by Shen, L. J.
I buckled up next to Sam in the car, still riding the high of the evening.
“You need to quit your job,” he said out of nowhere, starting the car.
I whipped my head in his direction, my mouth going dry. It was like he threw a bucket full of ice water on my face.
“Excuse me?”
“You’re excused, but this week is your last at the horror clinic.” He kicked the vehicle into drive, his eyes cool and disciplined on the road. “It’s too dangerous. There’s too much at stake here. I won’t let you put yourself in a vulnerable position.”
“What I do with my life is none of your business,” I reminded him.
“Everything you do is my business, and you will not continue doing illegal shit that could lead to you spending the rest of your life in prison, no matter how good your intentions are. Either you concede willingly or I will have to go to Dr. Doyle myself and tug at a few strings. Spoiler alert: I’ve been known to tear apart things I don’t like.”
“If you go to Dr. Doyle, I will never speak to or see you again.” I trained my voice to sound blasé, keeping my raging emotions out of it. I had to remind myself he was trying to protect me, even if he had a weird way of going about it. “And I’ll ask my father to fire you just to spite you, making sure we are even. You know he will, after everything that went down. Two can play this game, Brennan. I will not be pushed around by you. Not anymore.”
“It’s a disaster waiting to happen,” he hissed, trying to keep himself in check. I knew Sam wasn’t well-versed in negotiations. He normally just took what he wanted, when he wanted it. He was trying to make an effort.
“It’s not even that bad,” I argued. We slid onto the highway. December gave way to January. It seemed like everything in the world—the trees, the roads, the buildings—was coated with a thin layer of crystal-blue frost, including Sam’s heart. “What I do is perfectly legal in a variety of countries. Switzerland, for instance. But also Belgium, Western Australia, Columbia—”
“Notice what country you omitted from the list?”
I turned to look at him.
“The United States of fucking ’Murica. Here it is illegal, ergo you will not be doing it.”
“You’re right.” I chewed on my lower lip. “Maybe I should move to Switzerland.”
“Your backward logic never ceases to amaze me,” he grunted. “We aren’t moving to Switzerland, sweetheart, no matter how much you like killing people.”
There was a we? Since when was there a we? And why did it make my heart squeeze inside my chest?
Because you still love him, mon cheri. You’ve always loved him. He is your forever, even if you are only his right now.
“Why?” I feigned innocence. “You can do what you do anywhere. I don’t remember being a mobster requiring high SAT and IQ scores. And it’s not like you’ll have a job interview to fail.”
“You done being sassy?”
“Not quite.” I grinned, pleased with myself for holding my own.
“I own too much of Boston to let it go,” Sam explained, letting another verbal attack from my end roll off his back.
“Does ruling Boston make you happy?” I gave him a sidelong glance. “Does anything make you happy?” I added quietly.
“You make me happy,” he snapped, disgusted with himself. “You, and your blue, blue eyes and throaty voice and good, fair heart and dark, depraved soul.”
It was fascinating to see him like this. An injured animal cornered into talking about his feelings. I didn’t want to push him, so I turned to look at the view from the window, smiling to myself.
When we got to Boston, I noticed he was driving to his place, not mine.
“What are you doing?” I demanded. “I told you, I have work in the morning.”
“I already packed half your fucking room and moved it into my place, Sherlock. Chances are whatever you were planning to wear in the morning is already at my apartment. Bonus points … you don’t have to pretend to wear scrubs and change when you get to the clinic because I already know your secret.” He killed the engine and got out of the car.
I followed him, my mouth hanging open in astonishment, delight, and irritation. Only Sam could set all three on fire at the same time.
“How?” I demanded. “When?”
Sam took out a pair of keys from his pocket, dangling them between his fingers in front of my face. I recognized them to be my house keys.
“How? Duplicated these puppies a few days ago. When? Mostly when you were at work. Sometimes when you were asleep. It’s amazing how much can escape you. Remind me to never trust you with a safe. The burglar would steal it and you and you wouldn’t even notice.”
That night I fucked Nix the way I’d always planned to.
In leisure, without feeling her family breathing down my fucking neck.
Bent her over my desk and plowed into her while she screamed my name.
Then again in my bed and another time on the kitchen counter.
After the fifth time, we both fell into bed, exhausted and sweaty.
For the first time in my life, I fell asleep with someone by my side. Felt a woman’s warmth next to mine.
There was still some way to go. She had to quit her god-awful job and take a more traditional position as a doctor. But we were going places.
When I woke up in the morning, I turned over on my back and flung an arm out to her. Her side of the bed was cold.
I opened one eye, frowning.
She was gone.
She left a note on the nightstand.
Thanks for the sex, but you are still not off the hook.
—Nix.
Aisling refused to see me the next day.
And the day after that.
And the day after.
She didn’t take my calls, didn’t show up when I drove over to her house, and wouldn’t read my text messages.
And there were so fucking many of them.
Much more than I’d ever sent anyone else.
Sam: Stop acting like a child.
