“He was a human trafficker. Brought underage girls in to work for him, the sick shit.” I flexed my hand and suppressed a grimace at the dull throbbing. “And I untied him—he had a fair chance.”
“Right.” Louis took a sip of his drink and leaned back against the high-backed sofa, sprawling out like he was completely unconcerned with my inexplicable rampage. I wished Ben hadn’t called them after I told him to fuck off and let me deal with the human trafficker. If they hadn’t shown up I could have disappeared into my own darkness—and right now, all I wished for was to let it swallow me up.
“But we’re still pretty curious as to why you felt the need to go full-on Hulk. He was going to die regardless,” Louis continued.
“—And you’ve never really struck us as the vigilante-type,” Liam finished.
Fuck, those two could be annoying when you were sandwiched between them. I shot a glare first to my right, and then to my left. “It’s none of your fucking business, is what it is.”
“Ah.”
“Mira, then.”
“What did you do this time?”
“I didn’t do anything!” I growled. “And you two knobheads need to back off right the fuck now.”
“Sure you didn’t.” Liam gave me his driest look as he calmly sipped his drink. “Is she still not putting out, then? It’s been, what, just over a week since you got hitched? Your balls must be blue by now.”
“I don’t care if she puts out or not,” I growled. “She’s not the only woman in the world. It’s not like our marriage is real.”
“Oh, right then.” Louis gestured toward the full dance floor with his drink-free hand. “Then why don’t you go pick up a bird for the night? Nothing like a good shag after a fight, right?”
I gritted my teeth and slumped back against the sofa, arms folded across my chest. Fuckers knew me far too well.
And that was the fucking travesty, wasn’t it? Because ever since I’d woken up next to Mira the morning after our disaster of a wedding, I’d not been able to think about anyone but her. Just the thought of picking up some random girl made me inexplicably sick to my stomach.
But Mira didn’t want me. She’d made that perfectly clear. Sure, her body reacted as strongly to me as mine did to her, but it wasn’t enough. It shouldn’t have mattered—she was just a bird I’d been stuck with against my will, after all. I shouldn’t have given one flying fuck whether or not she wanted me.
So why did I?
I clenched my sore fist at the renewed wave of frustration that rushed through me just from thinking about her. She had brought up my family, brought up my moment of weakness, and as furious as I’d gotten, the moment she threw that wine in my face my only desire was to throw her on the table and fuck her until she begged for my forgiveness. And then again. And again.
I hated her for what she was doing to my already fucked-up mind. At least before I’d met her, the darkness in me was the only thing that’d scared me. Now… now she scared me, because all my thoughts and all my messed up emotions revolved around her. The one woman who refused to give in to me.
The sound of my phone ripped me out of my sulking.
Despite my frustration and generally crappy mood, a touch of curiosity made its way through at the sight of Marcus’ name popping up on the display. It had been maybe a year since he last called me, and then it’d been to tell me to get my arse out of whichever girl’s bed I was in at the time and meet him for a job. We saw each other regularly enough at events and jobs, sure, but we never talked much. So why the hell was he calling me now?
I flicked “answer” and held the phone up to my ear. “Yeah?”
“Your wife is at my place. Come get her.”
I blinked. “Excuse me?”
“Your wife. She’s with me. Come get her.”
“Why the fuck is she—” I stopped talking when the call cut off and cussed under my breath. He’d never been much into phone etiquette—or any manners at all, really. Why the hell had he picked up Mira? Had our house been compromised? My gut dropped and I shot up from my seat, knocking my untouched drink over in the process.
“What’s going on?” Despite Liam’s relaxed pose, his shoulders tensed as he looked up at me. Ready for a fight. Out of all my father’s sons, the twins were the least vicious, but I knew I could always count on them if shit hit the fan.
“I don’t know,” I said, already making my way out of the booth so I could get to my car. “Marcus called, said he’s got Mira with him. I’ll let you know if anything’s going down.”
“Oh. Right. You do that.”
