“Has he explained it all? I can’t protect you if you don’t know the truth. He said he had, so I want to hear it from you.”
“Do you mean about the hurting people thing?” I whisper in response. I’m not even sure if he knows. Was that reply scatty enough for him not to understand if he doesn’t know? Christ, I’m confusing myself now. Would Michael know about that sort of thing?
“Yes, Elizabeth. I mean the murders.” Clearly he does. I randomly look around just in case anybody’s listening, because there are so many other people in this car. Stupid Beth.
“You could get sacked for saying that. Have you turned the bugging thing off?”
“No, it’s on. I want him, and you, to understand the severity of your situations. I’m also happy to get sacked if he doesn’t like it. My job is to protect you, and I can’t do that if you fight me.”
“I fought you on the plane because you were an arsehole.”
“I did my job.”
“You were an arsehole.”
“And I’ll do it again if he asks me to. It’s what I get paid for.”
“Michael, you can’t just scoop me up and carry me where he tells you to. I have enough of that from him.”
“Did he tell you about his past?”
“Yes.” We’ve been over this, haven’t we?
“Then he did exactly what I hoped he would, and therefore you now know who you’re with. Now you can make a choice about whether you want that life or not. That is your choice. My job is to protect you, Elizabeth, at all costs. If you fight me again, I’ll knock you out.”
I have nothing to say to that, and my mouth is gaping at the thought. He wouldn’t, would he? I mean, I know there’s been some shady dealings happening in the background, but none of them worth knocking me out over, surely? I try again to find some sort of response but nothing is coming out so I just stare out of the window and hope the situation never arises. Whatever his reason for saying something like that, Conner’s probably right. If I ever really need him in that respect, I’m sure he’ll be there.
The gravel crunches beneath us as the car pulls into the drive, and I stare down at the house I’m now to call home. I’ll only need to go back to the apartment once more to get my stuff loaded and then I’ll never go there again. This mansion in front of me is home now. I look at the key in my hands and twirl it around my fingers as I imagine a real life here with him. Let’s just hope that past doesn’t catch up with him at any point soon. I’ve got quite enough to think about with Pascal and my new building; the last thing any of us needs is another twilight zone of Mafia shit coming to bite us on the arse.
“He told me to tell you he’ll be back later,” Michael says.
“Where’s he gone?” I ask as we walk into the hall.
“I don’t know. He took one of the bikes out at lunchtime and didn’t say,” he replies, walking towards the stairs and then taking them two at a time.
“How was he?” I call up to him as he rounds the corner and disappears.
“Irritated,” he shouts back. Oh, wonderful. Let’s hope he’s got over that by the time he gets back then.
I dump my bag in the closet, having retrieved my phone, and head down towards the kitchen. Perhaps I could make some dinner or something because I’m not entirely sure what I’m supposed to do in this house all on my own. It’s like a sodding mausoleum in some respects, wings that are never used, and rooms I’m sure have never even been looked at. We just spend our time in the same spaces, relaxing as if it was nothing more than a three-bedroom suburban house, with a swimming pool, and a view of the park. I snort to myself and continue onwards past the study. Dinner, yes. I could scavenge the cupboards for a lovely meal. That should be nice for him when he eventually gets here. And I suppose I’m going to have to get used to cooking a meal for two every night, unless Mary’s here. What do we do about Mary? I want to cook every night. I don’t want someone else doing that for us. Mind you, she can hang on to the cleaning if she wants. I’ve never been a fan of tidying my own home, kitchen maybe, but changing sheets has never been on the top of my to do list. And this is a big house. Yes, Mary can stay.
“My dear,” I hear from the doorway. My head shoots round to find Pascal sitting behind Alex’s desk, shuffling papers and looking what can only be described as dodgy.
“Oh, you’re here,” I reply as I push the door open a little more and wonder why he’s looking through Alex’s things. He folds a piece of paper, puts it in his pocket and looks up at me with a smile.
“I am. I thought we might talk a little, some of your English tea, perhaps?”
