by E. K. Blair
“Of course.”
I’m willing to go to any length to make sure nothing comes close to touching Elizabeth, but options are limited with the history the two of us carry. Although our time together has been short, it’s been riddled with more than enough to land us both in prison. So Lachlan is it for us.
Wandering into the kitchen, I walk over to the security monitor on the wall and check the cameras out front. I flip through them and stop on the gate camera. I’m watching as Lachlan’s car drives out onto the main road when my cell rings.
“McKinnon,” I answer.
“Good afternoon, Mr. McKinnon. It’s Alexander Stanforth from Stanforth and Partners. How are you doing?”
“I’m well,” I respond to Alex, the architect that will be working on the London property I recently purchased.
“I hope you don’t mind my calling on your cell, but with your interest in expediting the initial meetings, I figured I would bypass your office manager.”
“It’s why I gave you this number, Alex.”
“Good. Well then, I’d like to set up a meeting to discuss the scope of the project, along with schedule and budget. Are you free next week?”
“I can be free. Set it up and call my office to get it on the books, and I’ll be there,” I tell him.
“Sounds good. I’ll get with the team and give your office a call later today.”
“Thanks, Alex.”
Hanging up the phone, I grab an ice pack from the freezer and make my way up to Elizabeth. She’s sound asleep when I enter the room and sit down next to her. The side of her face is swollen; black and blue mar her eye. Gently, I touch the ice to her skin and she flinches.
“Sorry,” I whisper when her eyes flutter open. “The swelling is really bad.”
Her eyes are dilated dopey black, but she doesn’t keep them open long. I watch her lie motionless, soft breaths filling the space around me.
“We used to dance,” her hoarse voice murmurs.
“Who?”
“Me and my dad.”
I don’t say anything when she curls her body over and lifts her head onto my lap.
“Dean Martin was his favorite,” she says sleepily, never opening her eyes. “‘Volare’ . . . that’s the song. He’d sing along, and I remember always giggling during the Italian parts.”
“He had a good voice?” I ask, keeping the ice on her.
“Mmm hmm,” she answers slowly in her listless state. “He’d set me on top of his feet and dance while I hung on to his legs.”
She pauses, letting time falter, and I think she’s fallen back asleep, but then she begins to blink. When her glassy eyes find me, she whimpers, “Why would he leave me?”
Never in my life have I seen so much heartache in anyone’s eyes, and I hate that it’s in hers that I see it. She wants answers, but I have none to give her, and it kills me.
“I thought I made him happy.”
Setting the ice pack on the bedside table, I turn back to her, and with her face cradled in my hands I assert, “I promise you I’ll do everything I can to give you answers. We will find him.”
“What if he doesn’t want me finding him?”
“It doesn’t matter what he wants. It’s not his choice to make.”
This isn’t the woman I know. She’s something else entirely. She may have been putting on an act to deceive me, but she always had a bold-spirited backbone that a person can’t fake. Beneath the lies, that part of her was real, but now it’s lost somewhere inside of her violated body.
She takes in a small pain-filled gasp as she shifts her body.
“Why don’t you soak in a hot bath?”
“What’s the point? Rot is rot.”
“That’s bullshit,” I lash back. “Rot has hurt you, but it hasn’t claimed you. And I suggested a bath to help with your pain, not to clean you.” My words are half truths; I do want to clean her. Clean all the filth from the sack of shit that did this to her. I want to erase him from her skin because the thought sickens me. I want her covered in me, in my scent, with my hands all over her body. I want her to taste like me, smell like me. It’s a feral need to mark her as mine. To own her, every single piece of her.
Pulling her up to me, I press my lips to hers, kissing her softly when I really want to devour her, but she’s much too fragile. Her breath on my tongue sparks a shudder through my veins, causing my pulse to race. It takes control not to throw her down, spread her thighs, and bury my cock deep inside her. I want to fuck her so hard she feels me in her bones.
I force myself back, gripping her neck in my hands as I take in a deep breath that I release slowly.
“I’ve missed having your taste in my mouth,” she says, her words not doing much to help me calm myself.
“I want more than just my taste in your mouth, but I can’t let myself be that selfish with you right now. I won’t be able to control myself, and I’ll just hurt you.”
Getting out of bed, I go to start the bath before returning to her.
“Give me your hands,” I tell her and then help her onto her feet. “Lift your arms.”
Moving slowly, I undress her, careful not to hurt her. When I have her naked in front of me, I quickly remove my clothes and then walk her to the bathroom. I step into the tub first and then hold on to her as I help her into the water. She sits between my legs, leaning back against my chest with a grimace of pain.
Her body is hard to look at. The bruises are enough to get my blood boiling. It coils my gut in a retching of turbulent emotions. There’s a serrated bite mark on her left breast that I didn’t notice last night when I showered her.
“What?” she questions, looking up at me. “What’s wrong?”
“What do you mean?”
“Your body tensed up.”
“I’m sorry . . . I just . . .” I start, trying for gentle words.
“What?”
But gentle doesn’t come easy for me, so I go with honest. “I want to take all these marks away. All the ones that aren’t from me.”
