“I don’t want anything,” she murmured at last with a weariness that made her voice come out strained. Her chin lifted and she peered at him once more. “But I don’t want Arlo to get what he wants either. Maybe it’s suicidal and stupid of me, but I realized something today after I talked to him, that I would never be free of him. That he would never let me go. He already lied once and I don’t believe he won’t do it again if it means getting what he wants. I know telling you was dangerous, but if I have to pick the lesser of two evils, I pick you.”
With that, she turned on her heels and slipped out the door.
Chapter 8
The arcade was in chaos. The Sunday crowd was especially chaotic as they stuffed their tokens into the machines and filled the space with the shrill of bells, whistles and lights. It was Juliette’s least favorite of places to work, but it filled the Sunday gap that neither the diner nor the hotel covered. It wasn’t much in paychecks—barely anything at all—but it was still something, which was still better than nothing.
Some orange haired kid with an infestation of freckles was having his eleventh birthday party in one of the corners. He and his friends had taken over the place in a cacophony of noise and smells. One boy, Juliette was certain, had shit himself in all his excitement. Juliette wasn’t sure which of the twenty-five boys it was, but Wanda, the day manager, had taken one sniff and left Juliette to fend for herself, which honestly she could handle. It was the dads she wanted to stab with a rusted knife.
“Can we get another pitcher over here, sweetheart?”
No! Juliette wanted to scream at them. Get your own fucking pitcher. But smiles and friendly service was how she made her tips, which unfortunately sometimes also included having bored, horny men think she was one of the games.
“Sure.”
With a smile that hurt her jaw, she reached for the pitcher placed a bit too far on the opposite side of the table where the four men sat watching, waiting to get a peek down her top as she bent forward. She could feel their eyes burning into her, stripping away the tight black t-shirt and equally tight mini that rode uncomfortably high up her bare thighs.
The uniform, while not stated as such, was designed to entertain the male cliental over the age of sixteen. It was cut low in the bodice to reveal more cleavage than Juliette was comfortable showing and the skirt hem had a two inch slit up one side that made the bit of fabric even shorter.
The women that occasionally made the trip with their children eyed the outfits with raised eyebrows and pursed lips while shooting their husbands warning glares not to look. Juliette always felt bad for being the cause of all the friction that followed those visits, especially when they were there to have fun.
The men loved it—when their wives weren’t around.
“Coke, right?” she clarified as she dragged the pitcher to her.
“Unless you got something stronger,” one man said and laughed like he’d made the best joke ever.
Juliette chuckled because it was her job to do so.
“No, sorry,” she said and made her way to the kitchen, fully aware of their eyes on her backside.
Barely five feet with wiry black hair and intense brown eyes, Wanda looked up when Juliette pushed her through the swinging doors. A basket of fries sat clasped between her hands. Her dark, mocha skin was beaded with sweat from the deep fryer and the unnatural heat that never seemed to leave the cooking area. Purple lips pursed as she set the basket down on a tray already heaped with four other baskets and arched an eyebrow.
“I’m fine,” Juliette answered the unasked question. “Really. It’s not so bad.”
Wanda snorted and went back to her tray. “Don’t know what they’re feeding that child, but, Lord, he stank.”
Juliette laughed. “Well, hopefully they’ll leave soon.”
“Girl, ain’t that the truth. I got no more patience for them little bastards.”
It always hit Juliette as ironic that Wanda partially owned an establishment designed to cater to children and hate children. Wanda had none of her own and swore she’d hang herself if that unfortunate day ever came. It was unclear whether the woman had always felt that way or if it was something that deepened the longer she worked at the arcade. Whatever it was, it always made Juliette chuckle.
“I need another refill,” she said, waving the pitcher and rattling the few pieces of ice at the bottom.
“Another one? Jesus.”
Juliette shrugged. “Twenty-five kids. Four parents. It adds up.”
Leaving the woman to finish her task, Juliette headed for the freezer in the back. She dumped the melted ice out into the sink and refilled with fresh cubes before pouring in the pop.
While the machine gurgled and sputtered brown liquid, she busied her sweaty hands refastening her hair. Strands had begun to escape the elastic since her heroic crawl through one of the tubes after a girl of six who had gotten herself mixed up and frightened. Oddly enough, the mother had been more frantic than the child once Juliette had lured her out.
The soda machine clunked to a stop. The drink fizzed inside the pitcher and she waited a full heartbeat before forcing herself to pick it up.
One more hour, she reminded herself.
It wasn’t the greatest motivator, but it got her moving. At the kitchen doors, she sucked in a breath and plastered a smile on her face before pushing through.
“One pitcher of Coke.” She set it down in the middle of the table, wiped the moisture off her hands on her skirt and peered around at the group. “Can I get you guys anything else?”
The father of the birthday boy leaned forward after casting furtive smirks at his buddies. “Yeah, the time you get off tonight.”
It was a struggle to maintain her smile, but it was worse trying to restrain the urge to dump the pitcher down on his head.
