Bound (The Devil's Due Book 3)

by Eva Charles

  “That’s part of it. No doubt. But this was more personal than that. When you came around last year to do a story on my brother Zack, you insured a top spot on my enemies list.”

  He takes no prisoners. I should have known his feelings for me were rooted there.

  “I won’t make any excuses or offer any apologies for that.” I tip my chin up. “Your father sought me out. He encouraged me to write the article. He was the president-elect. I had no way of knowing what was happening behind the scenes.”

  “I know. But I protect everyone I love—especially those who can’t protect themselves. That’s my most important job in life.” The man is intense. But what he misses in style, he more than makes up for in substance. I have to give it to him.

  “That includes Smith,” he adds. “Although the big lug can take care of himself pretty well.”

  As much as I want to, it’s hard to stay angry at JD for protecting his brother, or Gracie, or Smith.

  “You need to be good to him,” he warns. “If it gets to the point where you’ve had enough of his shit, let him down easy. Otherwise, he’ll be crying on my shoulder for months. He’s a pussy.”

  JD and Smith are actually a lot alike at their core. For the first time, I see what they have in common. I try not to smile. “Delilah already warned me that I’d have to answer to her if I hurt Smith.”

  He lifts his hands. “That’s a threat I would take seriously. That woman looks like she descended directly from the angels, but she is one scary motherfucker. Don’t get on her bad side.”

  “You should tell Smith.”

  “He knows all about Delilah. He hired her.”

  “Not about Delilah. About how you were wrong not to trust him.”

  “Smith knows. But I’ll remind him. I wanted to talk to you first. I might not be much for apologies, but I am big on putting things right. I am who I am, Kate. It’s rarely pretty, but you’ll never wonder where you stand with me.”

  53

  Kate

  Smith and I are eating dinner at the kitchen table, making small talk to avoid the elephant in the room. We’re alone together in the house for the first time since … I’m still not sure what to call it. An abduction? Assault? Kidnapping? Imprisonment? I don’t know, but I suppose I’ll eventually find the right word.

  “Heard you had a visitor this morning,” he says, side-eyeing me for a reaction.

  “I almost didn’t let him in, but then I remembered he owned the place.”

  Smith rests his fork and knife on the plate, giving me his full attention. “We can find somewhere else to live. It’s about time I bought something, anyway.”

  “If you want to buy a place, that’s fine. Don’t do it on my account.”

  “Why not?”

  Why not? Because I’m not staying. Because I can’t bear to watch the fractures in our relationship widen until it splinters apart. Because I don’t have the energy to repair it, to fight for it, or even for you. I’m exhausted, and broken, and trudging through emotion so dense, it seems impenetrable. I might never get through it, even if I live for another fifty years. But I don’t burden him with any of that.

  “I like it here,” I say quietly. “It’s comfortable and safe. Someone’s always right next door.”

  He picks up the fork, pushing Lally’s brisket around his plate without a bite. “How did you leave things with JD?”

  “He didn’t tell you?” That’s hard to believe. Those two tell each other everything—or at least they did.

  “He did. But I want to hear it from you.”

  He wants to hear it from me. The implication of those simple words is not lost on me. There was a time, in the last month, when JD’s word was enough. It still stings.

  “We talked,” I say matter-of-factly. “He apologized for the way he behaved—toward both of us. Promised it would be different—even though I’m a reporter, which still gives him heartburn. Basically, he called a truce—more than that really—he gave us his blessing.”

  “What he thinks isn’t important.” Smith is dismissive. Too dismissive, and I don’t buy it for one second. They’ve been thick as thieves for too long.

  “If his opinion isn’t important, then why did you keep pushing me away? Why were you so conflicted about dating a reporter?” Then I ask the question that burned a hole in my heart after he kicked me out. It’s still raw, but there’s so much pain now, it’s a dull ache in comparison. “Why did you immediately take JD’s side when Grace’s picture was published?”

