Bitch. As if that thought hasn’t crossed my mind a million times before. Irritatingly, I was just beginning to truly believe I might be enough for him. I mean, he’s given me buildings, for God’s sake, and his memories, both of which I know he hasn’t done for anybody else. He’s cried on me, let me hold him in his darkest moments and give him the comfort he’s never even dreamed of allowing before. What the fuck is he playing at? I don’t believe for one minute that he doesn’t love me in his own deluded way, but why is he doing any of this?
Three thoughts cross my mind, suddenly, before I know it. I still hate her, Alex is an utter bastard, and unfortunately, I still need some clothes, which she may have some of. My arm reaches for her as my brain tries to install sensible mode. Regardless of my utter contempt for the bitch, I could use a little female help.
“Tara, I’m sorry. Look, I just need some clothes. Do you have any I could borrow?”
“What, and give him a chance to get angry? Not likely. I’m sure he has you naked because that’s the way he wants you,” she says with another one of those infuriating little giggles.
Helpful. I’m really feeling the sisterly love of womanhood there. Perhaps I could drug him or something. Actually, maybe I could make Phillip fly this damn plane all the way home again if I just storm up there stark naked and demand he turn the plane round because I’ve been kidnapped. And then, of course, I remember that he knows that very well, because he saw the MI5 arsehole drag me on board.
“Right, thanks,” I eventually reply as she sashays out of the door and away from me, wiggling her sodding fingers in a wave.
I sit my backside down on the bed and stare at the floor. It’s the only option I’ve got. I wish I knew what else I could do to make this nightmare unhappen, but I don’t. I only know I’m absolutely not in control of anything that’s happening to me, and I’m also completely at his mercy because I haven’t got a chance of overpowering or outmanoeuvring him at the moment. I don’t even know how I feel.
Was this his plan all along? I should go and ask him, shouldn’t I? Just storm in there now and demand that he tells me what the hell he’s playing at. Oh god, I’m repeating my own bloody thoughts to myself. And why on earth does he want me to have that knife so much? Given the now obvious Mafia zone that’s part of him, maybe he thinks I’m unsafe with him. Oh shit, I almost forgot that part in my random head mess. He’s killed people purposefully. It wasn’t an accident or self-defence; he’s just told me he worked, or maybe still does work, for Aiden Phillips. Was that why we did that odd lesson in his safe room at home? His home, that is – not mine, because I’m never stepping back inside it again.
Think, Beth, think.
What does that mean for me, for us? I’m sitting here on the way to New York, with no way of changing course, with no fucking clothes, and I have no idea who that man out there is, or what is going on. If that’s what he is, a murderer, then why didn’t he just tell me and maybe we could have found some way of dealing with it. Maybe I could have somehow forgotten about it and just been in love with the man I knew, or thought I knew, anyway.
I let out a long sigh and find myself more tempted to climb into the bed than to even try to pick my feet up again. I’ve tried too many times to work out who he is, and now I have to deal with him being a murderer as well. A murderer. Why would anyone do that? Why would he? I can’t even fathom the thought. Being a brutal fighter is enough of a concern, let alone someone who actually takes life away completely, on purpose. The scene at the club springs into my head as I stare at the wardrobe. The blood, the awkward angle of that mans thigh, Alex repeatedly kicking and punching with little more than a slight frown crossing his face. Entirely in control of every vicious, purposeful hit, fluid movements, precise, direct, specific, he knew every area to attack in order to cause maximum damage. He wasn’t out of control at all; he was absolutely in control, utterly ready to demolish.
To kill.
I’m in love with a fucking hitman of some sort – a sadistic, absurdly wealthy murderer.
Who has me on his plane. And where is that man that tried to rape me? Did he kill him, too?
Oh, what fucking planet have I been living on?
