“Calm down, you’re getting yourself into a state.”
“I want to rip them apart with my bare hands!” My keening howl fills the room, and the echoes of it are like open flames touching the gunpowder inside me.
“So you should, but do you think he’ll let you?”
He takes a step towards me, fingers pulling at the sleeves of his navy suit jacket.
“Do you think Christopher will let you exert your justice?”
Another step closer, he smooths the lapels of his jacket down.
I need him to. I need to make this right.
“He will lock you away until he’s done.”
Closer still, he checks his watch.
“Do you love your husband?”
Stopping at the foot of my bed, his hands slip into his pockets.
“Do you want justice?”
Yes!
“I do.”
“Walk away. Save him. Get your justice.”
There can never be justice. Just revenge.
“Give him something else to hunt.”
His hard stare rakes down the bed.
How can I walk away when I can’t even get out of this bed?
“Lock him out. Push Christopher away.”
“And if it doesn’t work?” What if he leaves me for good?
“There is no if. Save him and I’ll give you a shot at what you want.” For the first time since he walked into the room, he touches me.
His hand squeezes my leg as he sits on the edge of the bed looking at me with softness and sorrow rather than disappointment and fury.
“You can have your husband and your justice.”
Justice.
Everyone keeps going on about it, but it’s unattainable.
“There’s nothing to think about. It’s an easy decision. Christopher needs you to be strong. You’re the only one that can protect him from himself.”
His words smother me. I can’t breathe. I can’t think.
The numbness is gone, and I just feel.
My body crumples beneath the weight of my failure as his stare bores into mine.
My heart tells me no.
Don’t walk away.
Don’t lock him out.
My head tells me yes.
Save him.
Make it right.
You’ll need to fight…no matter the cost.
The price we pay is always the greatest.
The one with the most power to destroy our world.
Can you endure?
Do you love him?
I’m slowly suffocating inside myself. My body aches with every scream and bellow of my mind. Round and round until I’m not sure of all that’s being echoed. Until I’m so dizzy that empty retches pull from the pit of my stomach.
“You said you wanted to make it right,” my father says. “I’m giving you the chance.”
My body aches. My head hurts. My heart rattles in pieces.
Why isn’t he here? Why did he leave me?
Because you broke him.
You failed him.
The role of the queen is to protect the king.
Are you a worthy queen, child?
It’s his grandmother’s words that do it. Her words push me over the edge. I can hear them as though she’s beside me, holding my hand, as I watch my world drown.
The price we pay is always the greatest.
Are you a worthy queen, child?
“Do you want to fix this?”
“Yes!” I don’t know if it’s a scream or a sob. All I know is that it scalds. It’s an entirely different pain to the one I was already in.
My heart isn’t being ripped out of me. I’m voluntarily burning it to cinders.
After parking Georgie’s car at the bottom of the street, I jump out as I pull myself from my thoughts, grabbing my overnight bag from the passenger seat. My bulky jumper is warm enough that I don’t need my coat for the short walk to the house.
Most of the Whitestone townhouses have the curtains drawn, the window boxes all uniform with winter foliage even though it’s only late October and autumn is still refusing to say goodbye.
I walk as fast as I can to the only house that looks battered and bruised. Our house is a shell of its previous glory. We were going to fix her up and make her perfect all over again. We were going to make it a home with our children and spend years filling each room with memories.
The builders have left, and as I’m about to let myself in, I spot Murphy again. He’s been tailing me for the last two and a half weeks. He doesn’t even try to be discreet, but then I don’t think that was part of Christopher’s instructions.
Walking towards him, I keep an eye around me. Still nights don’t hold the same peace anymore. All I can do is search every shadow around me and brace myself for whatever jumps out.
Straightening as I approach him, he tucks his phone into his pocket.
“Mrs. Sinclair.” He nods his greeting.
“Ryan.” I put emphasis on my use of his first name so he knows his formalities aren’t needed with me. “You know I prefer it when you call me Arabella.”
“I do, Mrs. Sinclair.” Rolling his lips between his teeth, he tries to conceal his chuckle.
“Is Mr. Sinclair paying you a bonus to annoy me?”
“I’m not at ease to discuss my contract with your husband. All I can say is that I’m your detail until he terminates said contract.”
“Don’t you work for the state?”
“Not anymore. I’m solely employed by your husband.” He chuckles lightly again.
“You know, you don’t need to remind me…I’m well aware I’m married and to whom.”
Nodding, he tucks his hands into the pockets of his black wool coat when I turn to walk away. But then a thought strikes me.
“Are you going to stand there all night?”
“Yes, Mrs. Sinclair.”
“Seriously?”
“I’ll be here until you leave in the morning.” Stepping back into the shadow of the dead end, he perches on the bonnet of his Range.
I don’t need a fucking babysitter. But I know that he won’t go against Christopher’s orders. Especially not after the attack. His twisted sense of loyalty isn’t to me, it’s to my husband.
“Have you had dinner?” I might as well get something out of this. Maybe he can go tell his boss that I’m playing along nicely. He can reassure Christopher that no other person is touching me.
