Merciless: Arranged Marriage Romance

by Esme Devlin

  Two completely different scenarios, each with positives and negatives. I try to think of which one would be more likely to work, and also which one I’d be most likely to actually pull off.

  Am I even capable of playing nice with Tommy Heenan?

  I’m not sure about that. The boy has rubbed me up the wrong way since we were eight years old. Even then, he was a little shit, and ten years later, not much has changed. He wants everything his own way. He walks around the school like he owns the halls and everyone who dares to walk them. He’s a bully who thinks if he pushes people around enough, they’ll do his bidding and be grateful he asked them to in the first place.

  I can’t imagine being civil with him, let alone nice.

  The alternative would be much easier to stomach, however dangerous. What’s the worst that could happen? He’s not going to kill me. I have a reminder of that tattoo’d on my ribs, in Roman numerals. I was fifteen then, and it’s still true now. What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.

  Til death us do part, that’s the vow we’re going to make in a month’s time. The clock is ticking.

  If that’s the way it has to be, then I’m dragging him to hell with me.

  I wake up in the middle of the night and turn over in bed. I’m in that beautiful state where I’m half asleep, every bone in my body perfectly comfortable, but I’m kind of conscious too so I can experience the sheer bliss of it. I love that. Or at least, I would love that if I didn’t need the toilet.

  I haul myself out of bed, heading for the en-suite, when I trip over a hard lump on the floor and almost go flying into my wardrobe.

  “Christ, woman!”

  “What the fucking fuck!!” I scream, almost jumping clean out of my skin.

  I hold on to my chest because my heart feels like it’s about to canter right out of it. “What the fuck are you doing?” I’m screeching like a banshee, I must sound ridiculous but I’m so passed caring about that.

  What is he doing in my bedroom?

  “Well, would you rather I climbed right into bed and spooned you?”

  I rub my eyes and try to make sense of the situation as my heart-rate finally begins to settle. “I’d rather you fucked off back to your own house,” I tell him.

  My mouth feels like I’ve been chewing on powder. I need a drink.

  I go to the bathroom and switch the light on, filling the glass at the side of the sink and gulping it down. I turn around, the light now flooding out into my bedroom and see that he’s shirtless, propped up on his elbow on the floor right beside my bed.

  “Well, your da’ wasn’t home and my eyeballs were burning, what was I supposed to do?” He sits up and stands up, all in the one fluid motion, and then he puts his arms up by his head and stretches out. On any other guy, that would be a body you’d still be thinking about days after it fucked you. On Tommy… well he knows exactly what he’s doing, the bastard. “Should I have fallen asleep on the sofa while you slipped right by me, straight out the door and off into the night?”

  “I have no money.” I shake my head at him as if I’m smart and he’s stupid. “No car. What was I going to do, hitch a ride to the fucking Caribbean?”

  He shrugs and sits down on my bed as if he owns it. Oh wait, he does think he owns it. “Sure you’d have found a way, Shelly. You’re clearly resourceful.” He says it in a way that makes it obvious it was a dig, and not a complement.

  “And you’re clearly a psychopath,” I snap right back at him.

  He laughs, his eyes dancing. “A thief and a psycho, imagine the babies we will make?”

  He thinks I stole the money? I don’t know what’s worse, that he thinks I stole it or he thinks there’s even a chance we’d have children together. I snort at his audacity. “I’d cut your balls off in your sleep before it came to that.”

  “A violent thief and a psycho… they’ll rule the whole fucking world, Shelly,” he says, winking at me.

  Arguing with him is like playing swing-ball. I bat it away and it does a loop around the pole and comes right back at me. It’s so pointless, why am I wasting my energy? I turn around in a huff, slamming the bathroom door so I can piss just like I intended to in the first place. I run the taps first so he can’t hear me, though — performance anxiety.

  When I come out he’s propped up on my pillows in the middle of the bed, like a king waiting for his mistress. “You need to move,” I tell him.

  He smirks. “You need to make me.”

  Oh, he wants to play that game? I watch him, his expression silently daring me to move. A minute ago I was looking at him like I wanted to smother his face with the pillows, and while I still feel that way, I’m no longer showing it.

  Now I’m looking at him exactly the way he’s looking at me. Like I’m daring him to come and get me. His breathing deepens when a smirk plays across my face and I take a step forward.

  His eyes are practically dancing.

  I’ve learned more about Tommy in this minute than I have in the last ten years. This is what he likes. No, this is what he loves — a game of cat and mouse.

  Snake and mouse.

  I’m close now, so close he could reach out and grab me if he wanted to. But he won’t, he wants me to be the aggressor so he can enjoy putting me in my place all the more. I stand there looking down at him while he looks up at me. My hand reaches out like I’m about to touch his face. I look at my hand. I look at his face. I bite my lip.

  Then I grab a hold of the pillow and rip it right out from under him.

  “Don’t forget to make the bed when you get up,” I tell him, strolling out of my bedroom and towards the stairs.

  I hear him chuckling behind me but I don’t turn around.

  He can play snake and mouse all night long.

  By himself.

