by Nina Levine
“Of course you fucking do.” His jaw clenches and he looks away from me for a moment. Then, swinging his face back to mine, he reaches for the neck of my dress. Pulling it down, he rubs his thumb over my skin and settles his eyes on my neck. “I don’t know what the fuck I wanted.”
He lets me go, pushes off from the wall, and strides down the hallway to the restaurant exit.
My heart races as I watch him leave, both wishing he’d come back and that he’d never set foot in my life again.
I spend a little too long staring after him before I come to my senses. I need to get back to Joe, but first, I need to double-check my neck and make sure Mason didn’t expose any of his bite marks. That’s the last thing I need to deal with today.
“You were quiet during dinner,” Joe says on the drive home from the restaurant.
I glance across the car, finding him watching me while he waits for the red light to turn green. Rain gently falls, droplets of water trickling down the windows, providing the soundtrack to a night I wish I didn’t have to live through. “You and Nicholas spent all night discussing business. I didn’t have anything to contribute to the conversation.”
“Chelsea, at any point in the conversation, you could have spoken up. Changed the subject.” The light turns green, and he directs his attention back to the road. “Contrary to what you may think, I want this to be a partnership between us. I want you involved in our marriage and our life.”
I stare out my window. I don’t know what to say to that because everything that’s gone down between us today hasn’t led me to believe a word of this.
After I returned from the bathroom earlier in the night, after seeing Mason, Joe was foul with me. That lasted for half the dinner. I’d expected it, though, after I told him I didn’t want children anytime soon. The second half of dinner wasn’t as bad, but on a scale of one to ten, with ten being him at full asshole level, this dinner rated as an eight. Maybe that’s because I was already in a mood with him going into it, but either way, it was a night I never want to relive. And now I have to get through the rest of the night, fending him off so he doesn’t see Mason’s marks on me.
Joe places his hand on my thigh. “Don’t ignore me.”
I look back at him, avoiding thinking about his hand on me. It burns through my dress, increasing my worry over what will happen when we arrive home. “Trust me, I’m not.”
His grip on my leg tightens. “I’m fucking done with this attitude. Perhaps we need to spend more time together so you can learn to read me better. I’ll get my assistant to clear some room on my calendar. We’ll go away for a weekend here and there.”
Oxygen ceases to make its way into my lungs. I can’t spend weekends away with him. It’s bad enough spending them with him in Brisbane, but at least we’re surrounded by other people here. Weekends away signal time alone. And sex. God, weekends away are all about sex, and that’s the last thing I want more of with him.
“You don’t need to clear your calendar. I know how busy you are. I’ll work around your calendar and schedule in extra time for us when you’re free.” I hate every word coming out of my mouth, but I hate the alternative more.
He looks at me. “I appreciate that.”
When he looks ahead again, I exhale the breath I was holding.
Fifteen minutes later, we’re home and I’ve locked myself in our bathroom while Joe takes care of some work things that cropped up during the night. He told me he’d be up soon, so I’m now commencing my final freak out before he potentially discovers that I fucked Mason last night.
“Chelsea,” he calls out, coming to our bedroom much sooner than I expected. I thought his work would take at least an hour.
“I’ll be out in a minute,” I say, willing the fear in my veins to calm the fuck down so I at least don’t look stressed. That won’t be a good look, and it will draw his attention in all the wrong ways.
A minute passes.
Two.
Five.
I open the bathroom door and exit into the bedroom, where Joe is nowhere to be found.
Oh God, this game is my least favourite game I’ve ever played.
“There you are,” he says, coming back.
I almost jump out of my skin I’m on such a fine edge.
Turning, I collide with him, not realising he’s so close. He slides one hand around my waist and the other through my hair to take hold of my head. His lips are on mine in an instant and his tongue demands my submission.
I kiss him back while frantically contemplating my next move. When his hand goes to the zip of my dress, I pull my mouth from his. Meeting his gaze, I say, “I meant it when I told you I don’t like sex while I have my period.”
I try to move out of his embrace, but he tightens his hold on me.
“And I meant it when I told you that needs to change.” His voice is dark, flashing warning bells in front of me.
My heart practically beats out of my chest as I push my way out of his hold. “It’s not going to change, Joe.”
His jaw clenches, and I see the battle he wages on the inside. He doesn’t like my lack of obedience, but I’m unsure if he’ll force it. I have no doubt that at some point in our marriage he will. I just don’t know if we’ve reached that point yet.
He undoes his belt, his eyes firmly on mine.
The sound of it sliding over the fabric of his pants as he removes it ratchets up my fear.
He drops it on the bed and moves his fingers to the button on his pants. Flicking it open, he reaches for the zip.
“You will learn to enjoy sex at all times, Chelsea. I will make sure of it.”
I’m going to vomit.
My hand absently moves to my neck.
I was kidding myself thinking I could keep these bite marks and bruises from him.
He slides his zip down and reaches for me.
His hand curls around my neck, touching the marks he doesn’t yet know exist.
Bringing his mouth to mine, he kisses me again.
It’s rough. Demanding. Cold.