  He throws his head back with a grunt. “My new business. I can’t afford to have stories showing up in the news. My loyalty to the Wilders—to JD—played a big part, too. I don’t deny it. And on top of it all, I’m an idiot.” He hasn’t looked at me or apologized, but I feel his turmoil from a few feet away.

  “What’s changed?”

  “I’m still an idiot—and I am so sorry.” There’s distress in each syllable of the apology. “If I hadn’t—” He pauses, for long awkward moments, with his eyes trained on the plate. The silence is so extended, so sober, I begin to think he’s searching for an end.

  “I want to build a life with you,” he says tentatively, testing the words the way a newborn giraffe tests its legs. “I didn’t want to admit it to myself for a long time—I wasn’t ready. But when you almost slipped out of my hands forever, it brought it home pretty quick.” He was searching, not for the end, but for a beginning. Wrestling with the emotions, molding them into words. “We can live wherever you want. Boston—it doesn’t need to be Charleston.”

  My heart pounds with the blood rushing in my ears, so hard, I almost miss the last part. Build a life together—I wish it was possible.

  “I’m broken,” I confess, before I get too caught up in happy endings that will never happen. “I was probably already a little broken, but now—I’m shattered inside. The kind of shattered you can’t fix.” It’s heart-wrenching to admit, even to him. “My emotions are erratic. They move at warp speed at times, until the build-up is so great that I might explode, and at other times, they stand perfectly still inside my numb body.”

  Although I don’t have the courage to look at him, I hear every strangled breath. “I’d like to stay here for another week or two until I figure out what’s next. If that’s okay.”

  “Of course, it’s okay. But two weeks isn’t enough. I want more, Kate.”

  “I’m not ready for a relationship. And I might never be.” I force myself to speak the words through the agonizing pain of a twisting knife.

  He drags his chair against the wooden floor, until his knees are almost touching my thighs. “Look at me,” he says, tucking the hair off my face. “You’ve been through hell.” Hell? Hell sounds about right. “It’s been less than a week. You’re going to feel dozens of emotions while you heal. Sometimes all in the same moment. There will be good and bad days. There’s no linear path to recovery. That’s not how it works. But you will heal. Until then, you’re not going to be in any condition to make a decision about relationships. I have some work of my own to do, too.” He squeezes my fingers. “The only thing I know for sure is that if you go your own way to heal, and I go mine, we’ll drift apart.”

  “I killed a man, and I’m not sorry.” I gaze at him as the words tumble from the depths of my soul. “I feel no remorse. Not a twinge of conscience. What does that make me?”

  “Human,” he says flatly. “I’ve killed more than my share of men in battle—”

  “I didn’t kill him on the battlefield.”

  “Yes, you did. You absolutely did.” He cradles both my hands in his. “There are three kinds of killings that happen in war. Your conscience should be restless at two. The killing of young enemy soldiers, duty bound, not always there of their own volition, and the innocent casualties. People who are in the wrong place at the wrong time.” He’s pensive, bringing my hands to his mouth and pressing a kiss onto the them before continuing.

  “The third type, is the elimination of ev
il motherfuckers who need to die. That priest was one of them. You’re right to feel no remorse. He was a monster and his reign of terror would only end with his death.”

  I get up and begin to clear the dishes, because this is too much and I need to do something to deflect the angst that’s building inside me.

  “Don’t, Kate. Don’t walk away from this conversation. It’s hard because it’s important.”

  I freeze, my hands clutching the edge of a ceramic plate.

  What we have—our relationship—isn’t built for the long run. It might have been at one time, but fate intervened, creating a chasm between us that will only grow larger. I’m certain. Just like I’m certain that I can’t face any more loss. But I sit down and have the discussion, anyway. Because it is important.

  “The climb is too steep,” I say softly, the dishes still in my hands.

  “Steep? Yes. But too steep? I don’t buy it.” He brushes his palm along his jaw. “I’m not an expert on relationships, but I’ve watched my parents, my sisters with their husbands, even Gabby and JD. The struggle is what makes the foundation airtight.”