Perhaps if I’d been less focused on getting to Marcus ASAP, I would have paid more attention to the meaningful look that passed between the twins.
* * *
When the elevator doors opened up at the penthouse floor in Marcus’ building, the nervous energy in my body was so intense I had to flex my shoulders and hands a few times before I knocked on the door. If she’d been hurt, he would have said something—I hoped. But then what could have happened to make my crazy-arse brother drive all the way to the suburbs to pick up my wife? And why had he been notified, and not me?
My looping thoughts were interrupted when Marcus opened the door. His face was as blank and unreadable as always.
“She okay?” I couldn’t stop the question from bubbling out. Fuck it, despite spending most of the car ride here reassuring myself, I needed to know. If not, that human trafficker wouldn’t be the last person I’d kill tonight.
“Yes.” Marcus stepped aside, and I walked into his well-lit flat with the view of London that would normally have made me take a few seconds to appreciate the grandness of it all. Today though, I looked around for Mira with no interest in anything else.
She was sitting by the kitchen island with an empty wine glass next to her and a stubborn, yet somewhat unsettled, expression on her pretty face.
A knot I hadn’t been aware of until then loosened in my stomach, and I drew in a quiet sigh of relief.
“Mira, go into the bedroom. Blaine and I need to talk.”
I frowned at the way my brother seemed to think it was okay to order my wife around, but Mira slid off her seat without protest and pattered out of the kitchen, disappearing around a corner. Shortly after, a door clicked shut.
Huh. Seemed even my obstinate wife found it best to obey Marcus without a fight. He tended to have that effect on people, but I could have sworn Mira got off on arguing just for the sake of it.
“What?” I was aware my tone was snappy, but I didn’t care. Tonight had been one long headache, and the way Marcus was eying me, I had a feeling it wasn’t going to get any better anytime soon.
“She says you chased her through the house and threw her down on the floor. Is that true?”
I gaped at him for a moment, completely taken aback.
“Is that true?”
“Why the hell is she telling you about our business? Did you two exchange dirty details of our wedding night, as well?”
“If you ever scare her like that again, or hurt her, you and I are going to have a problem. Mum would roll over in her grave if she knew you were treating a defenseless woman like this.” He hadn’t raised his voice, but there was an unmistakable note of warning in it.
“Scare her? That little tart doesn’t get scared, Marcus. I don’t know what the fuck she’s been telling you, but that is not what went down. And why the hell do you care, anyway? Last I checked, she was my unwanted bride, not yours. If you wanted in on this shit show, you really should have stepped up earlier—saved me the headache.”
“I picked her up a mile from your house. Dad’s put a tap on her phone to make sure the Clerys don’t fuck us over from the inside, and lucky for her, I’m the one who monitors it. She was apparently scared enough to risk the fallout of running off after your little encounter.”
“Run off?” I stared at him, partly shocked that she would be that stupid, and partly impressed that she’d somehow managed to get past the security. And
pretty pissed with the night team for letting her outsmart them like that. “She ran off?”
“Yes.”
“That little…” I stopped myself from finishing that sentence at the look of warning in Marcus’ eyes. “Look, I appreciate you not letting Dad find her, but you can spare me the lecture. She’s fine. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a pain in the arse of a wife to deal with.”
I stepped past him, not waiting for his acknowledgment, and yelled, “Mira!” loud enough to resonate through the flat and into the bedroom where she was currently hiding. I set my jaw at the burst of annoyance that rolled through me at the knowledge that she was hiding from me behind the supposed shield of my brother’s protection. She wasn’t his to protect. Even if I resented the hell out of the job, it was mine, and my muscles itched with an instinctive urge to challenge Marcus for stepping in.
If I’d been drunk I might have given in, but my brain was clear enough to know that I wasn’t guaranteed a win in a fight against Marcus. He’d always been completely unpredictable, and I wasn’t in the mood to lose another showdown tonight. Bad enough my pint-sized spitfire of a wife had slapped me around a few hours ago, even if it was only verbally.
