Chapter 14
MAE
“I need your help.”
It’s been two hours since our time together in the hidden gallery. I left Damon in his office to answer a string of persistent phone calls. In the quiet space of the bedroom, my state of mind began to unravel because while I hope that what Damon and I share might be enough to preserve me from the fate that awaits, I must also acknowledge the foundations on which our relationship has been built.
Lies and deception.
On my side of the desk, he stands with his back to me, writing notes after ending a call. Hearing my voice, Damon stills for the briefest moment, lays the pen down, and turns to lean against the edge. There, he observes the wringing of my hands. “Anything.”
Find the courage.
“Okay, well… as you’re aware it’s no secret what my role in all this has been from the beginning. After all, that is why you spent six months following me.”
He offers a single nod.
“What’s also not a secret is how my husband treats me and how his behavior has hindered me from being of any influence over his final decision, making my involvement pretty much worthless.”
Folding his arms, Damon remains silently attentive.
“I know Jason would have told you about the last phone call with Peter and how it all unraveled. But what you don’t know is what led up to that. And I hope, that after you learn everything, you might consider setting me free long before Peter arrives to sign the contract. Because, in doing so, you might just give me a fighting chance.”
~
DAMON
“Peter and I met four months before I turned twenty-two.”
Mae stands before me with a death grip on the chair back. Whatever she’s about to reveal is what’s been taking its toll on her all this time, and it doesn’t look easy.
“Earlier that year, I graduated from Francois Dupont in Paris, and no sooner had I arrived home, I was nursing my mother through her final stages of life, and then saying my last goodbye.”
Immediately, I see where this is going. A man like Peter is an opportunist who would have pillaged her vulnerability.
“A couple of months after that, I wrapped up my first solo exhibit and was traveling to LA to meet my best friend, who’d opened her own agency and wanted to represent me. Peter was on the same flight from New Hampshire after being there for a week of work. We’d sat beside each other in the airport lounge, and when boarding, his seat turned out to be the one next to mine. I found him friendly, and he made me laugh during a time when I felt incredibly alone and still grieving my mom.
“We exchanged numbers and then met for a few dates. By all appearances, Peter was attentive, and he seemed normal . A family man. Came from a stable home. Educated. In hindsight, all the red flags were carefully hidden. After I flew back home, it didn’t feel long distance because he took every opportunity to court me, even from afar. A month later, I flew back to California, and we moved in together. He was the same man I met who treated me well and proclaimed to love everything about me. Then he introduced me to his family.”
Something dark flickers in Mae’s fawn eyes. Something triggered .
“Peter had said anyone who could charm Carlson, his brother, was a keeper because it was no easy feat. It turned out I didn’t have to try hard at all, so that sealed the deal. Peter asked me to marry him, and I said yes. It was a small and simple wedding because we put all our money towards a new home.”
Seeing my grim smile, her resolve falters.
She knows I know at least the skeletons of it.
Keeping my mouth shut, I absorb every detail she confesses.
“It didn’t take long. We’d barely unpacked our suitcases from our honeymoon when Carlson came over one night. It was clear from the get-go that something was wrong. They disappeared out into Peter’s office, and while I couldn’t make out what they were saying, they were having a rather heated discussion. That … that marked the beginning of the end. I felt Peter pulling away. Basic affection was replaced with a swinging backhand, his tender touch now in the form of a death grip around my neck, and if I made the mistake of thinking I had any freedom or room to deny him, he’d cuff me to the bed.”
Fucking hell.
“When I realized terrorizing me was now part of his daily ritual, I told Peter I wanted a divorce.”
“And how did he handle that?”
“Not well.”
~
November
The Previous Year…
“Pass the salt.”
The wooden grinder sits closest to him, but still, I set my fork down and lean across the table. Peter takes it without a thank you and snatches my arm before I can sit back down. He leaves me to hover in an awkward position, his thumb rubbing the rawness of my wrist caused by the metal cuff. I wince, but he holds firm, a smirk pulling at his lips.
“This might be my new favorite game of ours, honey.”
Except it isn’t a game.
None of it is.
