Scorch (Virtues & Lies Book 2)

by Alexandra Silva

  “You’re okay,” he murmurs into my ear, his arms wrapped taut around me, his chest heaving into my back.

  We’re right back to the beginning of the end.

  Christopher’s arms tremble as he lifts me to my feet and carries me into one of the closed-off hallways. The door he walks us through creaks as it shuts behind us.

  It’s just the two of us in the faint blue, emergency lighting.

  Oh fuck.

  That’s all I can think when he puts me down with a tremulous sigh. His pain is palpable, and it mixes with mine like a one-hundred-proof cocktail of anguish and distress. And I want to scream. I want to break this place. I want to burn it to the ground and let it take me with it.

  Christopher doesn’t say anything. He stands over me staring at the wall above my head, jaw ticking, throat bobbing dryly.

  The silence around us is more terrifying than the almost darkness. You think you know love. You think you’ve got it all figured out. But it’s impossible to know it until you lose it all. Until all that’s left are the echoes of it filling the never-ending silence.

  Love is nothing—it means nothing until you’ve felt its absence. And I haven’t stopped feeling it from the moment I woke up with my world in tatters.

  His eyes glance down, and there isn’t a single tear. They’re not glazed over. They’re not shining with pain. They’re dark. They’re bottomless pits of anger and revolt, and for the first time since I woke up, what I see is how I feel. And I am not alone anymore.

  Arms wrapping around him, I hold on as tight as I can to my strength. I squeeze until I’m certain I might crush his bones, until it feels like I’m sinking into him. Until I’m not just me. I’m us. That is so much greater than love. It’s a power, unlike any other.

  Standing straight, his arms fall to his sides, fists tucking into his pockets. I have no idea how long it takes for his breaths to steady, but the tension never leaves his body. He’s wound so tight that his corded muscles bulge beneath his tux.

  “Let’s go.”

  “No, Christopher.” I hold on to him tighter as he pulls for the door.

  “Don’t make this a fight.”

  “You need to go back in there and take what’s yours. Take everything you’re entitled to. Everything you’ve worked for. Take it all.”

  “You,” he grits low, his teeth clenched. “You’re what I worked for.”

  Pulling his hands out of his pockets, he grabs me by the tops of my arms, squeezing as he punctuates his every word with a rattle of my body. “Fuck the rest. Fuck it all.”

  “No.” I shake my head, cupping his tight jaw with my hands. “That’s your safety catch. All those people in there…you get them onside and you’re unstoppable. No matter what, Christopher.”

  He knows I’m right, but if I need to, I’ll use the only other card I have. No matter how much it kills me.

  His face tilts down, chin pressing to the top of his chest. Gaze unmoving from mine, he says, “I don’t need them.”

  For a moment I’m tempted to believe him. Christopher doesn’t just have strength inside him. He wears it like armour reinforced with his pride. Others think it’s ego. They see it as righteousness, but I’ve seen it for what it really is—solid, unwavering power.

  My husband is a ruthless force of nature. Something so beyond this world that he belongs somewhere in myth and legend.

  “Yeah, cariño, we do.”

  Eyes widening at my endearment, he pulls me flush to him as he pushes me up against the wall, hands slipping up my arms to my neck as he lowers himself closer to my height. With his thumbs pressing to the bottom of my jaw, he brings his lips to my ear.

  “You don’t manipulate me.”

  Releasing his jaw, I hold on to his wrists. My hands are too small to circle them, but my nails are sharp enough to dig in.

  “If I wanted to manipulate you, I would tell you to walk away. Leave without me. I would tell you to do it for our daughter. But I’m not—I’m telling you to do it for what’s left. For you.”

  “And then what?”

  “You do whatever it takes to make your name unforgettable. You set that shit in stone.”

  His brow creases like I’ve said something out of the ordinary. We’ve had this conversation before, a hundred and one times and more. Only under different circumstances.

  Little details that change it all together. That give it deeper meaning.