It’s a reminder of his power.
A promise of what’s to come.
When he’s done with my mouth, he moves his hand to the top of my head. Pushing me down, he says, “If you won’t fuck me tonight, you can get on your knees instead.”
As I take my husband’s cock into my mouth, I imagine it’s Mason’s just so I can get through this. As I suck it, I still think of Mason. And after, when I curl into a ball on my side of the bed, I think about the day far, far in the future when I never have to share a bed with this man again.
That day can’t come soon enough.
All I can hope is that I haven’t lost myself completely when it arrives.
9
Gunnar
This week can go to hell. It’s been fucked up from the get-go. Now that I’m staring at a long afternoon taking care of Joe fucking Hearst’s bullshit, I’m more pissed than I was when I woke up. And that’s saying something, because I went to bed angry after seeing Chelsea and Joe last night, and woke up with that anger still sitting deep in my gut.
I couldn’t fucking help myself, hanging around after Griff and I finished club business with him. I watched Chelsea with him and that reporter. Watched him put his arm over her and pull her close. Watched her laugh when he said shit. When she put her hand to his chest and looked up lovingly at him, I was done. Fuck, I thought I was, but no, I still chose to torture myself by waiting for her in the hallway outside the bathroom when I saw her slip in there.
I’d told her that fucking her did nothing for me. That was a load of fucking shit. It stirred my need for her to new fucking levels, and I’ve spent nearly every second since, thinking about her. Hell, I wanted to fuck her again outside that fucking bathroom. Especially when I saw my bite marks on her neck.
“Gunnar,” Griff says as we enter the office building of the first asshole we have to see for Hearst this afternoon. “You think you can hold your shit together for this? ’Cause I’m looking
at you, and I’m not seeing any semblance of calm in you.”
“That’s a big fucking word, Griff.”
He comes to a halt, his eyes flashing with irritation. “You wanna be a smartass, I can work with that, but we’re gonna need to take that shit outside.”
Fuck.
I exhale a long breath. “Sorry, brother. I’m good.”
He watches me silently for a beat. “You fucking sure about that, because I don’t need you to go in there and fuck shit up. I don’t need Hearst or Novak busting my fucking balls like they have been.”
“I’m sure.” I’m fucking not, but I’m not telling him that.
He stabs a finger at me. “If you screw shit up, this’ll be the last job you come on with me. I’ll fucking put you to work at Indigo instead.”
Christ, that’s a fucking threat, and he knows it. Working at Storm’s strip club isn’t something I like to do. Fucking ever. Some of those strippers are whiny bitches who do my head in.
I follow him up to the office of the guy we’re here to see. He lets us in with hesitation that soon turns to anger when Griff tells him why we’re here.
“Just a friendly reminder to keep supporting Novak,” Griff says. “You withdraw that support and he’ll have your application blocked.” An application for zoning the guy needs to push his commercial development through.
The guy’s face puffs up red. “You go back and tell Novak that if he screws me in the ass, I’ll screw him right back.”
“No,” Griff says more calmly than I’d be saying it, “you just tell us now that your support is guaranteed, and we’ll take that back to him. He’ll play nice after that, and you’ll get your development.”
“I’m not guaranteeing anything. Not with the current policies it looks like he’s bringing in.”
Griff moves towards him, and the guy flinches while trying like fuck to appear unaffected. “You wanna revise that statement?” Griff’s voice takes on a darker tone; he was just getting warmed up.
The guy shakes his head. “No. And it’s time for you two to leave.”
“We’re not leaving until we get what we came for,” Griff says.
“Well, we’ve got a problem then.”
Jesus, this shit could take all fucking day at this rate.
I walk to the guy and grab him roughly by the shirt. Yanking him to me, I growl, “That’s not what we wanna fucking hear. Try again.”
His eyes flare with fear. He’s a suit-wearing, desk-riding dickhead. This kind of force is what men like him need to respond in the way we want them to. “You’re going to threaten me to get what you want?”
I grip his shirt harder. “I’m gonna do whatever the fuck it takes to get what we want.” My eyes land on the framed photo of him with a woman on his desk. Jerking my chin at it, I say, “That your wife?” I’m not big on threatening innocent family members, and wouldn’t go through with it, but it works every fucking time.
Real fear fills his face and sweat lines his brow. “Leave her out of it.”
I shove him back so he lands on his ass. Moving so I’m standing over him, I say, “That’s gonna require you giving Novak your support.” Just fucking saying Novak’s name pisses me off, let alone making something happen for him that he wants. This is the worst fucking job I’ve ever had to take on for my club.
The guy stares up at me, torn with his choice. I know I’ve moved him closer to where we want him, so I apply a little more pressure. I walk to his desk and grab the frame. Holding it up, I say to Griff, “We got an address for her?”
Griff nods. “Yeah.”
“Wait! Stop!” The guy pushes up off the floor and comes at me, madly reaching for the photo of his wife. “I’ll fucking give that asshole my support, but if you go anywhere near my wife, I’ll do a fucking interview with the press and tell them everything I know about Mark Novak and his dirty deeds.”