“Perhaps I look at getting one for your ankle.” He winks and sets me free to resume the dinner I’m too sick to eat. “Something wrong with your meal?”
I shake my head, my heart racing. “No, I just um… I want to talk to you about something.”
“If it’s about the exhibit in Perugia, the answer is still no. I’ll allow New York, but I draw the line at Italy.”
“It’s not about Perugia.”
“Then what is it?”
My left hand grips the fork. “I want a divorce.”
As if he hasn’t heard me, Peter cuts through his bloodied steak, brings it to his mouth, and chews long and slow . Intentional . After keeping me on a knife’s edge, he swallows, dabs the corners of his mouth with the napkin, and tosses it aside.
He licks his lips and sighs. “Is that what you really want?”
“Yes.”
There’s a nod of consideration followed by, “Okay.”
“Okay?”
“No point in staying somewhere you’re not happy, right?”
Is this a trick?
I search his face, looking for any sign of duplicity. There’s not even a hint. Perhaps he too has been looking for a way out of this marriage, because surely he doesn’t want to live the rest of his life as an abuser. Perhaps we’re just so incompatible, I bring out the worst in him.
My whispered reply is one of uncertainty. “Thank you.”
Wearing a tight smile, he pushes back the chair and stands. “Listen, I told Carlson I’ll meet him for a drink.” Then doing the last thing I expect, he rounds the table and kisses my cheek. “See you in the morning.”
Without another word, Peter collects the car key and his wallet, and when I hear the front door open and close, I heave a shaky sigh of relief. Holding up my hands, I watch them tremble, my heart still pounding painfully in my chest.
I get up and run to my phone on the kitchen counter and text Allyson.
Me: He agreed to a divorce.
Allyson: For real? I don’t believe it.
Me: I know. I’m going to start packing before he gets back.
Allyson: Pack your car and call me once you’re out.
Knowing Peter will return in the early morning like he typically does when out with his brother, I draw a bath, and while it fills, I pull the suitcases out of storage. I have six hours, but it only takes me twenty minutes to pack what I need, not including the studio equipment and my canvases, which will go straight into the trunk. It’s a forty-two-hour drive across the country, and with estimated predetermined rest stops, it should take five days.
Lowering myself into the tub, I let the hot water run over me, ignoring—the best I can—the burning around my wrist and the stinging graze on my cheek. Closing my eyes, I map out the next few hours, having not believed I would even make it this far.
How utterly foolish of me.
No soon after, a shiver runs across my entire body, the same way it has so many times before. My eyes shoot open to find his staring down at me, a twisted grin on his vengeful face.
He’d never left.
I’m thrust underwater with such force my head bangs on the tub, and it takes a moment too long to realize it’s because Peter’s hand is circling my neck, pinning me to the bottom. The more I thrash and fight him off, the harder his fingers cinch. Beneath the surface, I witness his cruel snarl and his desire to take his wife to the brink of death.
The fighting stops the weaker I become, and just as his face begins to blur, I’m hurled up out of the water and thrown over the edge onto the cold tiles. I land in a heap, my ribs sore from coming into contact with something. Heaving for air and fighting the chest pain, I barely notice his boots come into view.
“Get up,” Peter demands, but I don’t have the strength. “I said …” he wraps my hair around his fist until my scalp burns, “… get the fuck up.” With no remorse, he drags me wet and naked across the floor, out through the bedroom, and into the hall. Then, resuming his favorite position, he circles my throat once more and heaves me to my feet until my toes teeter on the edge of the first step of the stairs.
And who should be waiting at the bottom?
Carlson Cooper.
He stares up at me, the face of someone observing a science experiment. There’s no desire to save me from his brother’s attempt at murder. A suburban voyeur eager to witness how the sordid scene in front of him unfolds.
“Peter,” I wheeze. “Please…”
I’m wasting my breath. There is no appealing to my husband’s good side because he simply doesn’t have one.
“You really think I’m stupid enough to agree to a divorce?” he seethes through barred teeth. “Or to simply let you walk out on us?”
Us?