“Well, Alex isn’t here and I don’t know when he’ll be back, but…” He looks at me and then stands up, showcasing his absolute magnificence as he beckons me with his hand and licks his lips. I’m so not doing this without Alex being around, no matter how much I might want to.
“I am more than aware of this fact. We could occupy ourselves together while we wait, hmm? I am quite jealous that your lips have not been around me yet,” he states, all green, sparkly eyes and dangerously tempting hands, tapping them on the table just like Alex does and reminding me where they’ve been, where his cock’s been, and not been. My eyes are so quick to traitorously travel the length of him and his quite beautifully fitted suit that I bump into the wall while watching him.
“That’s not talking,” I say as I back my way out of the room and head for the safety of the kitchen again. I will not do this without Alex. After his reaction in Berlin, I have no idea how he would feel about anything happening without him.
“You seem afraid of me, my dear,” he says as he follows me in, actually sounding quite worried. “You look nervous, and while it is thoroughly intoxicating, I am uncomfortable with he thought.”
“You are?” I reply, slightly stunned at the emotional reaction to my inner turmoil. He smiles. it’s not entirely genuine; he’s clearly not that emotional. I stare at him for a few seconds while trying to work out what to say. I’m not afraid of him in the slightest. I’m just not sure what the etiquette around us is. “I’m not afraid, Pascal. I’m bothered by the potential consequences. I don’t understand what we can and can’t do.”
“Ah, yes. He is jealous, no? We should address this. Come here and kiss me.” What? No. He flicks the button on his jacket and waits for me to launch myself at him. It’s hard not to, to be fair.
“No. That’s what I’m trying to say. He’s-” He’s across the floor and sweeping me up into his arms before I can blink, aggressively holding me and grasping the back of my neck to force my lips to his, and I can’t stop melting into him. I wish I could, but his mouth is divine and I can feel my whole body trembling at just the thought of more. His frame moves us backwards until there’s something hard behind me, stopping me from running from him. Not that I would, because all thoughts of Alex are disappearing, all thoughts of loyalty diminishing with every clash of teeth and grind of his thigh against me. He suddenly stops and pulls away, leaving me utterly breathless as he just stands there and reaches into his pocket. I stare wide-eyed in response, waiting for whatever he’s about to deliver. He pulls out his cigarettes and smirks. Right.
“If I choose to, my love, I can have you wherever I like. Here, in the hall, perhaps in his bed? It is futile to concern yourself with the obligation you have to him. I have fucked most things he has offered with no moral implications in the matter at all. If he didn’t want me to have you, he simply would not have collared me. He does not yet appreciate that,” he says as he sits at the table and lights up. I continue with my stare and then shake my head at the statement. Could he make this any less emotional if he tried? My heart slumps slightly at the thought so I turn to the cupboards and try to focus on cooking some food instead. Maybe that’s exactly what I should do – just forget the feelings I have for him and use him as and when Alex asks for it. Just enjoy those moments and keep it businesslike maybe. I can feel the sigh leave my chest at the very thought. That’s not what I
want with either of them. I need that connection to do this. I need to know Pascal has feelings, too, that he wants me not just because of Alex.
“Do you love me, my dear?” Interesting question. Do I? Probably. In fact, more than likely. I keep opening the cupboards and retrieving ingredients as I ponder the thought. Alex asked me that once before and I said no, but now I’m not so sure. I would kill for Alex. I would lay my life on the line to prove my love for him, but Pascal? I suppose I did put myself in harm’s way for him with maniac woman.
“I don’t know you well enough to truly know.” It’s the only honest reply I have at the moment.
“Would you like to?” Oh my god, I’m so confused by this man. As if Alex wasn’t enough. I slam the bottle in my hand down on the counter top and swing round to face him.