Fuck, I would fucking love him to do that. But that option doesn’t work for my club anywhere near as well as it would work for me, so I let him have his precious frame back and say, “It looks like we have a deal.”
Griff holds up his phone at the guy. “We’ll send you a copy of this.”
The guy scowls. “You fucking recorded that?”
“We’re not fucking idiots,” I say before shaking my head and exiting his office.
Griff follows me out, and when we reach the lifts, I look at him and say, “People always fucking underestimate us.”
He nods. “Yeah, and it makes our job a hell of a lot fucking easier.”
“It fucking pisses me off is what it does.”
We step into the lift when it arrives and Griff selects the ground floor. “Once you figure out how to switch your thinking, brother, your life will be a lot fucking easier.”
“How do you figure that?”
“Look beyond your first assumption. Look for what you’re not seeing on that first glimpse of a situation. The whole fucking world will open up to you.” He pauses. “And maybe you won’t be so ready to punch people all the damn time.”
Griff talks some deep shit sometimes. I respect the hell out of him, but I don’t always agree with what he says. “I’ll take that under advisement,” I mutter. I’m not sure why he thinks I go around punching innocent people. The only people I want to punch are those who fucking deserve it.
It takes us four hours to get through everyone on Hearst’s list, and by the time we’re done, I’m ready to fucking drown myself in a bottle of Beam. We’re on our way back to the clubhouse when a call comes through from Hearst.
Griff takes it while I drive. When I hear him say, “We’ll be there in about half an hour,” I want to fucking stab myself.
“We have to go see him?” I ask, gripping the steering wheel like I’m trying to strangle it.
“Yeah.”
I keep my annoyance to myself while pulling into the left lane so I can change directions. Working at Indigo is starting to sound like a good fucking idea.
“You wait out here,” Griff says as he exits the ute once we get to Hearst’s place.
“Happy to.” I flick the radio up and kick back while I wait for him.
Five minutes after he leaves, a black Range Rover pulls into the driveway at the same time that Hearst comes out of the house. I watch as Chelsea exits the Range Rover and waits for Hearst to meet her. They have a conversation during which she rips her sunglasses off and begins arguing with him. I turn the radio down and hear his raised voice.
“Cancel your plans. We’re having dinner with my parents tonight,” he says. His tone is one I know she despises from the arguments we had.
“I’m not cancelling, Joe. I made my plans yesterday, long before you decided we were going out for dinner. Besides, your parents won’t miss me.” She practically spits that last sentence.
Hearst grabs her bicep, hard enough that she winces. I sit forward. What the fuck? “I told you I was fucking done with your attitude.”
She glares at him before pulling out of his hold, reaching into her bag, and retrieving an envelope. “Here’s the paperwork you wanted.” She shoves the envelope at him. “I have to get back to work. The next time you need something so urgently, organise for your assistant to deliver it. I don’t have time to run around for you.”
She gets back in the Range Rover and slams the door while he turns and stalks back into their house.
The fuck was all that?
A couple of minutes pass and then Chelsea exits the vehicle again. She’s on her phone and has a quick conversation while pacing her front lawn. When she ends the call, she crouches down and drops her face into her hands. I can’t be sure, but it looks like she’s crying.
Fuck.
I’ve never coped well when Chelsea cries, and as much as I don’t want to give a fuck right now, I don’t like what I just witnessed, and I don’t like seeing her cry because of it.
I exit the ute and cut across the lawn to her. “What the fuck’s going on with you and Hearst?”
“I don’t give a fuck if it does or not. I don’t like the way he just touched you.”
She stands, squaring her shoulders like she’s about to take me on. “It doesn’t matter what you like anymore; I’m his, not yours. And you know what? I’m sick of dealing with the both of you. You both just take whatever the hell you want and leave me to deal with the consequences.” She glares at me. “I’m not yours to touch or bite or fuck, and I’m sure as hell not yours to worry about anymore.”
Her words fucking slap me in the face.
What the hell am I even doing? I step away from her and nod. “Yeah, you’re right. My fucking mistake. One I won’t make again.”
I don’t wait to hear her response; I stalk back to the ute. Thank fuck Griff exits the house at the same time so I can kick the engine over and get the fuck out of here. What a clusterfuck of a fucking day.
10
Chelsea
I sip my wine and watch as my husband talks with my father. It’s Thursday night, two nights after we did that disastrous interview before dinner with Joe’s friends, and we’re at a small fundraiser for Dad’s campaign. Small is around three hundred people. One would think that’s a good size for me to try and lose Joe’s attention, but he has a fucking sixth sense as to my whereabouts and always has his eye on me.
He glances up now and meets my gaze. I continue sipping wine because it will annoy him. He told me last night I should cut back on my alcohol consumption. I almost cancelled work today so I could drink all day.
We’ve been married just over five weeks, and it’s safe to say things have taken a definite turn for the worse this week. I don’t know what’s caused it, but I’m arguing back with him more. Standing up for myself more. Saying no more. And he’s becoming increasingly demanding, so between the both of us, there’s a whole lot of tension in our relationship.
