Conor Thames (Blackwater Boys Book 1)

by R. J. Lewis

  He simply craved Charlotte, and age had nothing to do with it.

  “Why don’t you talk to Ember about this shit?” Jem asked, shrugging. “She’d know all about women and their sensitivities.”

  Thames hadn’t seen Ember in weeks. He knew his mother was walking on eggshells about her. Thames wasn’t fucking stupid. She didn’t want him to know Ember was probably messing with the wrong guys. He’d overheard her talking to Charlotte about having to look after Lily a lot more, and then she’d frozen when she’d seen him close-by.

  He wasn’t oblivious to the way people around him kept particular information hidden. But he was trying his damned hardest not to make it his business.

  He wanted a relationship with Charlotte. He didn’t want to fuck up and be sent back to prison. Focusing on the car had offered him respite from those temptations.

  “We gotta get you into another project after this,” Jem suddenly said, reading Thames with a frown on his face. “Locke said anytime we’re ready, he can start frequenting the car auction houses again and scoop some good wrecks. We can realistically start re-badging next month. Conor? You hearing me?”

  Thames absently nodded. “I’m hearing you.”

  But all he was thinking about was Charlotte pulling away so suddenly, it fucked with his head.

  Was this a college thing? Did she realize she’d be leaving and having second thoughts about them? He shouldn’t have been so understanding when she said she was leaving. His instincts had been to chain her to the bed and clip her wings.

  But he cared too much for her to do that.

  Jem left after a quick chat, and Thames sat in the office, staring at the surveillance camera, watching it and waiting for her to come back. When paranoia started up again, he raced into the bedroom and checked the closet, making sure she hadn’t randomly packed her shit and fled.

  Her shit was still there.

  He even opened her pink sparkly bag to make sure her bank cards were still in place. They were, and now he felt fucking dirty for checking.

  When she did return, it was right before dinnertime. She had a take-out bag in her hand that she’d taken up to the office to him. She knew he would be in there. Fucking angel had bought him food and was smiling sweetly at him before passing the brown bag over. Leaning down, she gave him a soft kiss on the lips, and now he was beyond fucking confused.

  “You okay?” she asked, looking him over.

  He wasn’t okay.

  He didn’t know if there was something wrong with him.

  He didn’t know if what he was feeling was normal.

  He couldn’t even look her in the eye because he was convinced he was turning into a fucking headcase.

  “You’re distant,” he murmured to her.

  “I know.”

  This made his head snap up. He stared at her surprised. “You know?”

  She looked sad again and he wished he’d never asked. She sat down on his lap, inviting herself without permission. It was fucking hot. He wrapped his arms around her, burying his face into her back, inhaling the shampoo shit and the perfume shit and her skin lotion shit.

  “Dove,” he groaned, feeling out of sorts, sickly. “I’m falling hard for you. I think I’m reading into things a little too wrong. I think there’s something wrong with my head. I can’t stop thinking about you, and I don’t know if it’s healthy anymore.”

  The highs were so fucking high, but the lows felt like he was being smashed against the rocks.

  Charlotte turned her body around to face him. He looked up at her, for once letting her see the vulnerability in his eyes as he stared at her with everything he was feeling.

  “It’s not you,” she said quietly. “This is all me, Conor. You’ve been amazing. I’m just being a fucking girl and trying to get my head back on right.”

  He swallowed, feeling like he could breathe again. “Why won’t you tell me what’s going on?”

  “I’m scared.”

  “I thought I told you I’ll always be here.”

  She blinked back tears, sniffing. “What if you don’t? What if you get taken away again? Then what?”

  “I’ve been doing my best, haven’t I?”

  “You’ve been great. I’m just paranoid.”

  He nodded, understanding. “I know what that’s like. My head’s been like that too. I keep thinking something bad is going to happen. I keep thinking you’re about to leave. Even snooped your fucking pink bag and shit.”

  She laughed, surprising him. “Are you satisfied I’m not going anywhere?”

  Thames nodded, though he knew that feeling was short-lasting. She was going to go to the city in a little over a month and she’d fucking forget him and his bullshit. She’d meet a doctor, he’d woo her, take care of her, probably do yoga or cross train – cross training was so fucking weak – and have a calm fucking head and wouldn’t cuss a quarter of the amount Thames did. He felt surprised in that moment that he had finally admitted these feelings to himself. The cocky wall he’d built was a form of self-preservation. Somewhere along the way he’d been determined to keep his frail ego intact.

  On a very honest level, he understood he was a fucking anchor on everybody around him. He destroyed everything he touched. He hurt everyone who had ever been close to him, and he couldn’t seem to fucking know how to stop. It was like being in a dark room and searching for a light switch. Only the light switch wasn’t on the wall, and he learned to navigate blind, hoping he was doing something right.

  Charlotte dropped her head and kissed him, silencing his thoughts with one stroke of her tongue.

  He needed to keep his shit together.

  He needed to stop thinking she was fleeting. Every time he held her, he thought of how much he was going to miss it. It was wrong and it was punishing and it was draining every ounce of rationality left in him.

  When the kiss turned deeper, he picked her up in one swift movement, and carried her to the bedroom.

