Chapter Twenty-Five Lila
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
LILA
I’d really done it this time.
Mama wouldn’t even look at me.
Didn’t acknowledge my existence the remainder of the evening.
What did Tiernan say to her?
It made my stomach churn with panic, guilt, and something else, something I didn’t think I was capable of—hate.
I hated that she crumbled like a sandcastle when the going got tough. That she took a step back from me because I did the most natural thing in the world—communicated with my husband and opened up to him.
That night I slipped into my husband’s bed again. I didn’t hate it as much as Mama told me I would. I actually kind of liked having a firm, hot body next to mine. It made me feel secure.
And now I had Imma in the next room. She would keep me company, fill all those daytime hours I’d used surfing the internet. I found myself choking up with an unfamiliar emotion toward my husband. Somewhere between lust and affection, with a heavy dose of frustration thrown in.
I tossed and turned, as usual, until sometime around three o’clock, Tiernan turned me around to face him.
He looked wide awake. He was still wearing his eye patch, even though I suspected he normally took it off at night.
It seemed uncomfortable, and he often adjusted it, revealing the imprint of the string that held it together.
“What’s wrong?” he demanded.
“Nothing,” I said. “I don’t sleep much at night.”
“Always, or since the rape?”
“Since the rape,” I admitted. “I’m afraid he’ll come for me again.”
“Wish for it, Gealach. Because if he does, I’d find a way to kill him a hundred times over.”
I gave him a slight smile. He was still insufferable, but, as bizarre as it was, he felt safe. I hadn’t realized I was waking him up, though.
“If you want me to move back to my bedroo—”
He caught my wrists, stopping me from completing the sentence. “Forget about the other room. This is your new bed now.”
“Okay.”
“Anything I can do to make you less fucking jittery?”
“Well…”
I realized the only reason I could read his lips in near-complete darkness was because I found them the most fascinating thing on planet Earth. I wanted to draw them a thousand times over and ink them into my memory. To touch them. To…kiss them, even. Sometimes.
He was beautiful. And I had a feeling he found me attractive, too. I even found sick pleasure in realizing he dressed up Becky in my clothes to pretend she was me.
Tiernan gave me a quizzical look, still waiting for my words.
“I don’t know anything about you. Maybe if I did, it’d make sleeping in your bed not as weird.”
“What do you wanna know?” He turned to his nightstand, flicking the soft light on.
“Favorite food?”
“Beef jerky.”
“Favorite color?”
“Don’t have one.”
“You must have one,” I insisted. “Everyone has one.”
He studied my eyes in the dark for a beat, then finally said, “Blue.”
“When did you arrive in the United States?”
“Fourteen.”
“Have you been with anyone else since Becky?”
He curved an eyebrow, scanning me.
“Does it matter?”
“It does to me.”
“Why?”
“Because if you’re not true to me, I won’t be true to you. And it doesn’t matter if you kill him after. I spent my entire life being overlooked and disrespected by my family. I won’t repeat the same mistake with you.”
“No.” A muscle jumped in his jaw. “There’s been no one else.”
Relief flooded me.
“When did you lose your virginity?”
“Twelve,” he answered matter-of-factly.
“What?” I asked, smiling awkwardly. Surely, I misread his lips.
“Twelve,” he signed with his hands. “Although, it was hardly sex in its traditional form. I was forced to sodomize someone at gunpoint.”
I sat up straight with my back against the headboard, staring at him in shock.
“They wouldn’t let me stop until I came. Whoever came last had to drink the content of everyone’s condoms. I was so repulsed by the idea, I forced myself to do it. She bled all over my cock. But I managed.” He flashed me a cordial smile. “Still wanna know things about me, Gealach?”
I did, actually. More than ever before.
“Who did this to you?”
He gave me a wry look. “Next question.”
“Is this why you prefer anal sex?” I had time to Google what he did to Becky. Apparently, it was intentional.
“It’s the only thing I know.”
My eyebrows shot to my hairline. “Do you enjoy it?”
He contemplated the question. “I taught myself to disconnect my body from my mind when I do it. It’s a low-stake sexual interaction.
For pleasure only. Plus, it’s a fuck you from me to the people who forced me to do it.
I now do it because I choose to, not because I have a gun to my head.
” He was silent for a moment. “It reminds me of who I am.”
“And who are you?”
“A filthy beast concealed under impeccable clothes.”
I considered his words, offering him a confession of mine in exchange. “I don’t remember much of the rape, but I do remember it hurt a lot. Not just the blows to my head and the punches to my body. The part where he entered me. It felt like he was ripping me to shreds.”
“Rape and sex are not the same thing, Lila. Sex can be great.”
“How do you know? You’ve never had that kind of sex.”
“I have my sources.”
I was starting to suspect he was telling the truth, but since he didn’t offer to have sex with me, I did not volunteer myself.
I did file it in the back of my head that Mama was wrong about sharing a bed with a man.
She said Papa stank of sweat and his slutty mistresses, and that he snored.
But Tiernan only smelled of Tiernan—leather, musk, danger, dark woods—and even if he snored, I couldn’t hear it.
“What’s the nickname you call me?”
“Gealach.”
“Yes. What language is it in?”
“Irish Gaelic.”
“What does it mean?”
“Wiseass.”
“That’s not very nice.”
“I’m not very nice, Gealach.”
“What if the Bratva kill you?” I readjusted on the bed, not-so-accidentally brushing my arm against his warm skin. “Who will protect me then?”
“My brother, sister, and the Camorra.” He reached to tuck a lock of hair behind my ear, staring at the golden strand with a faraway look on his face.
“You’ll never be without protection. Your father won’t send all three of your brothers with me because he still needs a new don.
And.” He grabbed another tendril, this time rubbing it between his fingers.
“If I die, you’ll be a widower. Your pregnancy will still be legitimate.
You’ll give birth, and down the line, can marry someone else without any stigma or prejudice. ”
Though this scenario should appeal to me, I found myself sick with the prospect. I didn’t want anyone else. I wanted him to want me. Even if I wasn’t sure if I was ready for what it meant.
“This conversation is silly, because you won’t die.”
His gaze rode up to meet mine, and instead of his usual shark-like, dead stare, there was a boyish expression, almost…hopeful.
“Why? Would that sadden you?”
“Why wouldn’t it sadden me? You are a person. A life lost is always a tragedy.”
Whatever flicker of hope shone in his eyes died a quick and violent death.
“That’s a very nice thought to have about a man who contemplated raping you on your wedding night.”
He pulled back from me. Mockery dripped from his expression. I didn’t believe him. But it still stung. I turned around sharply, fluffed my pillows, and slammed my head against them.
I felt his bare, muscular chest rumble against my back as he scooped me from behind, his body engulfing mine to keep me anchored and stop me from tossing about.
He waited for my muscles to unclench, for my body to relax against his and accept his touch.
His breath skittered over the back of my neck.
A heady mix of mint and whiskey. It was the latter that made me wonder if surrendering to affection, to the basic need to be held by another human, was not only difficult to stomach for me.
It took twenty minutes before I was able to regulate my breath and stop feeling like I wanted to jump out of my skin. By then, I thought he was asleep again.
“Lila.” His lips shaped my name over my ear, slowly, sensually. “Lee-lah.” My stomach bottomed out, heat spreading inside it, traveling to my groin. “I’m an excellent marksman and a terrible enemy. Go to sleep, sweetheart. Nothing can hurt you now that I’ve laid claim on you.”