Sam: All I need is to show up at the clinic if I want to see you.
Sam: You proved your point. We can renegotiate your job.
Sam: You’re getting on my last nerve, Nix, and you don’t want to see what happens when I finally snap.
Sam: This is why I never wanted a relationship.
For better or worse, the last sentence triggered her, because she chose to reply.
Nix: No one is forcing you to be with me.
Sam: That’s not entirely true.
Something was, in fact, forcing me to be with her. My lack of ability to keep away from her. Ignoring her was manageable before we fell into bed, before we spent time together, before I found out things about her. Pussy was pussy, and with my eyes closed, it was easy to imagine fucking Aisling when I was deep inside someone else.
But no one else was going to cut it now, no matter how much I wanted to turn around and walk away from her.
It was going to be difficult and maddening and definitely take me out of my comfort zone, but I couldn’t not have her, however how much I tried.
Nix: Are you going to elaborate?
Sam: No.
Sam: Have dinner with me tonight.
Nix: Not until you apologize. You moved my things into your apartment, Sam. Without asking. Who does that?
Sam: I’m assuming this is a hypothetical question.
Nix: We’ll do things my way now. And my way might be frustrating to you. It’s about what I’m comfortable with, not about making you pay.
Sam: You’re already making me pay. I’m not accustomed to not getting what I want.
Nix: Life is hard.
Sam: So am I.
Nix: You sound like Hunter.
I was.
I finally realized why Hunter was so obsessed with my sister. Why Cillian couldn’t tear himself away from Persephone. There was something addicting about a woman who gave you her everything. Something that was hard to w
alk away from once you’d tasted it.
Sam: I will have you, one way or the other.
Nix: We’ll see about that.
That was what she didn’t take into account.
It took a monster to destroy a monster.
And I was going to devour her whole.
Sam and I spent the next two months playing this chess game.
Whenever he’d make a move too bold, I’d retreat.
I made him work for it. Work for it like he hadn’t in an entire decade. There was something to be said about unrequited love. It taught you resilience and bravery and strength. Now, the tables had turned, and I wanted him to show me I wasn’t the flavor of the month. That I was worthy of his attention, his affection, his everything. I couldn’t allow him to take what I had offered for free for ten years.
I had to put a price tag on my absolute devotion.
And that price tag was love.
I wanted to feel loved.
As with everything he did, Sam brought his A-game to the table.
He would corner me in places, follow me, steal dirty kisses when no one was watching. Maybe another girl would have been alarmed by it, but I relished his attention. His new desperation for my touch.
He waited for me outside a Thai restaurant when I went out with Persy, Sailor, and Belle, snatching me into a dark alley and kissing me roughly, his hands between my legs pushing my skirt up.
Three days later, he ambushed me outside the clinic, dragged me into his car, and fucked me raw in the backseat, giving me a small heart attack and a raging orgasm.
Four days after, I visited his apartment to grab a dress I wanted to wear for a charity event. Most of my clothes were still at his place, and even though he’d left me the code for his apartment lock, he refused to let me take my things back to Avebury Court Manor.
One day, I caught him sitting on a stool by his kitchen island, catching up on some work on his laptop. When I trudged in and yanked my desired Armani dress from the closet, he raised his eyes from the laptop coldly. I expected him to stop me and have his way with me before I made my way out of the apartment, but all he did was salute me with a touch of his fingers to his forehead, bidding me goodbye.
I stopped by the door, confused.
“Aren’t you going to try to sleep with me?”
The subtext was obvious: I am going to sleep with you, but I’m not going to move in with you. I will not commit to you. I will not give you more than I am ready to give.
Sam kept his eyes on the screen.
“Do you want me to try to sleep with you?”
“No.” Yes.
He smirked, his eyes still on the screen. “Seems like we don’t have a problem, then.”
“That’s a change I didn’t see coming.”
For some reason, my feet were glued to his floor. I couldn’t leave without figuring out what had changed.
Had he finally given up on us? Maybe he decided I was simply not worth the effort. I wanted to punch my own face for putting him through so much. But then again, I didn’t regret any of it. He deserved to repent for what he’d done to my family, and I wasn’t sure he was done paying.
“Maybe I decided to save myself for marriage,” he murmured, taking a sip from the glass of brandy sitting next to him.
Staring at him dumbly, I shifted the dress on the hanger from one shoulder to the other.
“Usually you do that before sleeping with enough people to break a Guinness World Record,” I pointed out.
He finally lifted his eyes from the screen.
“Well, I’m an unorthodox guy. Better late than never.”
“I guess this is where our journey ends, then.” I put on a brave face, forcing myself to smile. Internally, I was shouting, “Merde, merde, merde” to the moon.
He was dumping me. I knew I was making things hard for him, but Sam never showed any signs of looking tired or distressed. If anything, he took our new game in a stride and always had that dangerous, mischievous glint in his eyes of a man entertained by having to work for it for a change.
“Guess so.” He took another sip of his drink, his eyes never wavering from mine. “Unless we get married.”
