She had an idea what sort of business he was in. She’d gleaned enough from working with him.
“But you wouldn’t hurt me the way you hurt the people you get paid to hurt. That’s the difference. You’re talking about a different kind of hurt from the physical hurt. That’s what I thought you meant in Cayman.” She remember the conversation, and how opposite it was to this one right now. A thrill of excitement ran through her and she couldn’t stop the smile that spread across her face. She moved over to stand between his knees. “What you’re talking about wanting with me is what people in committed relationships get with each other. The commitment to share everything. The good, the bad, and the ugly.”
“But I find beauty in ugliness. That’s what I mean. I may hurt you so I can see that beauty.” He leaned his head on the cabinet behind him.
That was how he found his pleasure, and she was okay with that. Especially if yesterday was an indicator.
“I didn’t know things could feel like that, Charlie,” she said quietly. “Yesterday. I was going to do it, because I wanted to please you. I knew it would hurt, but I underestimated how much. But I also saw everything you’ve been trying to tell me about pain and pleasure. It was good because it hurt so much. The pain made the pleasure so much more.”
“So, if you don’t want a committed relationship with me, I’ll pay you to continue the way we are. I need it, Amelia. I didn’t realize how much.” He gripped the t-shirt she wore, tugging her closer. A smile tugged at her lips at his misunderstanding. “I need this with you. I will have it.”
His touch became needier, as if having her closer to him broke some sort of dam. His forehead touched hers as he leaned over her, gripping her ass in his hands. “This was a gift I’ll never have a hope of getting that way again.”
“I don’t know how you got the idea I don’t want a committed relationship with you. I lo—care about you, Charlie Delmonico.” She almost slipped and said something she couldn’t come back from and she was sure he wasn’t ready for. She pressed a kiss against his mouth as he opened it to say something. “I’ll do what you want. You want my tears? Lick them off my face. You say you’re a devil, but I see the goodness in you, every time you touch me. I see you.”
He growled as he took her mouth, leaping off the countertop and wrapping his hands around her waist. With one motion, he had her over his shoulder and he carried her to his bedroom.
Chapter Twenty-one
A few hours later, sunlight tried to squeeze through the cracks of his curtains, creating all sorts of interesting shadows on Amelia’s face while she slept. Charlie was torn between waking her for the office, and watching the shadows change on Amelia’s face as the sun crept higher in the sky.
After he’d carried her back to his room, he’d taken his time with her. He couldn’t say he was exploring her body, since he’d been learning about her for a week, but he certainly found new ways to pleasure her. A gentler way, something he’d never actually done before.
He’d been slow. Giving instead of taking. He could still hear her moans of pleasure as they reverberated through his room.
Charlie had been sweet, and he’d actually liked it almost as much as his usual way. He laughed to himself as he reached for a tendril of dark hair and pushed it off her face.
Yet, he still didn’t know anything about her. Not about her fears, her passions, aside from his new coffee maker. He didn’t know anything about what scared her.
And for some reason, now he wanted to know. At first, he’d wanted to see her fear so he could feed off of it in some weird way. But now, he wanted to banish it, so she never had to be afraid again.
“What scares you, Amelia?” he asked in a whisper, more to himself than to the sleeping figure beside him, but she answered him anyway. She must have heard him in some dream state.
“Jackson,” a shaky voice coming out as a fearful moan answered him as she pulled the covers tighter around her neck. A protective gesture, it made his fist clench.
Every muscle inside him tensed. A man scared her? Suddenly, so much made sense. Her flinching when he was angry or made quick movements. Her morphing from aroused to terrified, when he’d first brought up his penchant for pain with his bed play.
So many little things. This Jackson guy had actually physically hurt her. Scared her.
“Jackson who?” He growled, no longer having the option to let her sleep. He needed an answer.
Amelia came awake with a start, her eyes darting around the room wildly until they settled on Charlie and relaxed into a half-awake state.
“Jackson who? I need a last name.”
“I was dreaming. I’m sorry. He’s nobody.” She rolled over and snuggled up to him, her warm softness plastered against his side.
But for once, he wouldn’t be distracted.
“What did he do to you?”
Her head turned against his shoulder and she realized he wasn’t going to let it go. She sighed, closed her eyes, and said, “Fine. Ex fiancé. I got pregnant and he wanted me to abort it. When I wouldn’t, he beat me until I miscarried.” A tear leaked from her eye, and instead of licking it away, a red rage burned at him at the sight of her tears caused by another man.
Tears he caused were different than tears this douchebag did. Still, they were both Amelia’s pain. And he was going to do something about it.
“Last. Name.”
Her lip quivered as she sat up, holding the sheet to her chest. A knowledge sat heavy in her eyes as she looked at him with recrimination. She knew exactly why he wanted the man’s name, and there was nothing she could do about it.
“If you don’t give it to me, I’ll find out another way.” He tried to gentle his tone, but he couldn’t help the anger that burned through. He was more than pissed. The red haze he’d initially felt was seeping into his vision, clouding the edges.
“Braxton.” No more than a whisper, but he took it and held on to the feeling of retribution that settled into his gut. He had a name, and he knew exactly what to do with it. Only douchebags had two last names.