  He’d eat later.

  After they fucked and ate and showered together, he cradled her in her arms for a while, staring at her as she read a book she’d pulled from the shelves in the office. His chest warmed as she pulled at her lip, thoughtful. He stroked her hair, cupped her tit, and still, she’d barely registered, flying through the pages, looking peaceful.

  Finally, she let out a soft sigh and shut the book, resting it over her bare chest.

  God, he wanted this forever.

  “It feels good to read,” she said, quietly. “It’s been so long.”

  “You shouldn’t have stopped.”

  “I don’t think I will.”

  “I’m falling in love with you, Charlotte.” The admission slipped out without warning. He couldn’t hold it back. He was staring at her, aching for her even though she was in his arms, and he just knew. He knew he loved her.

  She looked up at him, tears misting in her eyes. She was unusually emotional lately.

  “I’m falling for you too, Conor,” she whispered.

  “Isn’t it amazing, dove?”

  “It’s painful too.”

  He furrowed his brow. “Why?”

  “Because you have something to lose. Because the harder you fall, the harder the heartbreak.”

  Thames knew that. What she said was foreboding. A dark shadow of things to come. He felt powerless of his feelings, and powerless of the way he handled them.

  More so than that, he felt that his love for her was twisting him apart, and not in a good way. He worried he was made to ruin.

  That he would wind up alone, because the more he wanted her, the worse the shakes became.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Thames

  Two nights later, he awoke to the sound of an engine purring. He slipped out of bed, careful not to wake Charlotte up. He walked to the window, peeking through the blinds.

  There was a grey car sitting idle in front of his house.

  His spine straightened and he was immediately alert. This time, he wasn
’t going to chalk this up to paranoia. He hurried out of the bedroom in just briefs on and grabbed a bat from his office. He rushed down the stairs, feeling every nerve in him fire with adrenaline.

  Motherfucker was back.

  This was that fucking creep.

  It wasn’t in his fucking head.

  Thames fucking knew it.

  Whipping the front door open, Thames stormed out of the house at running speed and came at the car with his bat up. He saw the worm straight away, sitting behind his steering wheel, watching him with an empty look. He didn’t seem surprised at all. Instead, he swiftly backed up his car and made to leave when Thames began swinging the bat at the front headlight. It smashed the light out in one swing, sending the plastic flying in all directions.

  “Get the fuck out of there,” Thames hollered. “You weak ass cunt. Get the fuck out and face me!”

  But Billy just smirked at him, a completely unhinged expression on his face. He turned the car around, and Thames managed a few more hits to the body before he drove off, tires screeching against the pavement.

  Panting, Thames stood in the middle of the road, watching the lights grow smaller. Dogs barked in the distance, hearing the commotion. Porch lights went on and some heads poked out, staring in his direction.

  Fuming, Thames strolled back to his house and found Charlotte standing on the front porch with a blanket wrapped around her.

  Unable to hold back his anger, he gritted, “That was your fucking stepbrother idling outside the house.”

  Her lips parted as blazed past her, pacing the bottom level of the house with adrenaline firing through him. He wanted to jump into the truck and chase after him. He was going to do it.

  “Conor,” she said, her voice soothing.

  He shook his head, pausing to point at her. “No, Charlotte. Don’t.”

  “You need to be calm.”

  “This isn’t the first time.”

  “We’ll go to the police.”

  He chuckled, dryly. “What’re they going to do, Charlotte? Give the vampire looking cunt a warning? He wasn’t even on my property. Technically, wasn’t doing anything wrong. This cunt’s coasting just below the line, trying to fuck with my head because he wants me out of the picture to get to you.”

  Her face paled. He saw the terror in her eyes and this time he came at her and squeezed at her arms.

  “Tell me what he’s done to you,” he demanded. “Now, Charlotte, I can’t fucking take it.”

  She shook her head. “No, Conor.”

  “If you don’t tell me, I am jumping into the truck and chasing after him.”

  The road was long and winding. He could catch up to him if he really wanted to, but it would have to be now.

  She hesitated; her eyes glossy with unshed tears. “Conor.”

  “Tell me.”

  “He hasn’t done anything –”

  He stormed past her and grabbed the keys from the counter. She shouted his name again, but he was gone. He ran out of the house and jumped into the truck. He wasn’t going to play this fucking game anymore.

  Thames turned on the car and flew down the street, ignoring reason. He couldn’t resist the urge to paint this fucker’s face with his own blood. He shook everywhere, teeth chattering, fingers twitching so hard he had to fist his hands and squeeze.

  His heart battered inside his chest, and his body went taut at the sight of taillights in the distance. He accelerated faster, coming up right behind the cunt’s car. He saw Billy’s face look up at the rearview mirror, right at him. When he smiled, Thames’ chest squeezed tight and he pressed down even harder on the gas pedal, slamming the front of his truck into the back of his car.

  Billy swerved off the road and through the fence of an industrial yard, coming to a stop. Dirt clouds concealed the car for a few seconds. Thames braked to a stop on the side of the road and jumped out of the car, chasing after him. But as the dust settled, he found Billy still in his car, doors locked, looking up at Thames with a pleasant expression.