I need a drink and my phone. I’m sure I should be panicking. I’m sure I should be running around screaming or something, but I either haven’t got the energy or I’m simply not scared for some reason. Tara might be, but I’m not. He won’t hurt me. I know that because he wouldn’t have shown me his tears if he was going to do that; he wouldn’t have put this collar around my neck, his collar. He certainly wouldn’t have asked me to move in with him, love him, accept him with all his issues and promise to never leave him. My fingers skim the necklace around my throat and tingle at the cold stones – icy, just like him to everybody else. But not to me.
Fuck this shit.
“Alex, give me some fucking clothes,” I scream as my feet quite unexpectedly lead me straight into the main cabin. Tara’s head swivels from his lap as he simply raises a brow at me. “I fucking mean it. I’ve had enough of this crap.”
Christ, does he have to look so bloody hot all the time? He’s sitting there with his shirtless body on display, looking glorious, arsehole.
“And what exactly are you going to do, Elizabeth?” My eyes flick to the knife again. That could work. He raises the other brow… Maybe not.
“I just want some damn clothes. If I’m going to deal with your shit, I want at least some sense of decency while doing it.”
“Tara doesn’t need any. Why should you?”
“Tara’s a slut. I am not.”
“That is a fair point,” he says as he shoves her off him and ambles over without the slightest emotion crossing his face, raising a hand towards me.
“Do not even think about touching me,” is my snapped warning.
“You know I’ll do whatever I want, Elizabeth.” He’s got a point, but I’m not making it easy for him. Regardless of the fact that he’s a killer, which appals me, I can’t stop that damn trembling thing that’s beginning to occur again down below.
“Not if you still love me, you won’t, not if you’ve got any thoughts of this moving forward from here. I don’t care what you think you’re doing. I will only take so much before I can’t forgive you anymore.”
He halts abruptly in front of me, and pockets those damn hands with an arrogant smirk plastered across his face. What the hell he thinks he’s got to be arrogant about, I don’t know. My body appears to agree, because before I know what I’ve done, the cabin space echoes with the slap that I’ve just delivered to his face. He doesn’t move an inch. Not even a shocked expression appears. Those icy blue eyes don’t waver from their intensity at all, which just pisses me off beyond belief.
“Feisty. Better,” he says slowly in response. He wants me angry? Clearly. “You want another go? Go get the knife, Elizabeth. There will be two of us to deal with soon.”
What the hell does that mean? I can’t be bothered, and I’m certainly not picking up that damn knife again. He’s not manipulating me into becoming some sort of sidekick in his little adventures.
“Clothes, Alex. That’s all I want, and then I’ll be able to make my own way back from New York. This is not going on any longer.”
He chuckles and wanders back to the bar again.
I’m just about to go in for the kill again when Phillip announces that we’ll be landing in 20 minutes. Thank God for that. I’ll be able to get my stuff together and leave. My eyes stare directly at my bag as I realise, yet again, that that is really all I’ve got with me – that and a diamond necklace and bracelet, both of which I should probably launch out of the window. Actually, we’d die if I did that, so I won’t bother just yet. What I need to do is call Belle and get her to sort me a ticket home so I can get myself off this plane and straight onto the next, via a quick stop at a shop for some bloody clothes.
“I need to phone Belle. She will be worried sick about me.”
“No.”
“Alex, please, I need to tell her I’m okay, and I need some damn clothes.”
“You’ve said that already, and the answer to that is also no.”
“What the hell is your problem? I’m not doing this anymore. Fuck your slut senseless for all I care. Just leave me out of this. I don’t want any part of it, or you.”
“Yes, you do,” he replies with another smirk.
“Do not,” I reply childishly, and actually stamp my foot.
“This is all for you.” What? Fucking insane.
“You come in another woman’s mouth in front of me to satisfy your own sick fantasy, and then tell me it’s all for me? You are quite clearly a lunatic. Give me my fucking bag.”
“Better. Keep it up.”
“I have no idea-”
“Tara, buckle in please. Preparing for descent.” Phillip’s voice comes drifting softly through the intercom. Great, we’re landing soon.