My nails claw into his outstretched arm, and I attempt to pry his fingers free. I’m frantic, my vision blurring until he pulls me close, his lips murmuring against my ear. “You ever try that bullshit on me again , honey, I’ll fucking throw you down these stairs.”
~
DAMON
Present
“Then I blacked out and didn’t wake for another two days.”
Exhaling heavily, I run a hand over my face. “Fucking hell, Mae.”
“It wasn’t just from Peter strangling me. When I looked in the bathroom mirror, not only was I wearing a nightie that had been in my drawer, but I also had a needlepoint bruise the size of a penny on my upper arm.”
If I’m feeling this enraged, I can only imagine the emotions Mae has had to navigate, especially upon discovering that the men she should have been able to trust, had violated her rights in such a heinous way. That a doctor had abused his position of power and rendered her incapacitated to do fuck knows what.
“How did you move on from that?” I ask.
“I didn’t. Things only got worse from there.”
As she grows distant with the harrowing memory, I watch as tears trace down Mae’s face and into the crease of her mouth.
“Sweetheart,” I prompt.
“Yes?”
“Tell me what they did.”
She mouths, I can’t .
“Mae, you have to tell me. Everything he’s done to you, I need to know.” Go on , I silently urge. Flesh this beast out so I know exactly the type of monster I’m dealing with.
“I, um… I ran away.”
~
Then - One Week Later
“I hope you don’t mind, but all the cabins get decorated for Christmas.”
Tearing my attention away from the huge floor-to-ceiling window overlooking the lower cabins on the mountains, all adorned with festive lighting, I face Clare, the property manager. “This is perfect, thank you.”
Dimming the living room lamp to a warm glow, she appears to be cautiously assessing the situation, watching my shaky hands fidgeting with the bag strap. “Are you expecting company?”
“No,” I answer a little too hastily. “It’s just me.”
With something on her mind, she grows increasingly uncomfortable, shifting from foot to foot. “Okay, it’s just… well, you should be aware that we don’t want any trouble here. We’re a small business, and we—”
“Ma’am, you don’t need to worry. I’ll be no trouble, and I’m more than happy to just keep to myself.”
“It’s not you I’m particularly worried about in that respect. Others can bring trouble, and the lure of the woods surrounding us makes a perfect hunting ground.” A violent shiver runs through me. Five minutes ago, I was feeling optimistic about my decision, quietly celebrating my escape. Now, I’m considering having made the wrong move. “It’s not my intention to scare you, Ms. Ellison. It’s just… well, I see this exact scenario more than you’d think. We have so many families staying close by.”
I nod, and after swallowing the lump in my throat, I answer the question she’s too afraid to ask. “He doesn’t know I’m here.”
Last week, Peter confiscated my passport, credit card, and phone. Clare watched as I pulled up in a taxi, paid with the cash I’d been hiding away for the last six months, and listened to my apology when I admitted to having no formal ID. She was hesitant, but paying double the room rate got me the keys.
“I’ve been in your situation,” the manager says with newfound empathy. “I learned that the best thing to do is not stay in the same place too long.”
Biting hard on my bottom lip, emotion threatens to unravel me. “It’s been a hard week, and I need a break. From everyone.”
“Well, you might get your wish.” Clare nods toward the window. I follow her line of sight and feel relief at the flurries of snow. “With the expected fall tonight, the roads might be cut off tomorrow, so you got here just in time.”
Finally, relief. I can exhale, knowing Peter won’t be able to get anywhere near me if, on the off chance, he discovers where I’ve fled to. Big Bear is not my final destination and is so completely off-course that he’d never suspect me venturing up here. I left in a hurry with only a small duffle bag of clothes, some toiletries, and my iPad. Anything else would have slowed me down because, since that night, my husband attempted to not only drown me but to throw me down the stairs. He hasn’t once left the house—An entire week of him lurking, stalking my every move, searching for a sign that I might try to ‘screw’ him over again. He canceled all appointments just so he could continue to punish and ‘persuade’ me to honor my obligations to him . But there was one appointment he couldn’t change, and by then, he felt assured enough that he had terrorized me into staying. So when he closed the front door behind him, with my car key in his pocket, I fled the house on foot to the nearest gas station three blocks away, where I found a cab on standby.