  Staring me out, I let him see all there is to see. It’s him and only him. It’s always been him. He is my one and only king. My god. I was born to serve him in any capacity, regardless of what happens to me.

  The lights flicker as the door creeks open, cold air rushes around us. Before I can move, Christopher is spinning so fast it’s a blur as he tucks me behind him.

  I can’t see anything but the black weave of his jacket.

  Darkness engulfs me as a low whistle slices through the air and his body jolts back into mine so hard that all the breath leaves my lungs.

  Chapter 16

  Arabella

  Before I can adjust to the hum of my blood scorching my veins, big arms are curling around me. Polished leather and cinnamon fill my lungs, and no matter how much I try to fight my way out of muscled confines, I can’t.

  “Stop fighting!”

  “No! Christopher! Christopher!” Panic shatters my sensibilities.

  “Shut up!”

  “Put me down!” Clawing at the chest I’m bound to, I kick and yell until my lungs burn dry and I’m put back on my feet.

  It’s so dark I can’t see for shit, but I hear the distressed cacophony in the distance.

  “Arabella, we don’t have time for you be difficult,” Casper barks at me, his eyes constantly flitting back down the dark tunnel we’ve just come through. “I need to you to hold it together.”

  “What happened? Where’s Christopher?”

  “Don’t worry about him,” he says in an obvious brush-off. “We’ve got him covered.”

  The sound of shattering glass echoes in the night air with sooty clouds tainting the perfect midnight blanket.

  “What’s happening?”

  “I don’t know, but you’re safe and…” His voice dries and his eyes dart back to the tunnel.

  Something’s seriously wrong—he’s always cooler than a cucumber, but right now he reeks of fear.

  “Tell me he’s okay.”

  Casper looks down from his tall height, his eyes going to his feet with a nod. “He’s okay. But you need to go now.”

  He’s barely finished saying the words before Murphy’s Range is screeching to a stop. Jumping out, he rounds the beast of a car with his gun in hand. Eyes darting all around us, he takes over from Casper. The rehearsed efficiency as he gets me into the front seat does nothing to soothe my overwhelmed panic.

  Getting in beside me, he revs the engine to top speed before pulling away. I feel myself stick to the seat, as he navigates the dark streets around Whitehall Palace.

  All the power is gone, the only light coming from the flames licking at the shattered windows and the emergency vehicles clustered around it.

  My ears are buzzing and ringing, and I’m unable to make out what Murphy is saying. He’s speaking a million miles a second, his words clashing into one another.

  It’s not until we hit the busier roads that I begin to wonder where he’s taking me. Up until now my concern has been solely focused on Christopher. What’s happening. If he’s okay.

  Speeding down the Victoria road, past busy bars and crowded streets, Murphy turns into a familiar quiet street. Townhouses line either side, and in the middle, on my side of the street, two flags flap in the sharp November breeze.

  I have no idea why he’s brought me to this hotel. It holds nothing but beautiful memories, and yet, tears sting my eyes as he opens my door and huddles me inside.

  On autopilot, I take no notice of what’s happening. It’s only when Murphy sits me down and the fire warms my clammy skin that I look arou
nd me. Memories of smiles and laughs and kisses. Whispered words and beautiful promises. That’s all I see surrounding me.

  Every girl dreams of being a princess on their wedding night. They dream of soft, tender touches and reverent kisses. But Christopher made me feel like a star burning up the infinite night sky. And just like every star has an explosive end, we are nothing but debris floating around in an expanse of lies and secrets, waiting to be sucked up by something greater or to collide to our irreversible demise.

  “Here.” Murphy hands me a cool glass, and it takes all my sensibilities not to drop it. “I’ll be outside if you need anything.”

  “Don’t leave me. Please.”

  “I have orders.”

  “I’m ordering you to stay.”

  His chuckle is half-pressed and salty. “I’ll be right outside that door. The hotel is surrounded. We’re in shutdown. You’re safe.”

  Watching as he leaves, closing the door quietly behind him with a click, I move to the window.

