Ruin: Slay Two

by Laurelin Paige

  He laughed, the amusement extending to his eyes. “You really are a pistol, aren't you?”

  I swallowed, and he caressed his thumb against the movement, his gaze caught there at my throat for long seconds before moving up to my lips.

  Then his hand moved to cup behind my neck, bringing my head up as he stepped into me. His mouth came down toward mine, and my pulse sped up with want.

  At the last second, I got my wits together and turned my head away.

  His lips landed on my jaw. He kept them there, sighing against my skin. “You were begging for me an hour ago.”

  “And then you told me you wanted me dead.”

  “Details.”

  He kissed along my jawline and up toward my ear, awakening every nerve in my body. My thighs felt slick and hot, and I could feel the steel press of his erection at my belly, and, even with all the bullshit and the scare tactics, there was a part of me that wanted him. A part of me that reveled in him wanting me. A part of me that felt validated by the evidence that the chemistry between us wasn’t one-sided.

  But that part of me was stupid and wrong.

  The smart part of me recognized him for the predator he was. A predator who planned to eat me alive.

  “You’re not touching me again,” I said, resolutely, despite the fact that he currently was touching me.

  His mouth was at my ear, his breath warm. “You do realize fucking is part of this bargain.”

  “I haven’t accepted this bargain yet.”

  His grip tightened at my neck, an obvious threat. “You mean you haven’t yet accepted this bargain is your only option.”

  There was nothing to say to that.

  Scratch that, there was one thing to say to that which was that I accepted his unfair bargain and would play whatever cruel game he wanted me to play.

  I opened my mouth, but the words refused to come out.

  And then I didn’t need to say them, because Edward kissed the side of my head before dropping his hand and stepping away. “Take a bit of time to think. We have a few days before I need to leave. I can’t stay past Sunday, though. I’ll need your answer by then.”

  He pulled his cell from his pocket and turned the light on. He’d made it to the door before he turned back and nodded toward the stove. “By the way, the knives are there. Top drawer to the right.”

  Then, by the light of his cell phone, he left me, with the lamp, in the kitchen, with a drawer of knives he knew I’d never be brave enough to use.

  Four

  The power was back in the morning. In the daylight, with the storm over, I could think more clearly. Yes, I was trapped on the island, but only while we were on the island. All I had to do was agree to Edward’s fucked-up game, and, as soon as we were back in London, there would be plenty of opportunities to get away. Not everyone worked for Edward. Not everyone was on his side.

  When I woke up, I considered telling him right away, just to get it over with, but as I opened my door to go look for him, I thought better of it. It was Wednesday morning. If I agreed now, that gave him four days to begin “breaking me down” before we left Amelie. If I waited until the last minute, he couldn’t do anything until we were back in the UK, and even if he got ambitious and attempted something on the plane, it would be far less abuse for me to suffer than if he got a head start.

  So I shut the door and undertook a very different mission than my previous one—avoid my husband.

  It shouldn’t have come as a surprise, but this mission was much harder than the last. While he’d been nearly impossible to find in the first week of our honeymoon, now he was there at every turn. In the pool, on the beach, reading on the lanai—all the places I’d adopted as my hangouts when he’d locked himself away in his library. Whatever time I arrived at the kitchen for breakfast, he’d show up soon after. The same thing happened at lunch. By Friday, I was taking most of my meals by myself. I was barely leaving my room at all.

  Dinner was the one occasion I had to spend in his presence. He’d never said so, exactly, but the staff still gathered for the meal, and my absence would be something he’d have to explain.

  Not that I cared much about inconveniencing the man. Just, it didn’t feel like I was in a position to piss him off.

  Besides, being around the staff felt safe, even if they all were under Edward’s employ. And they were nice, too. Fun. The women had lived very different lives than I had and were not the type of friends I’d pick if I were to choose, but, in reality, I’d never picked friends well, which was maybe what made their differences refreshing. Tom, Dreya, and Eliana especially fascinated me. They were always in a humorous mood in stark contrast to my constant seriousness. Their jokes were often crude and they teased incessantly, but their intentions were kind, and I enjoyed their company more than I liked to admit.

  Joette, whose cooking had attracted Edward in the first place, was a particular favorite. She was about a decade older than my mother, and nothing like the woman who’d raised me, or, rather, the woman who’d paid a full-time nanny to do the work for her. Madge Werner was the quintessential socialite, an elitist, always at the ready with a snide remark and a fake smile. I loved her, of course I did, and we were close in many aspects, but it was never easy spending time with her. My stomach was always knotted in her presence, my back always straight, my mind constantly aware and waiting for her next attack.

  Joette was everything Madge wasn’t. She was expressive and warm, her smile always wide and genuine. When I retreated to my room, she checked in on me without making me feel like my privacy had been invaded. She was attentive without smothering. Curious but not nosy. And her cooking was absolutely divine. She’d be the thing I missed most when I was free of Edward.

  Not the only thing, but I didn’t like to think about that enough to name what those other things might be.

  After dinner was where things became tricky. Previously, when I’d been desperate for Edward’s attention, he’d disappear with the men into the library as soon as the meal was over. Now, everyone remained together. The sliding glass wall would be opened up to the patio, alcohol would be poured, cigars would be brought out, and the socializing would continue well into the night.