Now, here I am at eight o’clock at night, surrounded by Christmas festivities, romantic snow fall, and on the run from my husband.
“Okay, then,” Clare clears her throat. She backs toward the door and points to the hamper on the table. “Enjoy the offerings and if the roads do close off, I’ll bring up another to get you through.”
“I appreciate everything. Thank you.”
She nods once, and I wonder if she’s still regretting having not sent me on my merry way back to where I came from.
Only once I see the headlights of her Jeep disappear do I breathe a sigh of relief. It’s just me now. There’s no one to answer to. No one prowling the rooms looking for a fight. No handcuff attached to the bed. If I can make it through the next couple of days without incident, I might stand a chance at getting out of state altogether.
Taking my bag up to the bedroom, the stairs creak under my weight. At the very least, I’ll hear someone coming.
Once I see the warm glow and heat of a burning fireplace opposite the bed, my shoulders relax, and the trauma I’ve long buried bubbles to the surface. After stripping off my jacket and clothes, I crawl into the bed, bury my face in the pillow, and cry.
~
I’m pulled from a dream, roused by incessant branches dancing across the window pane. They scratch and scrape like the reaper of death. Yet, amongst the sounds of nature in the midst of a snowstorm, there’s the creaking of stairs.
I bolt upright, thinking I have time—five seconds at the most—but somehow, he’s already there.
From the foot of the bed, Peter stares down at me, his chest rising and falling with heavy adrenaline. The orange flames behind him expose his secret incongruous with flesh and muted cloth.
It’s the sudden flicker of light against sleek metal.
A blade.
This is it.
This is how I die.
My heart violently thumps with each word. “How did you find me?”
Silence.
He draws a deep, steadying breath, the large, unfamiliar knife twisting in his hand with a premeditated contemplation. I watch, consumed by the darkness he’s brought into our lives, wondering why he so desires to end mine.
“It doesn’t have to be this way, Peter.”
To him , it does.
He will chase me to the ends of the earth, not out of love or infatuation, but through ego and his disturbed mind.
A tremor courses through my whisper, “ Please , just talk to me.”
But there will be no talking.
When he rounds the bed, his heavy boots pounding on the wooden floor, I scramble to the other side, but he snags my ankle and hauls me back toward him. No amount of clawing at the comforter gains me any traction, and my scream is lost somewhere in the howls of the wind. When I’m flipped onto my back, I realize there will be no escaping. Not this time.
Peter is on me in the same instance, and we become a tangled mess of arms and hands looking to make contact and eager to take control. My nails swipe his cheek, drawing blood and his rage. In retaliation, he backhands me so hard I black out momentarily, only to wake up to find he’s wrestled me into submission, my wrists pinned down with one hand, the blade of his hunting knife pressed against my throat with the other.
“Did you think I wouldn’t come after you?” The threat is accompanied by bourbon on his breath and hate coursing through his veins. “You think I’d just let my wife decide when it’s over?”
“ Peter , please—”
“ Please, what?” he seethes.
“If you have any love left for me at all, please stop this.”
“And if I don’t?” He adjusts his grip on the knife handle. “What if I truly hate you that much, and this is all for the love of the fucking game?”
It shouldn’t crush me as much as it does. “Then I’d say you’re a sick fuck, Peter!”
He inches closer so I don’t miss the most terrifyingly evil smile I’ve ever seen warp his face. “I’d say you might be right.”
The knife presses into my flesh, and he drags the blade across my neck, slicing a wound from the base of my skull to just under my ear.
The pain is like nothing I’ve ever felt, my scream filling the cold night while warm blood coats my neck.
“Just like your daddy tried to do all those years ago,” Peter says, referring to the night my own drunk father tried to take my life. “Look at me,” he barks, ordering my eyes open. I don’t. I can’t . “I said , fucking look at me!”
Peter grinds his hips against mine, and the horror of feeling his erection forces me to obey. “If you’re going to kill me, just do it.”
He considers the words for a long, malicious moment. “Why the fuck would I kill you, honey? You’re of absolutely no use to me dead.”