  The foundation already had holes. We patched them, but it’s not even clear they were sealed—and then hell happened.

  “I don’t think I was raped,” I say with a wobbly voice. He takes my hand, weaving his fingers through mine in unshakeable solidarity, and I continue before I begin to cry. “But I was drugged for a lot of it, so I’m not certain. But I witnessed—I watched him do things with Virginia that were a lot like some of the things we did—like some of the things, that maybe, you were hoping we’d do.”

  “What you witnessed, was it really like the things we did? Was it consensual and about mutual pleasure—and safe?” His voice is gentle as he ticks off the differences. “Did he respect her? Did he check in with her to make sure she was okay, and her needs were met? Or was it some bastardized form of sex? Of kink?” He lowers his head, his forehead touching mine. “Because I like to think what we did was pure—that it was something we both enjoyed. Not just a huge mind fuck, one animal preying on another.”

  It doesn’t matter. I still see them vividly. I smell their filth everywhere. Their voices, the sounds of pleasure and punishment shriek inside my head when I lie quietly in bed at night.

  “At the time, even now, it feels similar,” I whisper, knowing I’m causing him pain.

  When he pulls away, his features are flat. “We don’t need to go there any time soon—or ever,” he adds. “I’m totally okay with that.”

  I gaze up at him. “Now I know why you don’t deal. You’re giving too much away in the negotiation, Smith. Kink is important to you—you said so yourself.”

  “It’s not—not in the grand scheme.” I’m not sure if he’s trying to convince himself, or me.

  “Don’t do this. Please don’t do this.” I sigh, tortured, but staunch. “You’re not being honest with me—or with yourself. It’s the sense of duty and honor imprinted on your DNA talking. You blame yourself for what happened, and now you’re bound by a sense of responsibility to me. That’s not a relationship that either of us should want.”

  “I do feel responsible.” His head bobs slowly. “And I am. But that has nothing to do with why I’m here begging for another chance. Sex is one aspect of a relationship. It’s not any more important than any other part.”

  Oh, Smith. “Sex is an important aspect of a relationship between two people who are as young as we are—let’s not kid ourselves. One day, you’ll wake up, and it won’t be enough, or you’ll spend your whole life compromising on something you said you’d never compromise on.” He buries his face in his hands and I want to comfort him, but it would weaken the fortress I’m constructing around my heart. “You know I’m right.”

  When he lifts his head, he looks beaten. “Let’s take it one day at a time. That’s all I’m asking.”

  He’s not making this easy, but I’m determined to save us both from any more sorrow down the road.

  “I’m not sure I can. The feelings I have for you are already so intense. I can’t get any more involved. It’s not just the kink—I’m a shell, Smith. I have nothing to give. I don’t want you to live half a life.” I pause to catch the breath that the ugly cry has stolen and blow my nose on a paper napkin. “You deserve to have everything. I want that for you.”

  Smith pulls me onto his lap, smoothing my hair with his lips. We sit quietly for long minutes. The warmth of his body and the strength he projects is soothing. Eventually I stop sobbing and gasping for air.

  “We’re all a little broken,” he murmurs. “Love is about finding someone who has the right glue to hold your pieces together. You’re my glue. I’ve always known it—even when I didn’t. But the fact that you care enough about me to let me go, even though you love me—and I know you do—it’s more than I deserve,” he chokes out, in a voice teeming with emotion. “Life is full of challenges—we were tested early, that’s all.” He pulls me closer. “Don’t give up on us yet.”

  I feel the prickle of his unshaven beard against my scalp. He’s been through hell, too. I do love him. I don’t want to give up on us. Maybe I don’t need to decide today, or even tomorrow.

  “I love you, Kate,” he whispers into my hair. “I’m not letting you go.”