  He wasn’t lying; the street is lined with official-looking vehicles, guards stand at the bottom steps, unmoving. They’re a muscled wall designed to attack at the first sign of a threat.

  I’m unsure of how long I pace the thick carpet, but my legs are beginning to ache, and my feet are pulsing in my shoes. My heart is ready to beat itself still with the fear running through me.

  I’ve no idea what’s happening outside of these walls. No clue whether my husband is hurt…or alive, because I’m certain Casper was lying. His words were empty. He couldn’t look me in the eyes.

  Hurried breaths become teary gasps. All I can do is pray that Christopher is okay. That I’m going to see him again. That I will hear his voice and feel his touch.

  I wish I’d told him I love him. How sorry I am for failing him. For failing our child. I wish I’d told him that all this is for him. It’s my penance for being less than what he deserves.

  I perch my untouched drink on the mantelpiece, beside the antique clock, as I grab the packet of cigarettes next to it. It’s light, but there’s a lonesome rattle when I shake it. Taking one of the two smokes left, I crouch in front of the fire, making sure the end is well lit before I bring it to my lips and suck in deep until the end glows. Standing, I check the clock for the time, not that it makes much difference. Time becomes a superfluous thing when you’re in the middle of a nightmare. Everything slows down, leaving you hanging.

  The flames flicker along the tops of the logs with crackles and fizzes that make the silence deafening. And I watch, in a trance of long puffs and exhales that numb my head but do nothing to settle my pounding heart and rushing blood.

  Chapter 17

  Christopher

  I can’t think with all the shit racing through my head, every titbit of information I was fed in the last two hours as I got stitched up.

  Something is seriously wrong if the only explanation they can find for what happened tonight is a terrorist attack. It doesn’t make sense. The guy wasn’t coming at me; he was going for Arabella. Straight for her, and Benedict wasn’t one bit surprised. The bastard.

  “We’ve hit a nerve.” Benedict sits in one of the chairs in the hospital room, beside Charles. The deputy Prime Minister and Foreign Secretary rallying together. Giving the political shrug.

  He’s acting like hasn’t just told me he’s the reason Arabella left me. The three of them.

  “I’m done.” I stand, grabbing my dinner jacket.

  “Christopher…” Dad steps closer from the corner of the room he’s been standing in.

  “Don’t. You said you were handling shit.”

  “We are!” Charles stands, pacing as he ignores every call coming through his phone.

  “They took my daughter, and you offered up Arabella.” I shrug Dad’s hand off my shoulder. “I told you…he’s a dead man.”

  “You do a fucking thing and—”

  “And what?” I stop Charles in his tracks.

  He laughs, and Dad catches me just in time.

  “Be careful, Christopher, you’re not irreplaceable,” he says before he walks out of the room. When he passes Benedict, he sneers, “I suggest you remind people of their roles.”

  What the fuck is that supposed to mean?

  “We don’t want things getting out of hand,” he adds with one last look about the room before he leaves.

  “What the fuck are you doing?” Dad spins me to face him, his face contorted with anger.

  “Word of warning.” I push him away and put my jacket on. “Let this be the last time you stand in my way.”

  I’m done with this shit. They can all go fuck themselves.

  My shoulder throbs as I get out of Wayne’s Range. He’s kept quiet the whole drive here as I nursed my raw knuckles. This isn’t over. I’m not done.

  Adrenaline courses through me with a violence that won’t be muted or tamed. It’s the second time they’ve come for us; at least this time I was able to protect Arabella.

  My pulse pounds as I race up the stairs, the security parting at every landing until I reach the top.

  Murphy takes one look at me, and I must look worse than I thought, because he steps in front of the door. Filling up the doorway, he makes no move as I approach. I’ll gut him like the fucker that shot me, if I have to.

  Eyes narrowing on mine, he takes a deep breath before he says, “Go easy on her.”

  Easy?

  That’s all I’ve done. I’ve fought for her, clawed my fucking brain trying to figure out what the fuck was going on. Why she would leave me when I needed her. When she needed me.

