Rose’s mobile rings, and I look down to see “Mom” lighting up the screen. I come to a stop and lower myself to a step, answering. But I don’t speak. Neither does he. We’re just breathing down the line at each other, wisps of air full of threats and danger. Just hearing the arsehole breathe prickles my skin, anger rising.

  “So they call you The Brit?” he finally says, his accent thick.

  “I prefer the Angel-faced Assassin.”

  “I prefer dead.”

  “Many do.” I ensure my breathing in steady and quiet, tamping down the heightened rage just hearing his voice has instigated. “Shame many will be disappointed,” I go on. “You’ve tried and failed to kill me three times. I’m invincible, Dimitri. You’re out of your depth.”

  He inhales. “You killed my father. My brother.”

  “Why do you care? You’re illegitimate. The baby of a whore your father fucked.”

  “Yes, my mother was a paid fuck. No, Marius didn’t know about me. But we connected. He recognized my capabilities before I did. Call me sentimental, but I’m really quite sad you stole my chance of having a relationship with my father.”

  It’s all I can do not to roll my eyes. He’s out for vengeance? Trying to keep his father’s name alive while building his? “Thanks for the sob story.”

  “The girl,” he practically growls.

  “You’re not getting her.”

  “She has no choice if she wants her son to live.”

  Breathe. Breathe. Breathe. “And what would you say if I told you I want to keep her?”

  “I’d ask why.”

  I don’t need to tell him. He knows. “You want the marina. You want Adams. You want the Russians. You want my guns and contacts.” I wet my lips, noting his silence. “You want power, Dimitri. But do you know what you don’t want?”

  He’s silent, his ego not prepared to ask.

  “You don’t want me hunting you down, because if you don’t take what I’m offering, that’s exactly what I’ll do.” My promise is thick with malice that no wise man should ignore. “And it will be my most brutal murder yet. Ernie is gone. His money is gone. Your options are limited, you sick arsehole.” Fuck, this kills me, making a deal with this slimy, wannabe piece of shit, but I have to face the facts. He knows where Rose’s boy is. That’s his ace card, like she said. It’s all he has. But it’s all he needs. “It’s just you and me and the Russians. It could be only you if you make the right choice.”

  “All for the girl?”

  “All for the girl,” I confirm, cementing the fact that he probably thinks I’ve lost my mind. “I want out. You want in. Do we have a deal?”

  “Talk.”

  I glance up when I hear footsteps, delicate footsteps that belong to Esther. She stops when she spots me sitting on the stairs. Her blue eyes look sorrier each time I look into them. “Call me in an hour. We’ll talk.” I hang up and rise to my feet, though they seem rooted to the marble step, preventing me from walking away.

  “Ernie’s dead?” she asks, her hands joining in front of her midriff, nervously playing. “You killed him?”

  I’m thrown, not just by the question, but because she’s asked me a question. She never speaks unless she’s spoken to. Hasn’t since the day Pops brought her to the mansion. “Yes,” I answer simply, instead of ranting at her for obviously listening in on conversations that don’t concern her. “Why?”

  She visibly relaxes, her tense shoulders lowering a good few inches. “He can’t hurt me?”

  I frown, taking the final few stairs down to the hall. “What are you talking about?”

  Her eyes close for a long time, an obvious attempt to gather strength. “He took me.”

  My confusion keeps me still and silent. He took her? Who took her?

  Opening her eyes, I see something that I haven’t seen in Esther before. Grit. I back up, wary of it. “The day I walked out on you, I wasn’t going forever. I was going to get drunk, maybe even high, just to ease the pain of my latest beating. And maybe to dull the one I’d get when I got home. But I didn’t make it home. Because he found me.”

  I recoil and inhale sharply, blinking back my shock. Ernie took her? In London? I step back, shaking my head, not wanting to accept the slow-forming understanding. I can’t wrap my mind around this. “No.” It’s all my mouth will give me.

  “I met a nice man in a back-street pub.”

  “No.”

  “The next thing, I woke up in a filthy bedsit.”

  “Shit, no.”

  “I spent months comatose on whatever they were pumping into my veins while man after man raped me.”

  My hands come up to my head and cover my ears, like the bombardment of truths can be blocked.

  “For three years, I endured violation after violation until I was kicked out on the street because I didn’t fall pregnant.” Every word she speaks is delivered clearly and levelly. She’s completely together, and I just know it’s because she’s prayed for this moment, for this opportunity, to tell me how it really was. After our initial reunion, we never spoke again about it. After she told me she never wanted to abandon me, I brushed off her pathetic claim and dismissed all her attempts to talk to me again. She was just here, cooking, cleaning, tending to me, without any gratitude or appreciation in return. It was a sick kind of punishment.

  I think Esther sees that I’m struggling to unravel any words to speak, so she goes on. “I went back to our flat. You were gone. He was gone. Someone else was living there. I lived on the streets for two years. Then Carlo found me. I don’t know how. I saw his ring, was scared to death, but when I looked into his eyes, I saw softness, not evil. He wasn’t the man who took me from that pub. He never knew what his cousin did. He asked me about my past, and then, when he was certain who I was, he told me about you. Told me how he found you and what he did to your stepfather. He said you wondered where I was. Why I left. I just wanted to see you, be with you, to explain.”

  I look away from Esther, caught between shame, confusion, anger, and pain. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I met Ernie before I met you.” She smiles when I shoot a stunned look to her. It’s a sad smile. “He recognized me. He told me that if I breathed a word, he would kill you. I wasn’t prepared to risk that. I was just happy to see you every day, eve
n if you hated me.”

  I wince, a vicious pain penetrating my heart. It’s the kind of pain that only Rose has ever spiked. And my father when he died. And now my mother. I look down to the floor, my head tangled.

  “I love Rose,” Esther goes on. “She’s like me in so many ways. A survivor.” I look up as she backs away. “She deserves to be loved.” And then she turns and disappears into the kitchen, leaving behind the lingering, hidden meaning of her final statement. If Rose deserves to be loved, then my mother does too. The pain in my chest doubles, and I reach for my pec, pushing my clenched fist into it. If I could, I’d bring Ernie back to life, just so I could fucking kill him again. This time even more slowly. Painfully. And with more satisfaction. I can’t even comprehend the level of fear Ernie instilled into Esther for her to remain quiet all this time. It’s the same level of fear he depended on with Rose to keep her mouth shut. To remain loyal to Nox. To not share her dirty past. Or was he depending on her shame? Either way, he underestimated her. He underestimated me. And he underestimated our trust.

  Fuck, I need Pops here to explain this madness.

  “Hey, you okay?”

  I look up and find Brad with a towel draped around his neck, his face wet. I cough my throat clear, looking back to the kitchen doorway. “Yeah,” I murmur, my mind spinning. I’m going to be fine. Everything is going to be fine. Returning my attention to Brad, I brace myself for the shock I’m about to encounter. “I asked Rose to marry me.”

  He’s quiet for a second, though his eyes are wide. And then he starts laughing. “What?”

  “You heard.” I stalk past him, heading for the gym. I need to work off some of this lingering anger. Ernie? My mother? My girl? I blow out my cheeks, the shock growing.

  Brad is quickly on my heels. “I think I heard.”

  “You heard,” I confirm. “I want out. I want to wake up in the morning and not wonder who’s going to try to kill me today.”

  “That’s never going to happen.” Brad laughs again. “Not while you have enemies.”