Kicking my legs open with his knee, Peter tosses the knife out of arm’s reach and unzips his jeans.
“ No , don’t do this,” I beg, but my cry falls on ears that have been deaf to my grief for years. “ Please don’t!”
But it’s too late. Peter is so far gone, his one motivation is to destroy me at all costs, and that’s exactly what he sets about doing. Once again, Peter proves the monster he is and sinks himself inside me, every thrust more violent than the last.
Humiliated and broken, I turn away, ignoring the pull of torn flesh on my neck. It’s there I find no peace because my night has gone from a terrifying nightmare to a living hell.
Soulless eyes—much like those above me—stare into mine, watching with odd curiosity and contemplation. Arms crossed, Carlson Cooper leans against the door frame, and like a well-versed voyeur, he captures every sordid detail of my demise.
Then, when being an observer wears thin, and the orange flames highlight his growing smile, he crosses the room and leans over the bed, hovering above my face like a storm about to break.
I wince when fingers grip my jaw and die that little more inside when his lips touch mine.
It’s a graze, a threat disguised as tenderness. I whimper, and like a skilled hunter, he captures it with a kiss. There’s no fight. I’m outnumbered by two men who don’t play fair and only have darkness in their hearts.
Indifferent to my suffering, Carlson moves to a lover’s rhythm, his kiss as deep and promising as the two murmured words that will forever haunt me.
“Hello, darling.”
~
MAE
Now
“What he did to me, I can’t be certain.”
Damon is hanging onto every word, but it appears as if he could crack a skull open any second. I watch the tense line of his jaw and the bob of his Adam’s apple when he swallows. For my sake, he’s keeping his anger in check.
“I was drugged, that much I know. I woke to the sun setting the next day, clean, hair washed, tucked into my own bed, my neck stitched and bandaged. At some point, they’d taken me from the Big Bear cabin and made me prisoner again in my own home. I was back at square one, just with more emotional and physical wounds to show for it.”
Damon watches every rise and fall of my chest and each sorrowful tear that slips into the crease of my mouth. Reliving this is just as painful as the morning after and the brutal realization that followed.
“There were times I had regained momentary consciousness. Times I was aware of what was happening to me throughout the night. I may not have been able to open my eyes, but I could feel him and taste him like there was cinnamon on his tongue.”
Damon’s frown deepens. “Carlson?”
I nod, preparing myself to confess the details for the first time after I’ve kept it all buried for so long. “His weight on top of me felt different to Peter’s. His lips were not what I was used to. My husband kisses out of spite and hate, his brother more out of a romantic obsession like he wants me to love him. But it was Carlson’s cologne that convinced me that what I felt was real because the next day, despite having been showered, it was all over my skin. He’d done something to me. Once, repeatedly, I don’t know. Worse still, even if I were to report him, I have no proof. Once I tell my story with nothing to show for it, the authorities will think I’m crazy. That in a drugged haze, I conjured up a despicable story of a respected community member forcing himself on me. You and I both know how that would have been received.”
Digesting the magnitude of information, Damon exhales heavily and momentarily closes his eyes. When they reopen, all I see is the empathy and compassion my husband has never once shared for me.
“After that night, I’ve done everything to keep Peter happy. Everything that would lead him to believe I wasn’t going to try and escape again. It’s worked for the most part. He granted me more freedoms, like returning my phone and credit card. I can leave the house for a few hours without fear of him coming after me.”
“Did you ever report any of this to the police?”
I suspect Damon already knows the answer to this, given Frank Brunello would have supplied him with any police reports in the lead-up to the dinner party, but he appears genuinely sincere when asking.
“That night he smashed the windshield I called the police. The officer who arrived didn’t even speak with Peter. He simply glanced at the damage and said, ‘Give him some space and talk it out in the morning.’ Two weeks later, on game day, that same officer came knocking at our door, this time wearing plain clothes and holding bottles of beer. Turns out, Officer Brandon had been buddies with Peter since middle school, and any report I filed, he’d see to its deletion. I still remember the smirk on my husband’s face when I realized just how hopeless I truly was.”
