Chapter Seventeen
Niamh
When Ivan arrived at lunchtime, I never for a second thought I was going to have the best day of my life. Yet, hanging out with Ivan, making popcorn with him, watching a couple of movies, ordering pizza, had been so much fun.
Peter had stuck around until the popcorn, and then he’d left. It was nearly nine at night and he still hadn’t returned. I was getting tired, and I’d already moved some of my stuff into Peter’s room so Ivan could take the spare bedroom.
I said good night to Ivan and made my way into Peter’s room. The moment I stepped inside, I could smell him. Even though the room didn’t have any personal touches, I knew Peter’s smell. It had become a comfort to me in Pickle Quest.
I was afraid to touch anything, so I grabbed my pajamas and made my way into the bathroom. I was tired, but I needed to take a shower.
I removed the clip from my hair, and brushed my teeth before stripping out of my clothes and stepping beneath the hot spray of water. I couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to live my own life, free of worry. Free of the fear of my father. Even as I got older, I never lost that fear of him arriving unannounced. Even now, I couldn’t help but feel that small smidge of fear that threatened to curl up inside me and spill right back out. What if my father beats Ivan?
I knew how cunning and manipulative my father was. Did Ivan know what he was doing? I had no doubt he did, but I was so used to my father being at the top of the food chain, it was hard to imagine anyone else.
After the shower, I stepped out, wrapped myself in a towel, and quickly dried off. The bruises had started to fade from the beating my father had given me. Ivan had wanted them to be gone from my face for the wedding, which they had been.
Once my body was dry, I changed, ran a brush through my hair, and then grabbed the towel to dry it again so it wouldn’t dampen my pillow.
Even though Peter wasn’t home, I was nervous about going into that bedroom. This was Peter’s bed. I’d shared his bed with him plenty of times. More than a few. I’d pretty much lived with him in Pickle Quest, and now I didn’t know what to do. I had an out. When all of this was over, I could leave for good.
I clenched my hands into fists because I knew I should be excited about the prospect of being free, of not having to worry about someone hurting me. I didn’t have to worry if Peter was only faking it because his boss had ordered him to. I’d be free to make my own choices, to do what I wanted to do.
But, I didn’t feel happy.
I was a little scared and afraid.
I wanted to hate Peter. He had lied, but then so had I. We’d both lied for different reasons. I’d not gone out of my way to fall in love with Peter, or to make him fall in love with me. I’d not been ordered to get him pregnant.
Why did this have to be so hard?
It would be easier to hate Peter, but the sad truth was, I still loved him. That love hadn’t died when the truth had come out. I couldn’t just stop loving him.
I didn’t want Peter to be forced to be with me. He didn’t do love, and I accepted that. But at least he could like the person he was married to, or perhaps even grow to care for them.
I put the used towel in the laundry basket and stepped into the bedroom, only to come to a stop as Peter was standing at the foot of the bed. There were bloodstains on his shirt, and for a second, I didn’t know what to do.
“Did you kill Ivan?” I asked.
“No. He’s enjoying my whiskey in the spare bedroom,” Peter said.
“Ugh, are you okay?” I didn’t know what to do. My father had visited my mother a few times with blood spatter. He didn’t seem to care that he’d killed someone prior to coming to see us. My mother didn’t care either. I did. The blood had scared me.
“Yeah, I’m fine.” He glanced down at his shirt. “Your father had sent one of his men to try and take you.”
“What?” I asked.
This surprised me.
“You’re a powerful woman, and he is going to try and get you, but he’s not going to succeed.”
Peter held his hand up as if he was going to touch me, but then he stopped, clenched his hand into a fist. “I’m going to take a shower.”
I didn’t stop him as he brushed past me.
“Thank you,” I said quickly. I felt him stop and I turned toward him. “For not letting him hurt me anymore.”
“I bet he is regretting everything he has done to you.”
“No, I doubt it. I bet he wishes he kept me locked up so he could use me as a punching bag.”
“It’s not going to happen,” Peter said.
“Thank you.” I didn’t know what else to say.
He nodded his head, and then turned on his heel and stepped into the bathroom.
For several seconds, I just stood in the center of the bedroom, not sure what to do. I felt at a loss for words. I wasn’t used to this feeling. Not that I ever had a lot to say before.
Stepping toward the bed, I then stopped again. Which side of the bed did Peter prefer? I was truly not sure, so I climbed into the right side, when I looked at it directly. Sliding beneath the sheets, I turned and faced the door. If I turned the other way, I’d be facing Peter when he climbed into bed.
We’d not shared a bed since the day of the picnic. That day, I’d woken up with his arms wrapped around me, his face against my neck, kissing me. I’d started to experience the morning sickness off and on at that point. That day, there had been no sickness.
Peter had kissed my neck, and one of his hands had worked up to cup my breast, and the other had moved down to cup my pussy. His hands on my body felt so good. I’d not wanted him to stop, and he hadn’t either.