“Strap in,” Alex says as he casually wanders over to the chairs, and Tara disappears around a corner somewhere after emptying and stowing glasses in the bar. She’s also still wearing nothing. Apparently she’s still quite good at her job, though.
My feet eventually stomp over to the seat behind him that also happens to be facing away from him, thankfully, and I try to strap myself in. Unfortunately, my damn hands are shaking so much that the metal won’t go in the sodding hole. Over and over again, I try to clip all the right bits into the right orifices, but it just won’t do up, and I can’t even begin to fathom why I can’t do a fucking seatbelt up because there’s some shithead chuckling away to himself in the background – more than likely at my ineptitude. He bloody won’t be in a minute because that knife is looking more and more friendly at the moment. How dare he laugh at me?
“Need some help, Elizabeth?”
“Piss off,” comes snarling out. He is so not touching me again. Thankfully, just as the words leave my mouth, all the bits finally slot in together beautifully. I stare out of the window and try for a moment of rationality in all this mess as I suck in a long breath. This plane just needs to land and then I can get myself home.
Happy Christmas, me.
It’s less than a week away and I’ve invited my parents and sister over to have lunch at his house. I need to sort that out. We are obviously not going to be having a cosy Christmas dinner together around roaring wood fires and glinting candle light. And Conner? Does Conner know about this? Is Belle safe with him? Oh god, is he part of all this, too? My mind is suddenly racing again with all sorts of imagery involving him holding Alex back and “talking him down”. He knows about this, doesn’t he? I know he does. That means Belle could be in danger. He could be mixed up with the wrong people, too. She said that Conner had told her things about himself that she didn’t like or understand. Maybe this is what she was talking about.
I shift around in my seat, trying to get rid of the metal buckle that’s pressing into my bare stomach and reminding me of that damned icy cold again. I can’t even see him, and I can still feel those blue eyes piercing me from behind. It’s almost like they’re part of me, constantly there when I close my eyes or try to think of something else.
“Is Belle safe?” I ask quietly. There’s a pause, so long it seems to stretch for an eternity, and it instantly worries me.
“Why would she not be safe?” he replies in that monotone voice of his that has me thinking he’s hiding something. To the rest of the population it may seem honest, but to me it seems devoid of emotion, and therefore it’s probably a lie.
“Conner knows about you, doesn’t he? Is he part of all this, too?” He chuckles a little and I hear the chair creaking behind me as the plane pitches a little.
“Conner’s a good man, Elizabeth. Your sister is very safe with him,” is all he gives me in response. Well, at least that calms my fears a little. I know Conner’s a good man, but I don’t know how much he’s been involved in over the years.
“Is he like you? Has he... you know…?” My words trail off as I try to form the actual words around my lips. Why I can’t just say them out loud is a mystery.
“Say it, Elizabeth. Get the words out of your mouth. They’re true, and as uncomfortable as they might be for you to hear, you did say you wanted to know.”
My eyes close again at the thought because regardless of my pain, he’s right. I did. I asked and pushed and tried to get so close that he would have no choice but to be honest. That’s what I asked for, complete honesty – to know him and to be part of him, regardless of what the issue was. I told him I wouldn’t go any further if I didn’t get the whole truth about who he was when we were in Pascal’s office, and he knew I meant it then. So this is what I have to deal with, isn’t it? The truth. Fabulous. I so wish I could stop my fingers from wanting to reach backwards and touch him. Regardless of all that is happening, I still want to feel his skin, drag him closer and find some sort of way of making us whole again.
“Why are you being such an arsehole to me?” There’s yet another pause long enough to eclipse the sun as I hear a sigh and picture his face in my mind.
“Stop deluding yourself with the belief that this isn’t who I am, Elizabeth. You wanted the real man. You’ve got him.”
“You’re lying. I know the real man, Alex. This is not the man I fell in love with. This is the monster that you promised not to be anymore. You said you’d be better.”