I threw my head back and laughed hysterically.
Get married. Us. Good one.
“Never gonna happen,” I provided.
“Unlikely,” he agreed. “You can still suck my cock every now and again, but sex is off the table.”
“That’s something I can live with,” I said with more conviction than I felt. “And thanks for the offer, but I’ll pass.”
He’d nodded.
“Have a great night at the Fishers’ charity ball.”
“How do you know that’s where I’m going?”
“I know everything about you, Nix, including where you take your lunches at work—the little backyard on a white bench—and what you eat—hope you enjoyed your oatmeal bar today.”
I didn’t dance with anyone at the charity ball.
I was nailed to my seat, punished, thinking about one thing—marriage.
After that night, Sam did seek me out again and we never went all the way anymore. Never clawed at each other’s clothes or had wild sex.
He showed up in places I went to but only enjoyed heavy petting and kissing. Every time I tried to stir him into full-blown sex territory, he would clap his hand over my wrist and say, “You can’t sample the goods anymore, Nix. You break it, you pay for it. Move in with me.”
“No.”
It went on and on and on, week in and week out, to a point where I wasn’t sure if I was not done hating him for what he’d done or if I was just enjoying the chase too much. It was entirely possible I lost myself somewhere in our game, and I didn’t know how to find my way back to what we were.
The truth was, I did want to move in with him.
I wanted to move in with him very badly.
Not because taking care of Mother was daunting—on the contrary, she had actually been quite okay, everything considered—but because I missed him terribly every time we were apart.
I was just afraid he was going to break my heart again, and this time, I knew I wouldn’t be able to mend it back to health.
Right now, we were in the twilight zone. On the edge of something deep but still with the possibility of swimming back ashore. I was afraid if I lost that edge, my resistance as a result of being pushed around by him, he would conquer what little I’d kept for myself, and it would be game over for me.
I think Sam knew it, too. That we were stuck in limbo, and we didn’t know how to stop. Even our families, who little by little began to see each other again for dinners, looked at us with puzzled bewilderment every time Sam treated me gently in public and I gave him the cold shoulder.
One day, when he came to my house to drop off some paperwork for Athair and stayed for coffee, he grabbed my hand from across the table and frowned.
“I don’t mind waiting, Nix. I just want you to know I appreciate you not coming to Badlands and defying me.”
“Defy you?” I yanked my hand away from him like he was made of fire, taking a slow sip of my too hot coffee. “How do you mean?”
“I asked you not to come to Badlands, and you agreed, even though I lifted the ban. I’m glad you still take directions well. You are an obedient girl deep down, aren’t you, sweetheart? You’ll be easy to manage.”
My blood bubbled with rage. So much so I didn’t take a second to decode his words or figure out if he was goading me, deliberately moving another piece in our chess game.
“I’m not easy to manage.” I stood up abruptly, yanking my coffee from the table. “And the only reason I haven’t showed up at Badlands yet was because of my workload. In fact, I think I’ll hit your club this weekend, just to get on your nerves.” I smiled, feeling much better about provoking him back.
Oui, mon cheri. Always showing the maturity level of a wet tissue.
“Can’t fucking wait,” Sam drawled, getting up from his seat
.
Just then, my father came into the kitchen, holding his ledgers under his armpit, looking between us.
“Everything okay?”
“Perfect.” Sam grinned at me. “Absolutely fucking perfect.”
Staying true to my word, I showed up at Badlands the following weekend.
As always, I invited Belle to join me. I didn’t tell my friends about Sam yet, but this time it had nothing to do with my fear of being judged by them. Things were still complicated between him and me, to say the least, and my brothers weren’t privy to what was going on.
I knew Sailor and Persy were going to confide in my brothers no matter what, and I didn’t want to complicate things for all of us for something that might not materialize.
Belle looked to be in good spirits and ready to tackle the night in a skintight red leather mini-dress and matching lipstick. As soon as we got into the club—this time I did show my ID to the bouncers—she headed to the dance floor.
I was still shocked by the fact they let me in.
The balance of power had shifted, and true, I didn’t have most of it, but I didn’t have any less power than Sam did in our relationship either.
He said I didn’t come here out of obedience, and I wanted to show him it wasn’t true. At the same time, texting him I was here was too blatant, too transparent, and I knew that if Sam was here on the premises chances were he wasn’t going to come to the dance floor.
I wanted to press where it hurt. To show Sam I wasn’t his little plaything. And so after seeing Belle was content on the dance floor, I marched toward the narrow hallway through which Sam had led me all those months ago, on Halloween, when I desperately got on my knees for him, taking the scraps he threw my way while masquerading as a stranger.
Two burly bouncers stood at the edge of the hallway, arms crossed, blocking my way.
“Let me in.” I tilted my chin up.
They looked at me in amusement but didn’t move. As if the mere idea was ridiculous.
Women weren’t allowed in the card rooms. Cillian once told me the official reason for that was because gambling and whores went together, and Sam didn’t want respectable ladies getting harassed if his gamblers got the wrong idea.