“I’ll always be marked by someone else’s touch. I always have been.”
“I’d give anything to take them away,” I tell her, knowing now that the scars on her back and wrists came at the hands of her foster dad.
“You can’t make me into something I’m not, you know?”
“You’re not my charity case, if that’s what you’re inferring,” I snap with irritation.
“Was I ever? Even in the beginning?”
“No. You were never a woman I pitied.”
“If not pity, then what?”
“There’s no easy answer. I don’t understand you or your reasoning for all the shit you’ve done. All I do know is that I must be crazy for loving you, because dammit, I do love you. I’ve tried not to, I’ve fought it, but I can’t stop.”
“But what about what you said last night? You still hate me?”
“Yes.”
She drops her eyes, but I bring her back to me, saying, “I love you, Elizabeth.”
“Do you really?”
“Of course I do. I’ve killed for you.”
HIS WORDS, HIS truth, they may haunt some people, but for my decrepit soul, they soothe. It’s true—he has killed for me—and I have also killed for him. I murdered Pike when I thought he killed Declan. And it’s also a murder that I wish every day I could take back. But I can’t. The only way I can have Pike is through my mind’s trickery.
But aside from Pike, I was a split second away from killing Richard last night, and it would’ve been all for Declan. In a sick way, it was going to be my gift to him. To rid the world of the man who took my love’s mother. Declan wouldn’t let me pull the trigger though—he did it for himself, robbing me of the satisfaction. I wanted it selfishly, but if there was one kill Declan deserved, it was that one.
Declan’s eyes dig into mine, and I know I’ve touched a nerve by questioning his love for me.
“I’m sorry,” I tell him, running my hands o
ver his, which are tensed around my neck.
“I’ve never been anything but honest with you.”
“I know. I didn’t mean to be dismissive of your words.”
His grip loosens as he relaxes, resting his shoulders against the back of the tub.
“I’m having a hard time processing everything,” I add.
“Then talk to me. Don’t hold it in.”
Declan made his feelings known last week when I read the file on my mother. He made it clear he wants me to deal with my feelings instead of hiding them and locking them away the way I’ve done my whole life. I owe him anything he asks of me because of everything I’ve done to him, but sometimes it’s just easier to go numb.
“Maybe later. I’m still really tired from the pain pill.” But there won’t be a later. I can’t cut myself open like that for him because there’s nothing that will stop the blood gushing from the wound. Declan’s ability to connect me with my emotions scares the shit out of me. There’s too much to feel. There’s too much termagant despair inside me. I need it to go away and disappear so I can find relief.
I’m in the arms of the man I love, the man I was so desperate to have again, and here he is. Flesh on flesh—every part of me touching every part of him, and here I am—scared and closed off. He’s wrapped around me, and I should be content, but in this moment, I crave another man’s arms. It’s Pike I wish I had right now. He’s the only one who can numb me.
He’s safety.
He’s constant.
He’s my painkiller.
“You’ll rest better if you get your thoughts out,” he suggests.
Leaning forward, breaking the contact, I lie, “I’m really tired. Can you help me back to bed?”
“Don’t shut me out, Elizabeth.”
“I’m not. It’s just the tub is uncomfortable, and I really am exhausted and not feeling well.”
I hate lying to him when I swore to him and to myself that I never would, but the alternative is unbearable to even think about. It’s best for the both of us if I don’t go down that road.
Declan dries me off, brushes my teeth, and dresses me. I give him these things because he needs them. I know him well enough to see that he needs his hands on me, to control and take care. He’s always needed that, and I can’t even imagine what these past few days have done to him with not knowing where I was and having that authority taken away by another man.
After he applies the ointment to my cuts, he grabs the prescription bottle and shakes out a pill.
“Here,” he says, holding the mood stabilizer that was prescribed to me by the doctor who examined me the first night I arrived here.
It’s the pill I’ve been tossing in the toilet because I don’t want to lose Pike, and that pill will vanish him from me. I can’t say goodbye though. I don’t want to. I need him. His smell, his voice, his presence. I’m not willing to let him go.
I take the pill from his hand, and when he gives me a glass of water, I cheek it instead of swallowing.
Another lie.
Another deception I swore I’d no longer partake in.
Another broken promise.
“Good girl.”
He walks me back to the bedroom and helps me get into bed.
“I’m going to run downstairs to get something to drink. Are you thirsty?”
I nod my head and watch him as he strides out of the room. When I hear the creaking on the stairs beneath his feet, I spit out the pill. Being in too much pain to get out of bed to flush it down the toilet, I shove it into my pillowcase until I can throw it away. When he returns, he slips under the covers beside me and pulls me into his arms.
“By the way, Lachlan’s going to be staying here,” he tells me. “I want security, and with all that he’s already seen, he’s the only one I trust.”
“Okay.”
“Are you comfortable with that?”
“Yes,” I respond. “From the time I’ve spent with him, I’ve come to like him.”
“While you were sleeping, I spoke with him about your father. He’s working on getting information.”