“No, Mrs. Sinclair.”
“I seem to remember you used to eat.”
“I do, Mrs. Si—”
Stepping closer to him, I stand as tall as my five-foot-nothing frame will allow. “Call me Mrs. Sinclair again and I promise you, Ryan, I’ll make sure you need reminding of your own name.”
He laughs at my threat. Maybe he thinks it’s empty, but quite frankly if he doesn’t stop, I will bat him over the head with one of the hammers the builders like to leave lying around.
“I’m going to order some pizza. If you’d like some, you’re welcome to join me.” Turning on my heels, I don’t wait for his response to my offer.
I’m hoping he takes it. This revenge business is lonely when you have to walk away from your strength and go at it alone.
Murphy’s footsteps are quiet behind me, but I can feel him following. Probably letting my husband know that he’s managed to worm his way in.
It’s raining, and although the builders have covered the exposed roof, water still trickles in. Each drop echoes around the empty house, reminding me that it isn’t the home I dreamed it would be.
Taking each step downstairs slowly, I stop at the sound of Christopher’s gruff voice.
“I can do whatever the fuck I want.”
“She’ll flip her shit. I hope you’re ready for that.” Casper stands from where he’s sitting on the bottom step.
As quiet as I can, I try to go back up the steps to the supposed to-be bedroom, but my brother’s eyes meet mine before I can back up a single ste
p.
His eyes flit back towards the hallway before he looks back up at me, shaking his head imperceptibly. When I back up around the bend to the next flight of stairs, I sit, and hugging my overnight bag to my chest, I wait to hear whatever else is said.
“He’s back. She doesn’t go near that motherfucking club. Do you understand?”
“How do you suggest I keep her away from there?” Murphy bites back, and I can’t help but smile that he’s fighting my corner in his own way.
“I don’t know. Buy her a pizza. Buy her a hundred fucking pizzas. Fuck, tie her to the bloody scaffolding for all I care. I don’t give a flying fuck how you do it. Just. Keep. Her. Away. If she goes near that cunt one more time…”
Dropping my overnight bag from my lap, I jump to my feet. Taking each step down heavily, I push past Casper until I’m standing in front of Christopher, a few feet away at most because there’s no fucking way he’s looking down on me today.
“If I go near him one more time…what?” I hiss up at him as he takes a drag from his cigarette.
He does it with churlish satisfaction too. He knows I don’t want him smoking in the house.
His navy suit is rumpled and creased as he stalks towards me with a feral glint in his eyes. Like a predator herding his prey.
I’m not scared of him. He’s never given me reason to fear him. And it doesn’t matter how deeply he scowls at me, or how he bites at me with his words…I will never cower from him.
Standing over me, he exhales the pull he took from his smoke. “Careful, wife. I might start not giving a fuck. And that is a dangerous position to find yourself in.”
Heart dropping to the pit of my stomach, I meet his eyes. Hurt and anger colour his handsome face, shadowing it with sharp angles. And I already hate myself for what I’m about to do.
“Stay away from him, husband.”
Walking forward, he huddles me to the wall, pressing me to it with his body. He drops the butt of his cigarette to the floor, grinding it with his foot.
His attitude is all bravado. But it still doesn’t make it any less impactful.
“Stay away from Tomasz. He’s mine.”
“He’s a dead man.” Lowering himself to my height, his hand rests on my chest, the V of his thumb and forefinger bracketing my neck. “I’m going to snap his fucking neck, and if you want, I’ll let you watch.”
Schooling my face into an impassive mask, I reach into the inside pocket of his suit jacket and grab his packet of cigarettes. Taking one out without looking away, I lick the filter end to make sure it sticks to his lips when I push it between them.
I take another out and place the packet back into his pocket before reaching into the other side and taking out his grandfather’s lighter. Flicking it open, I light both of our cigarettes.
I take a long drag and breathe it into my lungs before exhaling it between us.
I’m pissed at myself for doing it, but fuck it.
“Try blowing less smoke,” I growl at him, pushing past his hold.
I stride towards the front door, then pause and turn as I pull it open. Murphy is already hot on my heels.
“Catch, baby.”
He grabs the lighter I throw him with ease, a smirk on his face as I turn back to the open door.
“Oh—” I look over my shoulder at him. “Clean your fucking shit. This is our home, not the fucking street.”
Pulling the car key from my back pocket, I power-walk through the rain to where I parked it last night. The spot is empty though. The car’s gone.
I turn to Murphy, and he shrugs at me with a shake of his head.
Fucking arsehole!
Swiping my wet hair from my face, I look back at the empty parking space.
“Where is it?”
“He had it towed back to Ms. Gladstone’s home last night.”
Of course he did.
He’s playing me. Riling me just like he used to do when I refused to date him. Exactly like he riled me into the fencing bout that got him his date.
“Go away, Christopher,” I groan as he stands in front of me, blocking the way out of the fencing room.
I’m sweaty after the bout I just had with one of the girls from my social anthropology course.