“Sorry. I’m already seeing someone,” she lied, which usually was enough to deter further propositions but he seemed to be adamant.
“And we’re married.” He sat back and shrugged. “No harm in a little bit of fun, right? We could pick you up and check out that little motel down the block.”
Juliette couldn’t help it. Her brow lifted.
“We?”
Maybe he mistook her outrage for interest, because his grin blossomed wide. “Yeah, a little something extra.”
She looked over at them carefully, not because she was considering it, but because the very notion was hilarious and laughing outright would no doubt get her fired.
“Sorry. I’m very happily taken.”
Not waiting for a comeback, she started edging away, hoping to get the rest of her section cleaned up before her shift was over. Plus there was that kid with the mess in his pants she had to find before he got shit all over the play area and she had to clean it up.
“Well, how about you help us take care of our bill?” Birthday Boy’s dad suggested, drawing Juliette to a stop.
She had half a mind to get Wanda to take care of that, but there was a good chance Wanda might decide that qualified as an opening to share the tips fifty-fifty and Juliette had worked fucking hard for every cent. At least, if they wanted their bill tallied, that meant they were leaving and Juliette was more than happy to comply.
Smile tight, she turned back. “Would you like me to bring the debit machine to your table or will you be paying in cash?”
The man in charge stooped to the side and tugged his wallet free of his back pocket. His murky gray eyes stayed fixed on her face as he withdrew a wad of bills. One by one, they were counted out across the table in a row that crackled hot along her skin.
“That should about cover it, plus a little something extra for your troubles,” he said with an evenness that made her want to punch him. Carefully, he took each bill and folded them in half once and waved them at her as though she were some stripper on a pole. “Where would you like me to put it?”
Up your fucking ass! Juliette was about to tell him when another voice answered for her.
“That all really depends,” said the low, chilling voice laced with a familiar accent she had no trouble placing. “How badly would you like to keep your hands?”
Juliette whirled around, her heart already somersaulting in her chest before she even set eyes on him.
Painfully beautiful with his dark hair swept back and his face flawlessly shaven, Killian joined the circle that was her, the table and the four men, with Frank at his back like a hulking shadow. He scrutinized the four blinking back at him with a steely glower that made Juliette shiver.
“I suggest you reconsider your method of payment very carefully, gentleman,” he drawled in that same icy tone.
The birthday boy’s father came out of his shock first.
“Who the hell are you?”
Killian fixed him with those dark, penetrating eyes. “I am the man who could make this a very bad day for your son.”
“Killian…” Her breathy whisper was silenced by a single sidelong glance shot her way from over his shoulder before he went back to addressing the men at the table.
Gleaming, black sunglasses were set neatly on the table and bracketed by long, square palms planted flat on either side as Killian leaned forward.
“Pick up your money,” he told the other man. “You’ve decided you’ll be paying by debit. Juliette, get the machine.”
Left with no other option, Juliette left the group quickly and returned barely a minute later to find all four men ashen faced and trembling as plastic cards were practically thrown at her. The birthday boy’s father looked nearly in tears and there was a faint, red welt circling his throat that she was almost certain hadn’t been there before she’d left.
Her gaze shot to Killian, who stood a few feet away from the table, hands clasped together around his glasses as he waited for her to finish. He met her gaze from a face carved in absolute calm, but it was the barely suppressed fury crashing behind his eyes that captured her.
The party paid for their bill and, as Juliette noted, left a very generous tip before scrambling out of their booth to find their children. Part of her wondered if they would ever come back and realized she hoped not.
With nothing left to occupy her attention, she had no choice but to face the man she hadn’t seen in over a week, a man she hadn’t thought she would ever see again, honestly. And while the sight of him filled her with a sort of lightness she wasn’t sure what to do with, she was also apprehensive and a little scared; she highly doubted Killian McClary made courtesy calls to people who were sent to betray him.
“Hi,” she whispered for lack of anything better.
“Hello,” he replied with that same scary calm voice she wished he would stop using.
He studied her face before dipping down past her shoulders and taking in the rest of her. She could feel the careful glide of his eyes along every contour like hungry hands. The intensity made her painfully aware of all the skin not covered by the uniform, all the skin branded by his touch. There were nights she could still feel the phantom caress of his fingers skating, tracing … teasing, and she’d wake up gasping and throbbing for more. So many times she pondered the idea of going to his house or the club and begging him to take her again, just once more, but common sense had always prevailed and she had been forced to take matters into her own clumsy and far less adequate hands.
“What are you doing here?” she asked when he said nothing else.
“I need to know something,” he said, dragging his attention back up her flushed and embarrassingly aroused body to settle on her eyes. “Why did you come home with me that night? Why didn’t you get out when I gave you the chance?”
Heat crept up her neck to spill into her cheeks and burn behind her eyes. “This isn’t the time or place—”
“Why?” he cut in not unkindly. “I could have been worse than Arlo. I could have done horrible things to you, but you still didn’t run. Tell me why, Juliette.”