  “Open up, or I’ll smash your fucking window open,” Thames threatened, fisting his hands.

  Billy didn’t budge.

  So he smashed at his window, bloodying his fists as the glass went flying everywhere. He grabbed at the fucker’s shirt and pulled, forcing his body out of the window. Shoving him on the ground, he pressed his knee against his chest and raised his fist, gritting his teeth at the smirking fucker.

  “You better open your fucking mouth and start talking, or I’ll fucking kill you,” Thames warned, his voice disturbingly level.

  “And say what?” Billy responded, his voice quiet and calm.

  “Why are you fucking around outside my house?”

  “I like to make sure she’s okay,” he replied simply.

  Charlotte.

  “What did you do to her?” Thames demanded, feeling his heart thud harder. “Why is she so scared of your fucking punk ass?”

  Billy didn’t answer. He just stared at him, a solemn look in his eye.

  “Talk,” Thames demanded. “Or I’m going to hurt you, Billy.”

  But he didn’t talk. He just looked at Thames, goading him again.

  This time there was nobody to stop him. Thames punched him hard, causing his head to snap back. Blood poured from Billy’s nose, and still – STILL – the fucker returned his readied gaze to him.

  What was wrong with this fucker?

  He wasn’t right. He was fucking whacko.

  And he had destroyed a part of Charlotte. He had wrecked her in a way Thames begged to know. He realized in that moment as he stared into this crazy fuck’s eyes, it was him she was fleeing the town from.

  She was running.

  He had ruined her before Thames could.

  As Thames raised his hand getting ready for the next punch, he heard the sirens in the distance. As if being shaken out of a dream, he looked back at Billy, who was smiling at him now with a cocky look.

  Mother.

  Fucker.

  The cops surrounded them within five minutes.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Charlotte

  “All you had to do was tell him what he did to you,” Jem snapped, looking pissed at me. “He wouldn’t have run off after him.”

  “Jem Wright, watch your mouth,” Megan admonished, glaring at him. “This is not Charlotte’s fault. She didn’t force Conor to go after him. He did it himself.”

  Tears fell from my eyes. I sat on couch, knees to my chest, cradling myself for hours since Conor had left. I didn’t know what was going to happen. All I knew was Conor had been arrested for crashing Jem’s truck into the back of Billy’s car. In custody, Conor had called Locke and Locke had forwarded the news to us.

  I’d already known of his arrest. I could hear the sirens minutes after he’d left and knew the police had come after him.

  Conor had lost to his urges.

  He let the bad side win.

  I was devastated.

  Jem was pacing the living room floor of the home. The floorboards creaked with every step, making my head pound even more.

  “This shit keeps happening,” he roared, raking his hands over his hair. “He keeps fucking up, and I don’t know how to stop it! I thought she’d helped but” –he pointed at me – “you turned into more of a problem than I expected. He was wigging out to me earlier, asking me how to keep you. Trouble in fucking paradise and then this? Not a coincidence!”

  My eyes widened. “There was no trouble.”

  “You were distant.”

  “It had nothing to do with him.”

  “Did you tell him that?”

  I looked at Megan. She went quiet, standing by the foot of the couch, staring down at the floor with a pained expression.

  More tears fell from my eyes.

  “I’m pregnant,” I said, shaking. “It had nothing to do with him.”

  Megan’s head snapped up and Jem froze mid-step. They both stared at me, baffled for a few long moments. There, I’d
said it. It was done, and it took so much effort to force the words out of my mouth. If saying two words put me through this much of a wringer, how could I tell Conor about Billy?

  “This is bad,” Jem stated, calmly.

  “Which part?” I questioned. “Because right now everything is falling apart.”

  “The part where your guy is locked up in a jail cell and we don’t yet know what his bail is going to come to. We don’t even know what the fuck he is going to be charged with. We know nothing.”

  He was right, The knowing nothing part was the hardest bit.

  “We have to just sit and hope for Conor not to say a fucking word to the police.”

  “He’s too angry to stay quiet,” Megan argued. “They’ll push his buttons, and he’ll bury himself.”

  “Locke’s going to be there soon.”

  “What can he do?” I asked, anxiously.

  “He’s a lawyer,” Megan explained. “Locke’s been looking after him for a few years and saved his ass from a lot of lengthy sentences.”

  My heart lurched. “He’s going back to jail?”

  They didn’t answer. The unknown was going to kill me.

  “He was right all along,” Jem whispered, shaking his head. “He saw him out front of the house once, and I thought he was crazy. This guy’s been doing this on purpose, trying to rile him up.”

  “To get to me,” I finished, remembering what Conor said before he left.

  Jem looked up and met my eye. “Either we kill the guy, or we physically remove him out of town.”

  My brows furrowed. Was he serious? He looked to Megan and she let out an exhausted shrug. “Wouldn’t be the first time we did something like that to protect him.”

  What did she mean by that? I didn’t want to hear this. I put my hands over my ears and shut my eyes. A few moments later, her cool hands tugged them down. She smiled reassuringly at me.

  “You need to go upstairs and get some sleep,” she told me. “We’ll take care of everything else.”