I nod my head against his chest, unable to speak through my tightening throat. I’m sure Declan feels my body tensing up when he bands his arms a little more strongly around me. Closing my eyes, I inhale deeply as he kisses the top of my head.
“I know it’s upsetting, but I want to be transparent with you about all of this, okay?”
“You don’t think I’m crazy, do you?”
He combs my hair back with his fingers, and I look up at him when he says, “No, darling, I don’t. Lachlan was able to retrieve an old photo of your father, and it’s the same man from the news.”
Declan’s face blurs, and I quickly close my eyes before the tears fall. I can’t think about this. It’s the worst pain I’ve ever felt, so I focus on armoring myself against all that threatens to completely eviscerate me.
“You’re stronger than your emotions,” I hear Pike tell me, the timbre of his voice providing me with the strength I need to take control of my heart.
“Are you okay?”
“Yes.”
“There’s something else I need to talk to you about.”
“What’s that?”
“When I was in London, I hired an architecture firm for the new property. Meetings start next week, so you’re coming with me.”
“London?” I question, pushing myself to sit up. “For how long?”
“For the duration of the build . . . a few years.”
“I . . . um . . .” I stammer, unsure of what to say. Then, the realization that I have nowhere else to go hits me, and it all becomes so terrifying. If somehow I lost Declan again, that would be it for me. He is the only person I have, and without him, I wouldn’t know where to go. Even though I’m now aware that my father is out there somewhere, it’s heartbreakingly clear that he doesn’t want me, or else he’d have come for me.
“You don’t want to go to London?” he questions.
“No, it isn’t that. It’s just . . . I don’t really know.”
My voice cracks slightly, and Declan promptly soothes, “You have nothing to be worried about. I’m here. I’m not leaving you. Wherever I go, you go with me.”
I don’t respond as he holds me close to him. I’m not sure what to say, because even though he says I shouldn’t be worried, I am.
“I really need you to talk to me,” he urges. “Don’t close yourself off again.”
There’s a desperation in his eyes, a neediness that reminds me of our time in Chicago. I played him well, deceiving him to believe I was locked in a violent marriage that I couldn’t escape. He held the same desperation then. He tried so hard to help me, to save me, but I was always careful to keep him at a measured distance. I wanted him to believe he had all of me but none of me at the same time.
The game is over though. No longer do I want to see that look in his eyes. It once gave me pleasure to know I had him fooled, but that absconded the moment he crept into my heart. But in order to keep my soul intact, I need to continue to move in calculated steps.
“I am worried,” I admit.
“About what?”
“About you. If there’s no you . . . there’s no me.”
“You’re scared of losing me?”
I nod.
“You’re not going to lose me, you hear? It’s not happening.”
“I lost you once though. It was my fault. Trust me, I know. But I still lost you. I still know that pain, and it scares me.”
“I know that pain too. It wasn’t just you who felt it.” His words drip with intensity. “I felt it in my marrow. That’s how deep you run through me.”
“So much has happened. I wanted you the second I lost you, and now that I have you, I feel so . . .”
“What do you feel?”
Reaching my hand up to his face, I run my fingers along his jawline and through his overgrown stubble, listening to it crackle against my palm. “Disconnected,” I reveal an
d then drop my hand along with my head.
“Look at me,” he demands, and I do. “It’s okay. I’m having a hard time wrapping my head around everything that’s been thrown my way these past few weeks, so I understand. I’ll take it away, I promise, but it’s going to take time. One thing I need you to know is that I’m here. I’ll remind you of that every day if I have to. I’m here.”
I allow his words to attempt their quieting on my anxiety as I take my hand and cover the bullet wound on his pec, the one Pike inflicted on him with the intent of killing him. My thumb brushes over the raised flesh, and when I look up, his focus is on my hand. Guilt courses its way through my bloodstream. His eyes flick to meet mine, and I ask, “Did it hurt?”
“Not as much as losing you,” he responds, wrapping his hand around my wrist while I continue to run my fingers along my betrayal that’s now branded on him for eternity.
“I manipulated you. I lied.”
“You did. And I hate you for that. I hate you for what your lies turned me into.”
“But you missed me?”
“I couldn’t unlove you.”
Pressing my hand flat against his chest, I feel his heart pumping, and I decide to rip a piece of my own heart off to give to him, exposing a tiny part of what I know I must protect in the fortress of my soul. Declan has always had a way of cutting right through to the core of me. So, I hand over my offering in the form of truth, letting him know, “You scare me.”
His heartbeat grows in force, exposing his frustration to my words.
“What about me scares you?”
“The way you break my walls so easily.”
“Why do you want walls between us?”
“Because I’m afraid to feel right now. There’s so much inside me that I’m fighting off. I’m scared it’ll be too much.”
He lets go of a hard breath, upset with what I just admitted to him. He drops his head for a moment, and then, with controlled force, he grabs my other wrist and pushes me down onto the bed. I don’t resist him when he straddles my legs and sits on top of my thighs. Green eyes scream for obedience, and I give him just that when he rips my top open, tearing the fabric and breaking the buttons to expose my breasts.