  Edward was still himself in these instances, still composed and well-bred, but it was a more relaxed version of the man I’d been exposed to. His smile came naturally, meeting his eyes more often than not. He wasn’t particularly chatty or entertaining, but he was engaged, and if a stranger had walked into the group, it would be obvious to him that Edward was the most important figure of the bunch. It was in the way the others angled their bodies, the way they looked to him for approval, the way they attended to his drink.

  It made sense, of course. He was the one with the money. He was the one who paid the bills and owned the island and everything—everyone?—on it. But I had the feeling that the reaction to him would have been the same even if his name wasn’t on the land title. He had a certain air about him, a magnetism, an authority that exuded from his very being, daring anyone to challenge him as king. As the devil.

  Sometimes, seeing him like this, recognizing this about him, I was surprised that I’d ever dared to provoke him. That I’d dare to again if given the right opportunity, at the right time.

  That time wasn’t now. This was his show, and I let it be.

  While the rest of the couples intermingled, Edward would invariably find a spot near me. He’d hand me a brandy then rest his arm next to me, his hand casually placed on my knee, and behind the laughs and the camaraderie, no one had any idea that I was a captive. That my husband had issued the gravest of threats. That his hold on me, a sure sign of ownership, had my heart pounding against my chest with trepidation.

  Maybe not just trepidation. Maybe his touch did more to me than that. Still. Even now.

  I didn’t know what to expect after our guests left for their own residences. If his hand would rise higher up my thigh, between my legs, if his mouth would seek again to find mine. The min
ute someone yawned or initiated cleaning up, I excused myself to my bedroom so I wouldn’t be left alone with the man I’d married. I didn’t want to know what would happen if I stayed, and, thank God, he never followed me to my room.

  Until Saturday night, the night before he’d told me he needed to leave.

  I’d packed my bags earlier, quietly, careful not to draw his attention. I wanted to be ready to go in the morning, as soon as I gave him my answer about his offer. The luggage was stowed away in my closet, out of sight. The evening had proceeded as usual with the dinner and mingling. As soon as Marge had looked at Erris with that look that said, Is it time to go?, I made my own farewells and slipped away to my room. There, I’d showered in my ensuite, then, with a towel on my head and another wrapped around me, I wandered to my bedroom in search of body lotion.

  I found Edward instead.

  The entire time we’d been on the island, he’d never once entered my rooms, and seeing him there now, sitting in my armchair, his leg nonchalantly crossed at the ankle over the other knee made me startle. Made my stomach flip. Made my knees go weak.

  “I wasn’t expecting you.” Somehow my voice sounded unaffected.

  “We have a matter to settle.”

  “Do we?” I pulled the towel from my head and began patting dry the still-wet ends. There was nothing to gain from acting flippant, but I couldn’t help myself. I wanted to be as casual as he was, even if it was all an act.

  His blink was heavy and filled with annoyance. “I’d like to get an early start in the morning, but that depends on my agenda for the morning. Have you made a decision?”

  He meant it depended on if he had to fit killing his wife into his schedule or not. The pomposity of it made me want to kick something.

  I managed to hold my temper. Somewhat. “You haven’t really left me much choice.”

  “No, I haven’t.”

  “Then, there’s my answer,” I said, tossing the towel I’d used on my hair to the bed.

  “Good. I’m pleased.” He stood and nodded as if to seal the arrangement. “We’ll get started when I get back.”

  He was almost out of the room when his words sunk in. “You mean when we get back. To London.” Right?

  He paused at the door, turning only his head toward me, one hand bracing the frame. “No, I mean when I get back. From London.” His clarification delivered, he continued out of the room.

  The floor felt like it was dropping from beneath me. “No, no, no, hold on.” Gripping the towel around me, I scampered after him. “You can’t possibly be suggesting that you’re going to leave me here.”

  “No, I’m not suggesting that. I’m saying that exactly.” He kept walking. Didn’t even look back at me as he spoke.

  Though he was still moving, I stopped, shocked. “No way. You can’t leave me here. How can you leave me here?”

  “Very easily. I simply get on my plane and don’t allow you to board with me.”

  He was all the way through the family room and rounding the kitchen by the time I got my feet to move again. “But I agreed to your stupid plan! I gave you what you want! You can take me with you. You won. I lost. It’s over.”

  “It’s not over. It’s just beginning.” Halting, he twisted his body toward me. “And you know why I can’t take you with me.”

  The way his eyes looked into me—looked through me, holding me in place—I knew he was a step ahead of me. As always.

  “No, actually, I don’t,” I said, refusing to accept it. As always.

  With a sigh, he took two steps toward me. “Celia, we need to be beyond these little lies. If you’re really going to submit to letting me break you down, there needs to be honesty between us.”

  God, he was so patronizing.

  He was right about me and my motives, but that he was so sure he was right was infuriating.

  It made me more determined than ever to stick to my story.

  “Fine,” I said, readjusting the towel since it had slipped in my pursuit. “If we’re being honest, tell me honestly why I can’t go to London with you.”