The door to Marcus’ bedroom creaked open, and Mira came round the corner, her face drawn with tension. She stopped before she got to the kitchen area and balled her fists up beside her hips. “What?”
I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from snapping at her challenging tone. If we were going to have another domestic, it wasn’t happening in front of my crazy brother. “We’re going home. Now.”
To my mild surprise, she didn’t argue. Instead, she went over to the counter where she’d left her coat and purse, picked both up, folded the coat over her arm, and then walked over to Marcus.
“Thank you,” she said softly, and then she raised up on her tiptoes and planted a light kiss on his cheek. “For your kindness.”
I wasn’t prepared for the wave of scalding jealousy that rushed through my veins and ended up in my chest in a molten pool of anger. Marcus. Of all people, Marcus was the one she thanked—for his kindness. If it had been one of the twins I could have accepted it, but Marcus? If I had a bad reputation, then he was the fucking anti-Christ, and yet here she was, seemingly completely at ease in his presence. And with his protection. While me… me, she treated like a bloody fiend.
I pushed the sensation down. I didn’t want her, I just wanted to fuck her. Once I’d had my fill of her, this unbearable yearning that scratched at my insides like a thousand ants would pass, and I’d move on to greener pastures like I always did once a bird started to bore me. What did I care if she preferred my brother over me?
I held the door open for her, pretending like every cell in my body wasn’t seething, and when she walked through without a word, I closed it behind us, not bothering to say goodbye to Marcus.
I’d never had any beef with my brothers before, but as I drove out of the parking lot underneath Marcus’ fancy high-rise, dark resentment churned in my gut.
* * * *
Chapter 14
Mira
We didn’t speak for nearly a week after that.
I’d expected Blaine to yell at me for breaking his precious rules, but he didn’t. Instead, he avoided me.
I saw him a few times in the kitchen or on the stairs, and once or twice I caught sight of him headed for the shed in the backyard, but we never exchanged as much as a word.
For the first few days, I saw it as a blessing. What had gone down between us had been way too intense, and I was happy to pretend like it’d never happened. Between Blaine’s anger, my own body’s treacherous reactions to his closeness and the run-in with his disturbing brother, playing make-believe was just fine by me. As much as I wanted to get Blaine to respect—and ultimately trust—me, I sorely needed a few days off from all the drama.
But by day four, the peace and quiet had lost its novelty, especially because neither Rob nor Greg, nor any of the other guards, set foot in the house unless it was to carry in my groceries. When I asked if they wanted tea or a sandwich, they always politely declined and then exited the house as if I’d offered them arsenic. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out that Blaine had had words with his men since I’d managed to sneak out without alerting any of them.
As a result, I was completely isolated, and I was beginning to go more than a little stir crazy. When I woke up on day six after The Incident so nauseous I had to sprint to my en-suite bathroom to throw up, I was done suffering in silence.
I leaned weakly against the toilet after the heaving was finally over, unable to muster enough energy to get off up from the tiled floor.
Great. Just what I needed—a stomach bug.
I stayed on the floor for a good half an hour, until I was reasonably certain I wouldn’t hurl from moving. When I got up, my stomach lurched again, but at least the dry heaves didn’t return. I quickly cleaned my teeth and then pattered downstairs to the front door.
Rob and Greg were back on watch. They both looked mildly surprised at my disheveled appearance when I opened the door, probably thanks to my checkered pajamas bottoms, silk camisole, and sleep-messy hair.
“I need crackers,” I croaked. “And ginger ale.” A pang from my empty stomach made me add, “And gherkins, please,” before I shut the door again, not waiting for a reply. Sure, it wasn’t their fault that they seemingly weren’t allowed to talk to me anymore, but right then, I felt so completely alone in the world that I didn’t have it in me to care whether or not it was their choice to treat me like a leper.
I felt like crap, and no one cared. Heck, if I’d somehow contracted something lethal and died, my so-called husband would likely throw a party to celebrate it.