“Go out with me.”
“No.” I try to walk around him, but he extends his épée across me. “Move.”
“You know, you should leave the sword fighting for the men.”
“Excuse me?” Stepping back, I scowl at him.
“Leave it to those who do it best.”
Aaaagh, what an arsehole!
“You think you’re so good?”
“I am.”
“You’re an arrogant fool.”
“Fight me,” he smirks.
I’m about to tell him to piss off when he adds, “You win and I’ll leave you alone for good.”
“If you win?”
“When I win, we’ll go on that date you keep saying no to.”
“You’re not winning.”
He laughs.
It wasn’t an easy win, but he took it in the end.
That’s Christopher—he takes what he wants. He doesn’t wait for permission. He doesn’t wait around. He takes by force.
The low growl of his car pauses beside me on the curb, and lowering his window, he looks me up and down.
Bastard!
“You have a detail, use him.”
I hate him!
Gritting my teeth, I throw my cigarette at his Lexus as he drives off.
I fucking hate him.
Chapter 12
Arabella
Murphy’s quiet the entire drive back to Georgina’s. As soon as he stops the car outside Georgina’s little Mews house, I jump out and head indoors.
It’s strangely quiet, considering it’s past eight in the morning and Georgie is always up at the crack of dawn doing her exercises. Dropping my overnight bag on the bottom step, I head for the kitchen.
“Georgie?” I call loudly.
All the curtains are still drawn, and Mr. Chips, her little black-and-blonde tabby, is meowing at the patio door.
“Did she forget about you this morning?” The cat continues whining and trying to climb up my legs as I let him out. “There you go.”
I slot a coffee pod into the coffee machine and grab a mug from the cupboard. As I wait for it to brew, I check the fridge for one of her chalkboard messages. There’s nothing, which is odd. I know Casper was here last night, but between moving cars and doing whatever he and Christopher are currently up to…I wouldn’t have thought it would’ve been a late night.
“Mmm…you’ve got to love the smell of fresh coffee. Too bad it tastes like shit.”
I spin so fast that my hip catches on the edge of the granite kitchen side.
“Fuck!” My gritted curse echoes around the kitchen. “What the hell are you doing here, Freddie?”
The look he gives is filled with ire. “Unfortunately for me, I’m your babysitter for today. Don’t worry, I’ve got shit to do, so you can sit in your room and be a good girl.”
“I have places to be.” Grabbing my coffee from the machine, I take a scalding sip and push past him. “Where’s Georgina?”
“Don’t know. Don’t care. She’s not my problem.” Leaning up against the door frame, like he owns the place, he shrugs.
“I’m not your problem either. I’m no one’s problem.” I grab my bag and head up the stairs.
“Wrong!” He glares up at me. “You’re a big motherfucking problem right now. You’re fucking him up in the head with your shit.”
My stomach twists at the sharpness of his words.
He’s serious.
His glare and broad stance are protective of his cousin.
“What’s wrong with you?” Shaking his head, he turns and disappears into the lounge.
“What wrong with me?” I yell down at him. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”
He’s one to talk.
My inside
s betray the impassive front I’m trying to keep in place as I stalk to my room. I’ve barely made it through the door when my phone starts ringing. I haven’t heard this ringtone in weeks. Not since he saw me at the club.
Up until that night Christopher called on repeat every day.
Careful, wife. I might start not giving a fuck.
His words play around in my mind as I watch the photo of us lighting up my screen, cariño stamped above our heads, barely visible against the white sheets.
That was on our wedding night. I didn’t have a single scar back then. Now I have them all over me. On my body, on my heart, in my soul…they’re everywhere. Red, raw, and angry.
The call goes to voicemail, and in less than a minute my phone rings again.
Swiping my thumb across my screen, I take a deep breath as I put it to my ear. I don’t have time to say anything. The minute he hears my breath, Christopher goes right in.
“We have a dinner tonight. Seven sharp. Be ready. It’s formal.”
I already knew he had a function. I woke up to the reminder on my phone. The annual Law Society dinner is a big deal. It’s an indication of where you stand on the progression front.
“Fine.”
Christopher’s breath wisps down the line. “I’ll pick you up at half six.”
“Okay.”
Tears prick my eyes at the silence between us. We’ve never been like this. We’ve never had this awkwardness or trepidation. Things between us were always so smooth and easy. Communication was never an issue for us. Now we don’t even know how to end a call.
“All right,” he murmurs. “I’ll see you later.”
I love you. The words are on the tip of my tongue, I almost let them slip. Almost. I manage to catch them in time and swallow them down.
“Bye, Christopher,” I breathe, ending the call quickly and putting a call through to my mother.
After cancelling lunch with her, I arrange for the hairdresser to come to the house and go about getting an outfit together.
I ignore every call from my father and Francis. I can’t face another argument today. More importantly, I don’t want to miss tonight.
“Holy crap!” Georgie freezes in the doorway of my room. “What the fuck have you done?”
Scorch (Virtues & Lies Book 2) Page 10