  His head cocked slightly, his gaze piercing deeper into my skin, into my bones. His expression was a challenge, as if to say, Really? You really want me to spell out why you can’t be trusted?

  “Whatever you’re thinking I’ll do, I won’t do it. I promise.” I’d gotten good at being able to lie while making direct eye contact.

  “You won’t run away? You won’t try to escape the first opportunity you find? Forgive me for not believing you.” He didn’t give me a chance to refute, turning and walking away once again.

  I scurried after him. “What’s the point of honesty if you aren’t going to believe anything I say?”

  “Trust is earned. Once you’ve been honest for a significant amount of time, once you’ve proven your honesty over and over, then I will trust you. Until then, you’ll remain here.” He paused inside his room to toe off his shoes, then threw me a brow-raised glance, as if to reprimand me for entering his private quarters without his permission.

  I hesitated, waiting to see if his reprimand would go further, but it didn’t. Seeming to decide I wasn’t worth the trouble, he pivoted away from me and crossed to his bed where he removed his watch and set it on the nightstand.

  Quickly running through my options, I decided to change my tactic. “How long? How long before you come back?” Maybe he’d be back soon. An extra week on the island wasn’t worth arguing about.

  His forehead creased as he considered. “I need to catch up on work for a bit. Then it’s the holidays, which always put things behind. I’ll need some time to catch up from that as well. I should be able to get away again by the end of February.”

  “THE END OF FEBRUARY?” I was officially shouting. “You can’t just abandon me here for three months!”

  “Can’t I?” The twinkle in his eye, that smirk—this clearly entertained him.

  But he hadn’t thought it all through. There was no way he had. “What will people say? My family? How are you going to explain this to my mother and father? If they haven’t heard from me for a while, they’ll at least expect a phone call for Christmas.”

  He wasn’t at all fazed.

  “I’m sure no one would question why my wife would want to spend the winter in the Caribbean rather than England.” He unbuttoned his shirt as he spoke, his attention only half reserved for me. “As for your parents, I won’t have to explain anything. You’ll explain things just fine.”

  “I’ll explain things?” I tried to guess what he meant. “If you think you’re going to get me to lie to them—”

  He cut me off sharply. “You seem to have forgotten the information I’ve accessed on your laptop.”

  Meaning he had the passwords to my email accounts. He could easily email them as me. He could even look at past correspondence to copy my voice. I could picture what he’d say—I loved Amelie so much I’m staying until spring. The internet doesn’t work so I can’t be reached. I’m only able to send this because I took a day trip to Nassau.

  He really did have me trapped. Had me captive in every way possible. And all my scheming, all my calculating was for naught.

  Adrenaline coursed through my body as rage took over. All week I’d been a dormant volcano on the brink of turning active, the fire inside me heating up and now I’d reached a boiling point. He wanted me to break? Well, I wanted him to break. I wanted him to hurt.

  Quickly, I scanned my surroundings and found a ceramic vase on his dresser top, a piece that was probably some antique worth some ungodly amount.

  I didn’t care.

  I picked it up and flung it at him as hard as I could.

  Of course he saw it coming and ducked out of the way. The vase exploded against the wall behind him, shattering into several pieces.

  The gaze Edward pinned on me then was cool and narrow. “Temper, temper, little bird.”

  That’s all I was to him. Something insignificant. A bird. A broken bird, at that, bec
ause he’d clipped my wings.

  “Is this part of it? You’ve already started, haven’t you?” If he meant to break me down, he was on his way to succeeding.

  He didn’t answer, shrugging his shirt off his shoulders as he crossed the room to toss it on the chair against the opposite wall. When he turned back to me, he nodded toward the pottery pieces. “I hope you don’t plan on leaving your mess for Sanyjah to clean up.”

  My hands were balled into fists at my sides, my breath coming fast and shallow in my chest. I already wanted to punch him. Suggesting I get on my knees and straighten up was the last straw.

  Bending down, I picked up a shard that had landed nearby. Then, when I found the piece had a sufficiently jagged edge, I didn’t hesitate. I didn’t think. I just did.

  Holding the fragment up in the air, I charged toward him. I lost my towel on the way. I was naked, and I didn’t care. The desire to hurt him was too real, too sharp, as sharp as the ceramic in my hand.

  He caught me at my forearm, because he was faster and stronger than I was. He gripped the other as well, jerking it behind my back, drawing me near so that the tips of my breasts brushed against his chest. It didn’t escape me that this was the closest I’d been to having my bare skin against his. Less than a week ago, I would have considered the position a win, would have fallen willingly into him. Would have given him all of me.

  Now he wanted all of me, and I wanted him dead.

  And he knew it.

  But instead of wrenching the weapon away from me, he moved the tip to his throat. Lifting his chin, exposing his neck, he offered himself. “Do it. Right there. The carotid artery is your best shot at a clean kill. Swipe all the way across to get both branches. It takes more strength than you think it will, so be sure to push deep.”

  I held my hand still, keeping the point at his skin, and I thought about it. For a second, I really thought about it.

  Then, with a sigh that sounded more like a growl, I dropped the shard, letting it fall to the tile floor with a clunk.