  I’ve done nothing but be easy and go easy. And the whole time she barefaced lied to me. Arabella went behind my back, like I’m some weak cunt who can’t protect what’s his.

  If that’s what she thinks, it’s not my ease she needs. She needs a lesson on who the fuck she married.

  “Don’t ever presume to tell me how to handle my wife. You keep your eyes open and your fucking ears to the ground like I pay you to.”

  “This isn’t her fault.”

  “Get the fuck out of my way or so help me God, I’ll gut you right here.”

  With a snarl and a shake of his head, he stands to the side. “You pay me to protect her.”

  “Well done for remembering this time.”

  Opening the door, I pause. Arabella’s watching the mantelpiece clock. The butt of her cigarette is glowing between her shaking fingers, like she forgot to smoke it halfway to her mouth. Hunched in on herself, she looks even smaller. The exposed slithers of her back look too bony and gaunt.

  Fuck, just the sight of the dress repulses me. The fact she put it on knowing who it was from…the fact that she wore it for another man is enough to make me want to set it on fire with her in it.

  “Take it off.” Shutting the door behind me, I watch as she jumps out of her skin, turning toward me so fast she drops the end of her smoke as she steadies herself on the mantelpiece. She quickly picks it up and throws it into the fire.

  “Take the fucking dress off.”

  Her gaze widens on mine, her fear filling the air with its putrid stench as I take slow, measured steps to where she’s standing.

  Good. She should be fucking scared.

  Nobody goes behind my back, least of all my wife.

  “Oh my God…wha-wha—”

  “God isn’t here; he’s not going to help you…so take it off before I rip it off.”

  “Christopher.”

  “You have until I get to three.”

  She looks at me, defiance ripe in her eyes. There would have been a time I would have humoured it. I would’ve played along, given her all the rope she needed to tie herself in knots. Not today. Today I’m done with games. She can either submit to me like the wife her parents raised her to be, or she can get her shit and get the fuck out.

  “One.”

  Taking a step back, she swallows.

  “Two.”

  Arabella makes no move as I get closer. He
r face sets into a mask of false control that quivers and threatens to shatter when I stop in front of her. Slowly her eyes lift to mine, soft and doe-like, tinged orange with the light from the fire.

  “Three.”

  Her sharp exhale warms the hollow of my throat, covering me in chills as my heart sputters in its battering rhythm.

  “Think carefully of how you want this to go, Arabella. Consider what you want, because I won’t go easy on you.” Closing my hands above the crease of her elbows, I turn her to face the fire, her back meshing perfectly to my front.

  Jesus, she feels so fucking good like this. She feels mine with her head laid back onto my chest, her tits bursting out of the dress with her quickening breaths. I want to fuck her so bad that I’m sure I’ll spill in my pants if I don’t.

  Her hands claw at the fabric of my trousers, pinching my flesh as she tries to fist the expensive wool. Leaning over her, I lick the line of her jaw from her ear to her dainty chin…she likes that. I feel the goose bumps cover her skin as my hand traces up her arm to her neck, inching up her jaw until I can squeeze her delicate flesh and bones in my grip. “You broke my heart, it’s only fair I break you now.”

  “I am broken.” Her rasp is muffled with my finger between her teeth.

  “Not enough.”

  Releasing her, my hands close around the thick straps of the dress. Pulling them in one swift tug, I relish the sound of the fabric tearing down the front seam with her shaky gasp. Bits of glittering red fly off in all directions like bludgeoned blood drops.

  There’s something uniquely satisfying about it. The destruction. The feel. The sight. The sound. I can barely contain myself as her arse presses back into me, her hands continuing to grapple at my legs.

  “You need to start listening, Belles, because I’m done repeating myself. When I tell you to do something, you do it. If I tell you to take off the fucking dress, you take it off.” I spin her to face me, but she refuses to meet my stare. “If I ask you what in the fuck you’re doing, you tell me every little detail.”