  54

  8 months later

  Smith

  Today is my birthday, and I’m on my way to Miss Macy’s to meet Kate. She has something up her sleeve. First, she wanted to drive tonight. Then, she wouldn’t tell me where we were going. Imagine how twitchy that made me. I finally managed to convince her we should get a driver for the evening. But other than supper at Miss Macy’s, I still have no clue what we’re doing.

  It’s been a busy eight months since I found Kate in that church. My business is off the ground and I have more work than we can handle. Things between Kate and me are rock-solid. In many ways, she’s stronger than before the abduction. In others, she’s more vulnerable. According to her therapist, it’s a normal part of recovery.

  Her therapist has been great. She’s even helped us with the physical part of our relationship. Not gonna lie, having a weekly prescription for sex—that’s what it’s called—left me feeling more inadequate than I’ve ever felt. I wanted to be the man who fixed it for her, and no matter how many times I told myself it was beyond my ability, it was still tough.

  It was also unnatural. I’ve never been the guy who got enjoyment from planning a scene. I like to keep a well-stocked playroom, get naked, and see where it takes us. Prescriptive sex was a slow process, consisting of multiple baby steps. First week we cuddled, second week was massage, third week was kissing, which turned into a make-out session where we incorporated massage. What happened next wasn’t my fault.

  Kate was giving me a massage. My eyes were closed while I tried to focus on something besides my aching dick. All of a sudden, I felt her lap a bead from the swollen tip, and before I could stop her, she was climbing on my cock. That’s the story I’m sticking with.

  Truth is, I’ve been more hesitant than Kate. I’m in this for the long haul, and I don’t want to do anything stupid that could fuck up what we have now, or what we might have in the future. Soldiers understand the benefit of patience.

  One of my birthday presents to Kate—the one she’s never going to hear about—is that I didn’t snap Ryan Donovan’s neck.

  I hunted down all four bastards from the night in the frat house. Two of the guys appear to have become decent men, with that night being more of an anomaly than a way of life. The third is a weasel lawyer, but the worst thing I could find was that he cheats on his taxes. He has a young son and a mother who he supports. As much as I believe they need to be punished, I left them all alone.

  Ryan Donovan, the ringleader, and the one who took Kate’s virginity when he was a man and she was still too young—the one who set her up that night—he’s still a scumbag. No surprise there. He amassed a small fortune doing dirty deals, and until he got caught,
cheating on his wife was a way of life.

  I would have enjoyed watching him take his last breath—but it was a present for Kate, not for me. After Silas Drury hung himself the night before his trial was scheduled to begin, she fell apart. He had been charged as an accessory after the fact in the murders of ten women. The state had a strong case against him. I was right about Silas. There was no way he was going back to jail.

  Kate doesn’t want any more death in her name—and I will respect that as long as no one comes near her again. But that sonofabitch Donovan wasn’t getting off scot-free.

  Chase and I collected every bit of information we could find about Donovan’s whoring, and traced the assets he was hiding overseas. On Kate’s birthday, right before we boarded a flight to have dinner with Fiona and Brett in Boston, I sent the entire folder to his estranged wife’s lawyer. It was almost as satisfying as snapping his neck. Almost.

  I see Kate’s new car parked on the street across from the restaurant. Her old car had been found in the ocean, submerged off of Albert’s Island. It had been pushed off the dock.

  Kate and I have finished all the shrimp and grits we can stuff into our bellies, and she’s still hiding something. She’s the worst liar—and poker player. I laugh every time she tries to bluff. We’d be piss poor if she ever had to earn a living playing cards.

  Jasper and Jolene, and the entire waitstaff, come over to the table and sing “Happy Birthday.” I throw Kate a look, and she grins. I’m willing to play along with the nonsense for the big slice of chess pie and the bowl of chocolate ice cream they brought with them.

  Kate is glowing tonight. It makes my heart swell to see her like this. I often watch her while she sleeps, or when she’s busy and doesn’t notice me. I came so close to losing her. I’ll have nightmares about it, forever.