When Rob popped in to drop off my requested goods approximately twenty minutes later, he found me hunched over the breakfast bar, crying miserably with self-pity.
“Hey now, what’s the matter, love?” He sounded halfway concerned, halfway like he’d rather be anywhere else than trapped with a weeping woman, but instead of fleeing like I would have expected, he put the groceries on the counter and placed a tentative hand on my shoulder.
That one, small gesture of someone actually giving a crap turned my quiet crying into full-on belly sobs.
Rob made a startled noise at the back of his throat, clearly not having expected the Niagara Falls of snot and tears erupting in front of him.
“I-I’m so-sorry,” I hiccuped, doing my best to rein in the torrent of volatile emotions that ripped through my chest. “I’m j-just s-so alone. A-all the time.”
“Mmmh,” Rob hummed, as if that made all the sense in the world. It instantly made me feel a bit better, as if maybe I wasn’t completely crazy.
“Tell you what, why don’t you eat some of them crackers, love, and have a glass of ginger ale? I’ll just give Blaine a call, have him come home to look after you.”
My moment’s relief vanished immediately at the sound of my husband’s name. “No. Not Blaine. He h-hates me.” For some unknown reason, saying it out loud made a fresh bout of tears burst out of my eyes and stain my already salt-speckled glasses.
“Nah, he’s just a bit rough ‘round the edges. You gotta learn to handle him. He’s a Steel alright, but he’s a good kid when it comes down to it.” Rob gave my shoulder a light pat and fished his phone out of his pants. “You just settle down now, yeah? He’ll come runnin’ the second he hears you’re upset.”
“Don’t tell him that,” I sniffled pathetically. The last thing I wanted was for Blaine to know he’d beaten me with his silent treatment—especially when I felt so inexplicably weak. He didn’t need to see me when I was down.
“Don’t be daft,” Rob said as he left the kitchen with a backwards glance over his shoulder, phone already lifted halfway to his ear. “He’s a bloke—he’ll crack at the sight of his wife’s tears. You gotta learn to play the game, love.”
I stared after the big, burly man as he disappeared out o
f the kitchen and out the front door. Even with my best efforts I couldn’t imagine Blaine being anything remotely close to “a good kid,” but perhaps Rob did have a point. Perhaps a softer touch was what was needed when it came to Blaine. I’d spent all my time trying to be strong and together—and even when I’d failed miserably, I had reacted with anger rather than tears.
Maybe he would indeed react better if he saw vulnerability in me instead.
I grabbed a piece of paper towel off the counter and wiped my eyes before blowing my nose. At least it would be pretty easy to show him vulnerability today.
* * *
When Blaine walked in about three quarters of an hour later, my tears had finally stopped, even if my face was still salt-streaked and my eyes red-rimmed. I hadn’t been able to find the energy to go wash my face or even change into regular clothes, so when he rounded the double doors into the kitchen, he found me sitting on a bar stool still in my pajamas and snacking on a gherkin straight out of the jar.
I turned to face him when he paused in the doorway, half a pickle still in my hand. “Hey.”
He frowned, his light gray eyes taking in everything from the half-empty pickle jar and used tissue on the counter to my tear-stricken face and ruffled appearance.
“What’s going on? Rob said you weren’t feeling well?”
From the gruffness in his voice it was hard to imagine he actually cared about my state of mind, but then again—he had come home early to check in on me, which was more than I’d expected. I bit my lip and looked down. “I’m sorry.”
“Beg your pardon?” An apology was obviously not what he’d expected, judging from the clear note of surprise in his voice.
I managed to lift my head again so I could look at him. “I’m sorry,” I repeated. “For everything that went down between us last week. It wasn’t how I’d intended the night to go.”
Blaine looked at me silently for a little while, as if trying to determine if I was being genuine or not. Much as I wanted to, I couldn’t really blame him for his hesitance. If he’d suddenly apologized to me out of the blue, I would have suspected him of ulterior motives, too.
I Need A Bad Boy: A Collection of Bad Boy Romances Page 66