I pulled out of the memory, because I didn’t want to think about sex. Peter didn’t take too long in the shower. Within what felt like minutes, he was done, and stepping into the bathroom with only a towel wrapped around his waist. It was then I remembered that Peter slept in the nude. He refused to wear anything for bed.
We were married. I was in his bed once again. The bed dipped as he climbed beneath the covers. I stayed perfectly still.
Silence fell in the darkened room. I heard his breathing. At one point, I was pretty sure I had stopped breathing.
“I’ve done a lot of bad things in my time, Niamh. I’ve never raped a woman, and I’m not going to start now. You don’t have to be afraid of me.”
Okay, I didn’t know why, but for some reason that pissed me off more than I expected.
“What?” I asked, but I certainly wasn’t calm, nor was I quiet when I suddenly yelled at him.
“You’re acting like you’re afraid of me. I have never attacked you, never hurt you.”
“Shut up,” I said. In the back of my mind, I was pretty sure my own brain was asking me what the hell I was doing. I wasn’t talking to no one here. I was talking to a Brigadier. One of the scariest men alive. Even though Ivan Volkov had shown me his softer side, I didn’t for a second believe it.
Ivan was deadly, and so were the men that worked for him, and that was how he wanted it.
“I’m not accusing you of attempting to attack me. I’m not … ugh, you’re so frustrating.” I couldn’t just lie there or even sit there in the bed next to him while he appeared to be so calm. I wasn’t even trying to treat him like some monster. Throwing the blankets off my legs, I climbed out of bed and then started to pace near my side of the bed. All the while, I was aware of our guest in the bedroom where I should be right now, only I couldn’t be. Had Ivan done this on purpose? Was he trying to force me and Peter together? “I know you’re not going to attack me, Peter. I know you’re only doing what is best for the damn Bratva.” As I started to pace and talk, I didn’t even realize what I was saying. It was like a load of mixed words came together and made no real sense.
The truth was, I was so confused.
“Do you know what sucks?” I didn’t even give him time to answer. “That I can’t even be mad at you. It’s not like you and I met and I told you the truth about who I was, did I? No, I lied just as much as you. I can try and dress it up inside my head, but we’re both at fault, and yes, I’m angry. You didn’t tell me the truth, and that even irritates me, because I can’t be angry at you, as neither of us told each other the truth.”
“What’s your point?” Peter asked.
And then I stopped and felt the tears sting my eyes. “That … I fell in love with you and I know you didn’t feel the same about me. It’s fine. It doesn’t matter. I don’t want you to lie to me anymore, and no matter how much I try to fight it, I can’t … I lost our baby.”
I’d not really given myself a chance to cry. I hadn’t thought about it. Even when I was alone and bored, I would think of anything and everything that had nothing to do with the baby I lost. The doctors had said it was an early pregnancy, and there was no damage, and I guess, in a strange way, I kind of imagined I didn’t have anyone to mourn, because the baby was so new.
But, I lost my child. I lost my baby.
And in that moment, it was like it suddenly occurred to me, and I just stood there in Peter’s bedroom and sobbed. I couldn’t stop. The tears just kept flowing. I didn’t want to stand in the bedroom, crying.
This was fucked up.
This wasn’t fair.
Why did I have to feel the pain right now?
****
Peter
I was angry.
No, I was fucking pissed.
Fuck it, I was angry and pissed off.
Niamh was in our bedroom, which was the first time she’d actually been there, ever. After our wedding night, I’d brought her back to my penthouse apartment, complete with her additional bodyguards, and she had taken residence in the spare fucking bedroom, which irritated me. She didn’t have to go there.
We’d been fine. Admittedly, we were just coexisting in the same space, but we were doing fine. One afternoon leading into evening, and suddenly, I’ve got a sobbing wife in my bedroom.
I slammed my hand against Ivan’s door, and I didn’t stop until the door opened.
“You better have a good reason for waking my ass up,” Ivan said.
I didn’t know how he could be asleep. Niamh wasn’t quiet. The tears were real and they were killing me to hear. I couldn’t sleep or ignore them. I didn’t know what the fuck to do, and that was annoying me even more. What did I do with a crying woman?
Growing up, whenever the kids kept us awake for crying, they were often taken and beaten until the tears stopped. Tears were a weakness. I didn’t ever remember crying. I knew there had to have been a point in my life when I did cry, but I had no memory of it.
Crying was death.
Crying was pain.
I couldn’t afford to do either growing up.
All I wanted to do was live.
“You’ve broken her,” I said. “You’ve got to go and fix her.”
“Broken who?”
“Niamh. She’s fucking crying and it’s all your fault.”
Ivan frowned. “When I left her, she was smiling. If she is crying, it has nothing to do with me, and everything to do with you.”
I shook my head. “That is bullshit and you know it. This is your fault and you’ve got to do something to fix it.” There was no way I was taking the blame for this. I couldn’t stand it.
“What did you do?” Ivan asked.
“I didn’t do anything.”
“Have you seen Niamh cry?” Ivan asked after several seconds of silence.
This made me frown. “What?”