“What do you want from me? For God’s sake, Pascal, what? Do you know how hard this is for me? I’m not one of you immoral sluts, Pascal. I’m me, and I’m in love with Alex, who is difficult enough without you adding to the mix. Can you even begin to imagine how hard it is for me to do all this and keep him happy? He’s jealous of whatever this is,” I snap out, flicking my hands between us. “And yet he wants it. And you. What the hell am I supposed to do with that? And why would you ask me that question and confuse what you just said about no moral implications. Morals? Really? As if you have any clue what morals are? I’m tired, Pascal. I’m tired of trying to work this out. I’ve just moved in with a man who wants me to screw another man, too. Does that even compute as odd to you?” He just sits there, not a hint of a reaction to my tirade as he blows out another puff of smoke and watches me catching my breath. Fucking man. I could hate him sometimes.
“Hmm. A very fascinating speech, my dear. However, you have still not answered the question.”
“What question?”
“Would you like to know me better?”
“Yes, probably.” It’s instant. I don’t even think about it, and as one of his genuine smiles creeps across his lips, I turn my head back to the cupboards in infuriation. Lasagne. I’ll make Lasagne. It’s Italian, and he likes Italy, doesn’t he? Alex, that is. I delve into the fridge to check for mince and try to forget the conversation that’s going on. I’ll just make food and pretend this is all innocent, that it’s just another day in a normal household.
“Would you tell him that?” What? Christ. “Endure his wrath, for me?”
“I endured a whip for you, Pascal,” I mumble in response as I grab an onion and start chopping, though at this moment, I can’t for the life of me remember why. An arm wraps around the front of me and softly pulls me away from the chopping board. The hand holding the knife is pulled up to his mouth and kissed over my shoulder.
“Then we shall suffer his fury together, my love. If you wish for that clarity then I might force it from him for you.” My whole body freezes at what that could mean.
“Pascal, I didn’t mean you had to-”
“One must be ready to combat the inevitable, Elizabeth, at some point,” he says as he lets me go and walks away towards the door. I turn to see his relaxed gait wandering away, and wonder what he’s just inferred. Presumably it has something to do with beatings.
“Pascal, I really don’t think... I mean, I don’t want to see you...” Get hurt. He’s gone, so I just stare at the door and try to get my head around what he means by any of that. He couldn’t have meant that he considers me worth fighting for, could he? I suppose he did say that once, that if Alex fucked up again, he’d take his chance next time around. And he has, on occasion, offered me a choice between them, hasn’t he? But he’s collared now. I shake my head at the doorframe again and turn back to my chopping, still confused, and still tired of trying to work all of this out.
Chapter 26
Alexander
- If you’re wondering where it is, brother, I have it.
H e looked at the text again. Why did she have his fucking money? Why? And how the hell did she get it. He’d tried to call her but the phone line had been dead. It didn’t surprise him, given the computer genius that she was, but why send the text and then not talk to him? He’d travelled to her apartment and picked the lock to find the space empty apart from furniture. Even a phone call to Mrs. Peters hadn’t helped in tracking her down. It seemed the woman thought she was in Europe with friends for Christmas and the New Year.
Two days he’d been trying to find the money that had somehow disappeared from the Chinese lawyer’s account. It had been there for a day in their holding account and then he received an email from Tom to say that the deal was off because the money was missing. He couldn’t give a fuck what the Chinese were saying in all reality. He’d battle them and more than likely win because the sale was recorded and he had all the legal documentation to prove it. Whether it went missing while in their possession was neither here nor there in the eyes of the law, but some fucking moral obligation was now piquing his curiosity in the matter. Also, the fact that some other bastard was interfering in his dealings was intolerable. He would win, but this would take years to wrangle his way through – years he didn’t have, given the peace he was trying to find for his angel. Several phone calls to Conner for his help had proved reasonably useful in that Conner scoured all his accounts again for any interference and found none.
He looked back up at the night sky and narrowed his eyes at the moon shining too brightly. It hindered his approach and made him feel like he was in the spotlight, never a place the real version of him liked much. So he stared at the old manor house on the other side of the road and snarled at the thought. What the hell was he doing here? He had business he should be dealing with. Why he’d felt the need to ride all the way out here and drag up old ghosts was beyond him, but something was nudging him, that old sense of a lie travelling along his spine and telling him something was off.