“Get dressed. I’ll have Luther drop you at home.” Without another word, he slid out of bed and stalked to the shower, a new purpose in his step.
**
Luther drove her home in blessed silence. What was Charlie going to do? Last night had been so beautiful, and she had no idea why she had messed everything up by saying Jackson’s name out loud. She’d been dreaming something pleasant, probably about the beach and sunshine, and then Jackson had suddenly appeared, unbidden.
He was a horrible person, but for a brief moment in time, he’d been kind enough to her that she’d wanted to spend her life with him, start a family with him. The monster hadn’t shown up until he felt trapped. That was human nature, wasn’t it?
She was afraid Charlie would kill him, and then his blood would be on her hands.
She had to stop him.
When Luther pulled up in front of her house, she leaned forward.
“Wait for me, please? It won’t take me long to shower and change. I need to go back and stop Ch—Mr. Delmonico.”
Luther chuckled. “You can try, but he’s in a mood. Not sure you’ll be able to.”
Luther probably knew Charlie better than she did. He’d certainly known him longer.
“I have to try.”
“Fair enough. I’ll wait.”
Chapter Twenty-two
Amelia was not prepared for what happened next. Nothing could have prepared her. Even with everything she knew about Charlie as a “fixer” or whatever, she never could have reconciled the Charlie who had been so tender, so demanding, so sensual, with the cold man who waited for them at the front of his office building.
He didn’t speak as he got into the car with her, simply nodded at Luther.
“So you decided to join us?” He said it as he looked at her, then he faced forward again. “Should be educating for you.” His jaw ticked as he clenched it
.
She could ask all sorts of questions, probably should, so she would know what to expect, but a part of her already did. The sinking part that despaired and screamed at her to stop him. But she didn’t know how, and as she thought about Jackson and what he’d done to her, she wasn’t sure she wanted to.
Jackson had betrayed her. He’d been a golden boy, showering her with love. He’d convinced her to quit school, three years into college, and marry him. They made plans, and she moved in with him. The plans were so consuming, she suddenly found she had no time for her friends. She barely saw her own family. But his were with her constantly. His mother helped her plan, choosing flowers, cakes, the church, everything. She was paying for most of it, after all, as she was constantly reminding her.
When Amelia ended up pregnant, it clearly messed with Jackson’s plans for himself. He couldn’t be a prelaw student with a baby at home. Apparently, he never wanted kids, but hadn’t deemed it necessary to tell her.
He’d been so angry. She’d been hospitalized for days, recovering from the beating. Thankfully, one of the nurses had called her grandma, and she’d picked Amelia up before Jackson could get there.
She hadn’t seen him since.
Something had happened to Amelia in that hospital room. She’d changed from the naïve woman who dreamed of being Jackson’s wife and doing whatever he wanted to a woman who’d lost her way, but was anxious to get back on track.
Unfortunately, when she’d quit school, she’d lost her financial aid. But that was the least of her worries. At least now she was free from Jackson. Right?
So she’d started over. Forgotten him and all the mistakes she’d made. And she was happy now.
And Charlie was bringing it all back to her.
Luther pulled up in front of the house that was supposed to have been hers and Jackson’s. It was a house she’d honestly never thought she’d see again. Charlie practically bounced out of the car, forgetting her in his excitement. She’d never seen him like this before.
His mouth was set in a grim determination, but there was a light in his eyes. It was a bit scary, the spark of danger that peered back at her when she called his name. The glint of danger actually made him look younger, full of life.
It made her stop short. She watched him over the top of the car as he went to the trunk and opened it. When it slammed shut, she saw a wooden baseball bat in his hand. It was old, but looked worn, oiled with care.
She swallowed, imagining what he was going to do with it.
“Insist on seeing this?” He finally looked at her. She nodded, eyes not leaving the bat.
The bat twirled in Charlie’s massive grip, light as a feather.
He rang the doorbell and stood there, bat placed between his feet, hands resting on top of it, as if it were a cane or something. Amelia couldn’t take her eyes off it.
Jackson answered, groggy from sleep. If he’d followed his plan, he was taking classes still, so didn’t have a regular 9-5 schedule.
As a college student, he’d probably stayed up all night partying.
“What?” He rubbed his eyes.
“Classy.” Charlie looked over at Amelia, and she smiled warily. Jackson wore his boxers and an enormous tank top that showed off skinny arms.
“What the hell are you doing here?” Jackson was looking at her, as if the suited man with the baseball bat wasn’t standing there. Charlie pushed him inside his house with a growl. “What the fuck, man?”
“I don’t have many rules, but beating women is one of them. So I’m here to give you a choice.”
“I don’t know what she said about me. Bitch is a liar.”
Charlie held the baseball bat carelessly in one hand, while he pulled a gun out from under his jacket. Amelia’s eyes were riveted to the gleaming black piece of metal he waved in front of Jackson’s face.
“Charlie, stop,” she gritted out between clenched teeth.
“You can have a quick death. Easy, painless. Or you can take a beating you might survive, but it will hurt a hell of a lot more.” Charlie had Jackson crowded against the wall of the foyer.