  Chapter 7

  TOMMY

  I left not long after she woke me up. I heard her parents come home and went down the stairs to see her curled up on the sofa, hugging her pillow with the dog nestled at her feet. Her damp hair looked darker than normal, and with a fresh face and her lips slightly open she looked so innocent.

  I stood there, wondering how such a little hornet could look so angelic when she’s sleeping?

  Probably cause she wasn’t talking, that’s how.

  I explained the situation to her dad, who assured me it wouldn’t happen again. Fucking right it won’t happen again — my old man would hit the roof.

  For ten years, my dad has been selling her dad our product at below market prices. Ten years her dad has been profiting from it, laundering the money and making himself a small fortune in the process. He was nothing until he met my dad. Michelle and I are just part of the deal, so old Mr McLean can hand the company over to me when he retires. Well, me and Michelle, although she won’t be interested in having anything to do with it.

  If ten years worth of effort falls apart because she won’t suck it up and do what is required of her, then my dad will have been doing it for nothing. And who is he going to blame for that?

  Me and her, that’s who.

  I finish the chat with her dad and phone Stuart just after three in the morning, and he comes back with Michelle’s car. Jody tags along in his car so we all have a ride home, and I jump in the front seat beside him.

  “All sorted?”

  I chuckle half-heartedly while I rub my eyes. “Do you know, I think we might just hate each other a wee bit less than we did yesterday.”

  They start laughing as Jody pulls the car out of the drive. “Don’t talk shite, man.”

  Ryan pipes up in the back. “What did you do, stick one in her? That’s what usually does the trick, is it not?”

  I laugh at him and shake my head. “I swear for a second I thought she was about to jump on it. Turns out she’s the queen of the bluff.”

  “And now you’re the king of the blue-balls,” Stubsy shouts.

  “Mate, don’t even joke about it. I swear this time next month I might as well forget I have a pair. T
hat’s if she’s not kicking me in them.”

  “Shame, I mean she’s got a cracking wee set of tits on her,” Stuart says.

  Aye, she does — I’ll give her that. But I don’t appreciate the compliment coming from anyone other than myself. I stick my hand on Jody’s headrest and poke my head through the middle of the seats. “You’ll get a cracking wee set of teeth to play with if I hear you talking about her like that again.”

  “No hassle, Tommy.” He sticks his hands up in defense and I turn back around. I know he’s just messing around. I’m trying my best to be lighthearted but Jesus, the girl has me in a state. Yesterday and all the days before that — I just didn’t like her very much. Now I don’t know if I’m raging with her, or if I actually want to stick my cock inside her.

  She adds unnecessary complications to my life. Where I come from, that’s not how it’s supposed to be. My dad married my mum when they were teenagers, she looked after him, she supported him, made sure there was always hot food on the table while my dad worked his arse off to give her everything she wanted. He did give her everything she wanted, and she helped him do it. Michelle doesn’t want that, hell, I don’t think she even knows what she wants. But whatever it is, she wants to go and get it herself. She doesn’t want any man, especially me, giving it to her.

  It’s the complete opposite of what I’m supposed to want, and what my dad paid for. But in some strange way, there is a part of me that finds her appealing. I still can’t stand her, or her up-her-own-arse attitude, but there’s a fire inside her that I can respect. Even if she’s trying to burn me with it. I think a part of me enjoys playing with that fire, seeing how close I can get before it licks up and singes me. I’ve always been a gambler and I usually play to the death, all or nothing. Even when the odds are against me, I don’t let go easily. I love winning. I love the game.

  I just need to make her enjoy playing it with me.

  I beep the horn twice outside her house to let her know I’m here. Since I never gave her car keys back, I’m driving her to school until I decide I can trust her to have them back.

  The sun is up, but its position in the sky cloaks the house and the gravel yard in shadow. I look up at the windows, trying to catch some bit of movement.

  I’ve always thought the McLean house was strange. It doesn’t quite know what it’s supposed to be. Like someone has crossed a farm cottage with a fine stately home. A rugged oak door with an ornate gold filagree knocker.

  It’s jarring.

  I don’t understand why her mum didn’t just buy a fine stately home, instead of trying to dress mutton up as lamb.

  Michelle comes to the door with a sour look on her face, glaring at me as she walks across the gravel to my car. Her skirt is too short; that’s the only thing I notice apart from her face. She’s counting on me saying something about it, so I make a conscious effort not to.

  I get out and open the door for her, giving her my best smile.

  “Good morning, princess.”

  She sticks her middle finger up, and I take her bag while she jumps up to the passenger seat. I shove her bag in the boot before I get into my side.

  “Not a morning person, are you?” I ask as I start the engine.

  “I’m not a being picked up person,” she tells me.

  I chuckle as the car rolls over the gravel driveway. “No, you’re a run from your problems person.”

  She snorts in reply. “And you’re a chase after me person.”

  “‘I’m a take what is mine person,” I say, shrugging.

  I look over at her and she’s glaring at me. “You’re a disgusting person.”

  I sigh and shake my head while I stop for a red light. “I’m not going to argue with you the whole way to school.”