“I love you,” whispered through his mind. Two voices now told him that, and both of them regardless of all his faults, one of them maybe because of them. He could face this and deal with the man, find out if he was the one sending the texts or if someone else was trying to scare him for some reason. He watched the dim lights in the house flickering and wondered what he was going to say to the bastard after all this time. He should have brought his angel with him. She would have known how to deal with the problem. He checked his watch again and wondered if the man ever slept. It was 1.30am now, and he’d been sat here for a little over an hour, waiting for the lights to go out so he could go in and look around, perhaps search the study for any relevant information. Son… The word kept droning on in his mind to counter the love. Son? Never once had the man used the word that he could remember. Little shit, prick, Nicholas on occasion, but never son. Why would he bother using the term now?
He wrenched his helmet off in frustration and climbed off the bike to push it further into the trees. Hopefully no one would steal it if he hid it a little. He snorted in derision at his thoughts given the quiet country lane in the middle of nowhere. It was highly unlikely any traffic would even come past while he was inside. He stared at the house a bit longer and eventually decided he was going in, regardless of whether the bastard was awake or not. Maybe he should just choke the information out of the man, demand he told him the truth and then just leave. Short and sweet, no discussing old fucking times or sneaking about while the man slept. Yes. Fuck it. He was going to find out what the hell the man thought he was playing at, if it was him. He’d got the element of surprise at least, and if he just went in there and asked direct questions then the man would have to answer him.
He sucked in a breath and pushed away the visions assaulting him with every step towards the house. He refused to feel intimidated by the air around him. Even it wasn’t his family home, the connotation was the same. Just being within twenty feet of the brickwork was enough to bring those memories flying back. He could feel those broken ribs again, almost sense his fear returning with every crunch on the gravel beneath his feet to remind him of the crack of bo
ne. His bones, the bones his father broke, repeatedly. He halted outside what appeared to be the lounge window and watched the back of a man wander across the room to a cabinet. The chills that crawled up his spine as that man turned and looked through the window very nearly had him turning back around again for his bike. Instead, he sunk back into the shadows to make sure the bastard couldn’t see him. Those eyes were still the same, and his frame was still huge even though age had changed his features. Wrinkles lined his face and his black hair was now greying slightly, but other than that, the man was still exactly as he used to be. He was still evil in his appearance, or at least he was to Alex. He supposed to all his clients, Richard Adlin was the epitome of a decent old lawyer – good mannered and well respected in all his circles. They knew nothing of the man who killed his mother and beat him black and blue for years. Nor did they know of the man who locked all the doors and made him beg for a chance to go outside, just a chance to play with the other children in the street. His fists tightened as the bastard just stared back into the night and eventually made his way out of the room. He followed the frame with his eyes as it moved its way toward the front door and then sneered as it opened.
“Who’s there?” the bastard’s voice shouted, still abrupt enough in its tone to make him flinch a little in response. His body reacted in its normal pathetic state. Legs trembling, heart beating rapidly, throat constricting around words he couldn’t get out. “Fuck you, Dad.” He wanted to scream that out loud, shout it and show the man the monster he’d shaped, let all that rage descend upon the one man who truly deserved his anger so he could truly feel an emotion in the act, just for once. He listened to his own breathing and watched the air puff into the cold night sky, rapid bursts of energy filtering from his mouth as he tried to stave off the fear clawing at him. “I love you. I will always love you.” Elizabeth’s voice came at his mind again to counter the silhouette on the porch. His angel’s voice breaking the moment and reminding him he was worthy, that he could do this, that he was strong enough to handle any threat, including his father. He cracked his neck about and flexed his hands out of their death grip on nothing. He just needed the information, just needed to know the ifs and whys, and then he could leave. “I’ve got a shotgun here.” He smiled a little at the comment. It really wouldn’t take much for that to be used for a damn good purpose.
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