“Has it ever occurred to you that Niamh hasn’t mourned the loss of her baby? That a lot of bad shit has happened. You can pretend all you want that you don’t give a shit, but deep down, one day, you’re going to care. Right now, Niamh is feeling that loss, and it is up to you to deal with it. She doesn’t need a stranger. She needs a man she loved. You’ve got to go to her. You’ve got to fix her. Not me. This is all you.”
And I didn’t like it.
Ivan stepped back into the bedroom and closed the door, leaving me hanging.
For several seconds, I just stood there, not wanting to return to my room for fear of what was about to happen. I was not used to this kind of emotion. This was not for me.
I closed my eyes, and felt a wave of sickness wash over me. I didn’t deal with emotions. I killed. I hunted. I hurt. I caused pain. Niamh didn’t need any of those things. I couldn’t hunt down or hurt or kill anything. Our baby was already dead.
Even with my eyes closed, I saw Niamh’s face. The days we spent together. The smile on her sweet lips when she found something I said funny. She didn’t hold back and I couldn’t just leave her.
With one foot in front of the other, I didn’t think, I just acted. Stepping into my bedroom, I didn’t even hesitate, I walked right up to her and then pulled her into my arms. I expected her to fight me, to tell me to get the fuck away from her. Instead, she surprised me by wrapping her arms around me and holding onto me as if I was the last lifeline she had.
I didn’t care. I just held her and refused to let go.
She was in pain and I didn’t know why but I had to do something to stop it. Anything. The thought of her hurting was more than I could bear.
“I’ve got you,” I said.
“I lost … our baby.”
“It’s not your fault.”
“I wasn’t strong enough.”
I let her go but only so I could capture her face. “Stop it. I mean it. Fucking stop it. This is not about you being strong enough. There is no one that could take a beating like you took, and be able to get through that without problems. You were pregnant.”
“I was sloppy. I shouldn’t have stayed in town. I should have left.”
“Is that what you wanted? To constantly be on the run and always looking over your shoulder? I don’t think you realize this, but your father was never going to stop.” I stared into her eyes, willing her to see the reality of the situation.
“Why?” she asked.
“I don’t know, your father is an asshole,” I said. One I was going to take great pleasure in killing, along with her fucked-up brother. “Come on.” I moved her toward the bed, and helped her inside. I didn’t leave her, though.
Climbing over her body, I settled in behind her and wrapped my arm around her waist, pulling her in close. I’ve already moved the blanket to completely cover her. Niamh didn’t fight me, and I didn’t know if that was a blessing or not. I held onto her, not willing to let her go.
“Did you ever want kids?” Niamh asked.
“No,” I said. “I didn’t think I was ever going to have children.”
“And now?”
“I don’t know, Niamh. I guess that is up to you.”
“He’s given me an out,” Niamh said.
This made me frown. “What?”
“Ivan. He said when all of this is over and my father is no longer a threat, I can leave. I don’t have to stay. He’ll grant me a divorce and we’ll both be free.”
I held onto Niamh and didn’t say a word. The truth was, I didn’t like it. I was married to Niamh. She was my wife and Ivan was giving her a choice. No one else got a fucking choice. I hated it when Ivan told me, but it was now even worse hearing it from Niamh, because I couldn’t help but wonder, did she want to take it?
Slowly, I felt when Niamh had fallen asleep. I waited several minutes and told myself not to go to Ivan and fuck him up, but I just couldn’t let this sit for a moment longer.
I pulled away from Niamh, and waited to make sure I hadn’t woken her. I made my way over to the door, opened, closed it, and then went to my spare bedroom. Ivan was already waiting, the door was open, and I stepped inside.
“Niamh okay?” he asked.
“You gave her a fucking choice?” I asked. I wasn’t going to lead with that, but I didn’t like it.
“In case you didn’t know, Niamh is a very rich woman and she can do or be anything she wants. She doesn’t need you or me, and yes, I have given her a choice. It’s what she deserves.”
I was so fucking pissed off, but I didn’t comment. I couldn’t.
“I want to kill her father,” I said.
“I know.”
“What do you need from him?”
Ivan’s got this look, it’s hard to explain, but it’s that look that says he’s got something planned but he’s not going to tell me what it is exactly, and that was even more irritating.
“For fuck’s sake, Ivan, what more is it going to take for me to prove to you that I’m not here to make waves?” I was past caring about protocol or showing respect. There were no soldiers around.
Ivan was my friend, at least that was the assumption I had.
“Some things are best left unsaid,” Ivan said. “There are plans in place. I need Finn Byrne to be exactly where I need him to be for now.”
And once again I was frustrated.
“You know, if you have a problem with me giving Niamh a choice, which you clearly seem to, maybe it would be in your best interest to give her a reason to make the right choice.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“If you love her, then let her know it.”
“I don’t do love.”
Ivan smiled. “You know, we as men make those excuses all the time, but it’s only when we’re really tested and we finally lose something or someone we love, that we realize how precious it is.”
I stared at Ivan. “Have you lost someone?” I asked.
“Good night, Peter.”
And he moved toward the door, which told me that was all I would get tonight.