He was going to kill him?
“Wait, Charlie. Please.” She reached for his arm to tug him back, but he sidestepped her effortlessly, going back to crowding Jackson.
Amelia stood next to the table she’d chosen from the Pottery Barn catalogue, imagining a new vase of fresh flowers on it every week. Now, it didn’t have flowers on it. It was empty.
“Charlie, don’t.” Her voice held less fear than she felt. It was weird. She was wooden. She wanted to reach out and grab the gun, but she’d never held a gun before and the idea of having the cold metal in her hands made her not want to do that. The baseball bat she could grab, he held it loosely enough. But she didn’t. And she didn’t know why.
“Fuck you, man. You can have her. I don’t want her anymore. It’s been years since I did.”
That hurt a little, the incident had only happened a year and a half ago. But he had a gun waving around his face; he was probably lying to save himself.
“Not what I asked. I gave you a choice. Pay attention.” His choice was death or hospitalization. How fair was that?
As if he suddenly realized the seriousness of the situation, Jackson finally focused on the gun in his face. Charlie tucked it under his chin.
“Pain? Or death?”
“Please!” She was louder, no longer hissing between her teeth. She didn’t want to get in the middle of this, but she didn’t want it to happen either.
“Look, my parents have money, I can get you what you want.”
“I have what I want. And she hurts because of you. Now fucking choose, or I’ll do it for you.” Charlie’s voice was calm, low, but deadly. A shiver coursed through Amelia.
When Jackson didn’t say anything, Amelia saw what was happening. She watched it all in a weird daze. Very calmly, Charlie put the gun back in the holster under his jacket. He shrugged it off and handed it backwards to Amelia, who took it automatically. One at a time, with the bat under one arm, he undid his cufflinks, handing them back to Amelia as well. Then he started rolling up his sleeves.
Amelia took a step sideways, getting herself out of the way, yet granting herself an excellent view of Charlie’s face.
Grim with determination. Danger still glinted from his eyes, but the anticipation was gone, and so was the light. Amelia was cold. She hugged his jacket to her body while hugging herself, unable to stop what was happening, nor look away from it.
She loved Charlie, but how far would that take her? As he raised the bat over his shoulder and swung with a grunt, she heard Jackson’s yell, the smack of wood on skin, the crunch of bones, and her own teeth chattering. It was an amalgamation of noises in the silent house.
As Charlie methodically beat Jackson with the baseball bat, his harsh breaths overriding the other man’s diminishing voice, she felt nothing but the cold.
“Stop,” she whispered, hearing the futility of the non-gesture. But she couldn’t be louder. Suddenly, it was all too much. The noises in the room too loud. Too cold.
It seeped through her clothes, chilling her to the bone. The base savagery of Charlie was because of her, she’d made this monster, and she had no idea how. Was it the dream Jackson had only been in for a split second before she’d awoken? Whatever it was, she had caused this monster to emerge from Charlie.
His motions were smooth, as he brought the bat back, then forward, only jerking to a halt when it met with Jackson’s body. He was curled up on his side, bleeding and whimpering, a shell of the man she’d once thought would be her happiness.
She realized she was flinching with each sickening thud of the bat against flesh. Charlie’s shirt had come untucked, and his shirt bunched around the holster around his arm. She focused on that to keep from thinking about what she watched. The fine fabric, wrinkling around the leather and elastic of the holster. It all fit him well, if she hadn’t been watch
ing him beat Jackson to death, she might find it sexy.
But right now, she was fighting the nausea rising in her throat.
She had no idea if Jackson lived or died. Everything else was flashes of memory, Charlie finishing up his destruction, leading her to the car, the suppleness of the leather seats.
The city zooming by as she leaned her head against the window.
Luther’s pitying eyes in the mirror as he glanced at her.
Charlie’s cold demeanor.
She retched, bile thick in her throat, as her stomach turned upside down.
“Please pull over, Luther.” He obliged and she opened her door and threw up on the street, chunks of whatever remained in her stomach after that late-night sandwich she’d eaten an eon ago. The bile of what she’d seen.
Her eyes focused on her surroundings, figuring out where she was. She reached back into the car and grabbed her bag.
“I’ll call a cab home.” She risked a glance at Charlie as she spoke. He watched her, his eyes looking tortured.
“I’ll walk to the office; Luther can take you home.” His voice was hoarse, and she couldn’t be sure if it was from yelling at Jackson while he beat him to a pulp, or if it was remorse. She didn’t remember him yelling at Jackson, though.
And she doubted it was remorse. He’d had opportunities to stop, but hadn’t.
Amelia shook her head, her hand in a white-knuckled grip with her shoulder bag. “I need to walk for a while. I have money for a cab.”
Charlie nodded.
Amelia slammed the door shut.
She stepped over her vomit and walked down the street. There was a park here somewhere. She was in a foggy daze as she found it and sat on a bench. She didn’t notice Luther pulling the sleek town car up to the curb to wait for her.
“Are you alright?” A jogger pulled her out of her thoughts.
“Of course,” she replied, not fully comprehending where she was.
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