Nerves and something sharp and coppery like fear roiled in the pit of her stomach. It flexed up fill her chest with a weight that made it impossible to breath. Yet it never crossed her mind to lie.
“Arlo promised that if I slept with you, he would consider my father’s debt paid.” She bit her lip hard enough to ward back the prickle of tears. “I wouldn’t have otherwise. I’m not like that. I don’t sleep with men for money or…” She turned away with the pretenses of clearing away the discarded plastic cups and napkins left behind by the party. “I’m not a whore.”
His hand closed around her wrist just as she snatched at a wad of used napkin. She released it as she was drawn around to face him.
“Who would know that better than me?” he asked quietly.
It was true. He had firsthand knowledge of her innocence. Yet it didn’t ward away the flood of shame she could feel stinging her cheeks.
“It was you or him,” she whispered.
“And I was the lesser of two evils,” he finished with a sort of humor that she couldn’t bring herself to share.
She shook her head. “He was going to give me to his men after he finished.” She lowered her eyes to the sharp point of his Adam’s apple. “I don’t regret it being you.”
It was only when she felt the hot glide of his palm following the curve of her side to splay between her shoulder blades that she realized he had taken over the space between them. His heat and scent curled around her like comforting arms and it took all her restraint not to close whatever distance was left and surrender. As it were, all she could manage was to fall recklessly into his eyes and pray to God she wouldn’t regret it later.
“Good,” he murmured, drawing back.
The hand around her wrist released and extended to the man standing mutely a few feet away, seemingly having gone deaf and blind throughout the entire interaction. A white envelope was passed over and Killian held it out to Juliette.
She took the legal sized packet and flipped open the top. She peered inside at the small stack of papers.
“Contract of Agreement?” she read out loud before lifting her head to him questioningly. “What’s this?”
“That is the solution to our problem,” he stated, dropping his arm from around her as well and taking a step back. “It will get rid of Arlo from both our lives for good.”
Juliette gasped. She shoved the envelope back against his chest, horrified.
“I am not going to … to contract you to kill him!” she hissed. “Are you crazy? This is so wrong, not to mention illegal!”
Killian’s mouth twitched as silent laughter glittered in his eyes. “It’s not a hit contract,” he said gently. “I wouldn’t need your consent to kill him if that was what I wanted. This,” he placed the envelope back in her hands, “is me giving you what you want.”
Wary, but intrigued, Juliette reached into the packet and removed the papers. The document had all the beginnings and markings of a normal, legal contract, but she still didn’t understand.
“I don’t get it.” She raised her head. “What is this?”
“I’m going to pay off your father’s debt.”
Juliette’s muscles tensed. Her fingers wrinkled the papers clutched tightly between them.
“In exchange for…?”
His eyes were dark pits of hunger and fire boring into hers in a way that left no doubt in her mind that he was remembering every dirty, heart stopping thing he’d done to her. The phantom sensation sent a hot shiver through her that fanned the inferno he’d lit in the pit of her stomach all those nights ago, the one that had never fully extinguished.
“You.” His shoulders rose with his deep inhale. “I want you and in return, I will clear all your debt. I will give you a monthly allowance that will surpass everything you make working three jobs and I will take care of all your wants and needs without question.”
“If I … what? Sleep with you again?”
“Yes!” His nostrils flared like a wolf at the scent of delicious blood. “But not once more. I want you to be mine for a full year.
”
Juliette blinked. “A year? Why—?”
“Because that night wasn’t enough. Because I can’t stop wanting you and that is a problem. A year will ensure that I have successfully fucked you out of my system.”
Her heart escalated in rhythm. “And if it doesn’t?”
“It has to.” His dark gaze jumped from her eyes to her mouth, which parted obediently. Yet their traitorous actions were nothing compared to the familiar tingle that vaulted recklessly up her body, tightening and pinching places aching for him. “Read it. Sign it. Bring it to me. If you don’t bring it yourself in one week, then I will consider that your rejection.”
It was moments like that where Juliette wished she had a friend. Another person she could trust enough to confess her worries and pains. As it were, all decisions were left on her exhausted shoulders.
The contract lay in her lap as she watched the flow of people strolling the hotel grounds. The afternoon sun was a brilliant, yellow ball of joy glistening against a flawless blue sky. Rays shimmered off the surface of the lake where children pitched in rocks and scrambled back and forth over the stone bridge. Couples wandered the trails, exploring the lush landscape the brochure promised while Juliette sat out of sight on a shady bench, deliberating what was sure to be yet another epic twist in her life.
The rational thing was to accept Killian’s offer. One year with him was practically a carnival ride compared to a lifetime with Arlo. But the idea of belonging to another person, of signing her entire life over to someone she didn’t know for a whole year scared the shit out of her. Even if it meant getting out of the hell she was in, who was to say Killian wouldn’t turn out to be even worse?
While no part of her believed that for even a moment, she debated her decision. Part of her wished she had Killian’s number so she could talk some of the contract over with him. Not that there was a single unclarified line in the whole thing.
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