“I’m a murderer, Elizabeth. I have killed, several times, and with little regard for why. I am not a good man, and the sooner you start to accept that, the better.”
“But why? Why did you do that with her? And why are you putting me through all of this. I don’t understand why you’re purposely trying to hurt me when all I’ve ever tried to do is love you and be part of you.”
“I have my reasons,” he replies quietly, just as we start the descent to land. My stomach recoils at the movement as my fingers grab onto the armrests for some sort of support, probably emotional, frankly.
“There is no reason good enough for what you’re doing. You’re destroying everything.”
“Stop acting like a fucking child, Elizabeth. This is the real world, not some fairytale you’ve created for yourself. You wanted honesty. I’m giving it to you.”
My eyes fly open at the statement. A damn fairytale? Is that what he thinks I’ve been imagining we are? Hardly. It’s not like I haven’t already had to deal with varying amounts of new and unimaginable things since we’ve been together. How fucking dare he?
“You think hurting me is going to help me accept what you’ve done? This has not been a fucking fairytale, Alex, not by a long shot.”
The screeching sound of the tyres hitting the runway assaults my ears as the brakes engage heavily and pull me back to the fact that we’ve touched the ground, and I still have no clothes. At this point, I’m pretty close to running straight out of it naked. Presumably, if I leapt onto the tarmac starkers and bolted for the nearest building, someone would have something for me to wear.
Unfortunately, he’s standing in front of me before I can even unclip the bloody seatbelt.
“Are you going to behave?” he asks, without an ounce of warmth on his face.
What sort of question is that? My eyes stare out of the window again as my nose twitches in irritation, just as Tara sashays back into the cabin from the front fully dressed, which means she still has another set of clothes in the bedroom. Much as the thought grates, I really need them now. Perhaps I should try sweet and pouty. That works for him normally, and perhaps if I go along with whatever this is for a while, I can get myself out of it when I get a chance and he thinks he’s winning. So I put on my best come play with me face and slowly turn to look at him. My inner slut throbs away at me at the thought and causes the trembling to start again.
“Alex, I need some clothes. If this is something you think you need then I’ll do whatever it is, but please, just let me get dressed.”
His eyes travel the length of me as I sl
owly unbuckle the belt. He takes his time, and it makes me feel just a little bit nervous, like the first time he did it. I suck in a breath and lift myself up to stand in front of him. If there’s one thing I will not be its intimidated by him. He told me to fight him, and I intend to until the end if I have to.
“Make yourself come,” he says.
What?
“Why the hell would I do that?”
“Because you want to, Elizabeth, and because you want some clothes. You’re wet, aren’t you? I bet you’re dying to be fucked. Legs trembling slightly, face faintly blushed. Did you enjoy watching Tara’s lips around me? Perhaps I should just dry you out, lick that right off for you. What do you think?”
Damn him.
“Clothes, Alex?”
“Negotiations, Elizabeth.”
My mouth is gaping again. Tara’s giggling. Damn her, too. Is he seriously suggesting I should make myself come in front of him in return for having something to wear? What an arsehole. What pisses me off even more is that he’s right. I am aching, much as I hate to admit it. But I will not be doing anything of the sort.
“Alex, this is ridiculous. I just want…” His brow arches slowly, and within seconds, there’s a darker shade of blue threatening. My foot gingerly takes a step backwards, away from him. “Alex, don’t even think about it.”
“I’ve already thought about it. The taste of you on my tongue is firmly imbedded,” he replies as he licks his lips and puts his hands in his pocket. “So, before I put a shirt on, make your choice. Orgasms for clothes seems fair to me. I’ll give you to the count of five. One.”
Oh my god, he is serious.
“Alex, just-”
“Two.” He’s amused again. Bastard.
What the hell do I do now? I need clothes. And I know he’ll happily let me walk out of here wearing nothing. He’d probably enjoy it, too. Manipulative arsehole. I should so hate him now. “Three. Tick tock, Elizabeth.” Wanker.
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