  “Good,” she says, smiling now. “You’re going the wrong way. You need to stop at the garage.”

  I check my fuel gage which is three-quarters full. “Why would I do that?”

  “They do Costa coffee and I get one every morning. It’s non-negotiable.” Her face isn’t glaring anymore… it’s fucking taunting me.

  Like she is pushing me to be the bad guy, and to say no to her.

  I swing the car around and do a U turn in the road, heading for the garage. It’s only five minutes away and I won’t have her bitching that she didn’t get her caffeine on my account.

  We get to the garage, it’s just a small one with two fuel pumps so I park the car out the way so I’m not taking up space. I yank the handbrake up, switching the engine off. “Make it quick,” I tell her.

  She just sits there, looking at me expectantly.

  I watch her face, full of makeup, while she stares at me intently. Clearing my throat, I ask her, “You want me to go?”

  “No, I like it made a specific way,” she says, still looking at me as if she wants me to go.

  I shake my head at her. What the fuck is she waiting for?

  She rolls her eyes as if it’s obvious. “You expecting me to pay for the coffee with thin air and the promise of good will?”

  I laugh at her as the realization dawns on me. I still have her money. “Aye alright, smart-arse.”

  I pull a note out my wallet and give it to her, and she smiles while she takes it off me.

  “Oh, thank you, babe. You are far too kind,” she says, sarcasm dripping off her tongue. She opens the door and hops out and I watch her make her way across the forecourt. I swear her skirt is shorter than it was when she got in the car. And she has heels on, I didn’t notice it earlier but now she’s doing that walk that only girls in heels do, like she owns the whole fucking forecourt.

  Bitch.

  She dicks around for ages at the coffee machine and I’m about to come in and do it for her when she finally starts making her way towards the register. I check the time on the dash, feeling my jaw tick. We’re going to be late if she doesn’t move her arse.

  Then I realize she’s not on her way to the register at all. She’s browsing the crisps aisle, picking up each packet and reading the back of it.

  What the fuck is she doing?

  We’re going to be late.

  I sit there watching her, rattling my knee and tapping the side of the door with a coin I found in the ashtray. I give her another minute to get her shit together and choose what damn crisps she wants, and she’s already doing the same thing with the chocolate bars.

  I get out of the car, the smell of petrol thick in the air.

  Call me a junkie, but I’ve always loved that smell.

  She clocks me standing outside the car and I mouth “What the fuck” to her. She just smiles and waves.

  Visions of putting her right over my knee in the back of the car and slapping the sense into her play out in my mind and I push them away. This is what she wants. She wants me to lose my shit so she can paint me as the villain in her mind. I need to stay calm.

  The doors open automatically as I approach them and I stand there, trying to locate her short head in amongst the aisles. I walk down the middle, looking left and right until I see her crouched down low at the end of one. She catches sight of me as I turn the corner, and she’s up in a second, practically running in her heels around the other side. I can hear them clipping on the tiles, and I stop walking and try to listen for where she’s ended up.

  I follow her to the aisle I think she’s in and as I turn the corner, the first thing I see is her bent over, skirt almost so far up her arse it’s indecent. She’s literally fucking displaying herself to me and anyone else who might potentially walk by.

  I can’t deny she has my cock stirring at the thought of what the skirt is barely covering.

  I look around to make sure no one else can see her and I spot something even better. “You do realize there’s a security camera pointed right at you?”

  She jumps up quickly, turning around with a shocked look on her face and I start laughing.

  “Shit!”

  “Exactly, shit,” I storm along the aisle towards her and this
time she doesn’t even try to walk away. Her cheeks are flushed and I fucking love the sight of it — serves her right. I grab her arm and haul her in front of me, heading back along the aisle towards the cash register.

  “Get your fucking hands off me,” she says.

  I shake my head, laughing. “You want to act like a little slut, then I’ll treat you like a little slut. We’ll see if it’s all still fun and games then, won’t we?”

  She tries to tug her arm free, but it’s pointless, my hand fits the whole way around it easily. We get to the register and I smile at the assistant. The guy is looking at us funny, and now Michelle has obviously caught on to the fact she now has a potential witness.

  “Please get your hands off me,” she says again. This time her tone isn’t demanding. Instead, it’s vulnerable. She’s a smart little bitch I’ll give her that.

  “Just a coffee, please,” I tell the guy.

  “That’ll be £2.90,” he says, giving me an awkward half smile back.

  Bingo. We’ve stumbled across a cashier who just happens to be the same as most of the general population — not my circus, not my monkeys.

  “Michelle, give the nice man the money, sweetheart.” I smile sweetly at her and her face scrunches up. I’ll never get used to how quickly she can utilize her acting skills. She could be a professional.

  “It’s lodged between my tits, sweetheart, so feel free to go and get it.” She spits the words out and I just shake my head at her. I’m not that stupid, I know there are cameras everywhere, and knowing Michelle, I would be packed into the back of a wagon with a sexual assault charge quicker than I could blink.

  I drop her arm instead and pull my wallet out of my pocket, handing the guy a fiver and telling him to keep the change.