Damon, understanding the parallels between he and Peter and their use of law enforcement for intimidation, offers an apology. “I can see now how I fucked up, Mae, but if I can offer any consolation, Frank was utilized for Peter’s sake only. Knowing what I do now, I can see how that experience would have been triggering, and for that, I’m sorry.”
“That means more to me than you’ll ever know. Which is why, Damon, I ask that at the end of this, even if you decide that what we’ve shared has simply been for the immediate thrill of it, and I mean nothing more to you than a one-night stand that dragged on for longer than it should have, please , I beg of you, don’t hand me back over to my husband and his brother.”
The hard lump returns to my throat, and I’m forced to swipe the tears off my cheek.
“Because…” I continue, “… it’s one thing to deal with a violent monster with your eyes open. It’s something else entirely more terrifying when they’re closed.”
~
DAMON
“This better be a you’re-welcome-to-return-home phone call.”
Jason’s typical surliness mixes with the sound of swishing his on-the-rocks whiskey.
“I can go one better.” I think of Mae and how she’d backed out of the office door, her chest heaving with a sob she’d been desperate to release in private, and the anger I barely managed to keep in check. “You’re invited to a dinner and show.”
I’m met with silence while he digests the change of course. “Are you telling me our suspicions about the brother were correct?”
“And then some.”
After another round of contemplative silence, it’s broken by the sound of footsteps and then the roar of his Aventador. “I’m listening.”
For the next twenty minutes, as Jason makes his way home, I speak of the horrific story Mae relayed to me, sparing no detail of what that piece of shit and his brother have done to her.
“Jesus Christ,” he exhales. “I suspected something foul at play, but this is fucking depraved.” His disbelief and anger are everything I’m counting on. He’s no saint, neither am I for that matter, but a switch has been flipped, and any animosity he’s felt toward Mae in the past is just that—in the past.
I feel for Jason. This was not something we imagined doing when entering into this contractual arrangement. I’ve brought this chaos crashing down upon him because I fell hard. Now, I’m counting on my brother to stick by my side and see this through to the end.
“Damon, you know I’m all in, but just give me some reassurance that everything is still under control.”
“It is.” Sitting behind my desk, I type his name into Google and lean back in my chair while the seemingly innocuous face fills the page. Professional and unassuming. Articles upon articles—all of which I’ve read before—of praise and accolades for a man who’s a respected member of the healthcare community. But underneath the facade he’s carefully constructed is a truly reprehensible vile piece of shit who has his days numbered. I click on the next page and then on an image of the brothers standing arm in arm, posing for a celebratory photograph that was made public on a social media page one year ago. They’re both all smiles and as malignant as the other. And in Carlson’s hand, a bottle of Fireball Cinnamon Whiskey.
‘I could feel him and taste him.’ Mae had said. ‘Like there was cinnamon on his tongue.’
Rage balls in the pit of my stomach. “Have that cocksucker of a husband come straight here this afternoon.”
“On it.”
“And Jase…”
“Yep?
“Tonight is all about Peter.”
“Okay. What do you have in mind for Carlson?”
I zoom in on the asshole’s face and know that behind those pale, dead irises, he harbors a host of secrets he’d die to protect. Secrets I’ll stop at nothing to uncover. “I’ll see to it that he burns in hell right alongside his brother.”
~
Distraught and kneeling beside the bed, Mae’s face is buried in a pillow, her shoulders wracking with each sob.
“Off your knees, sweetheart.” She startles upon hearing my command, looking up at me with red-rimmed, glistening eyes. “Don’t ever let any man have you wanting to sink so low for him.”
Mae watches as I pull her phone from my back pocket and toss it on the bed. She looks between it and me, determining if it’s an olive branch of manipulation or of good faith. In a land of wolves, it seems no one can be trusted. Finally deciding I’m a safe bet, she accepts, and I waste no time pulling her up and into my embrace.
I wrap my arms around the woman who unwittingly—due to only a simple smile—makes me want to be a better man for her . I hold tight to a love I never imagined possible, and when she buries her cheek against my chest, I wonder if she might feel the same. Placing a finger under Mae’s chin, I tilt her face to mine and kiss the salty tears off her lips. When I pull away, her eyes flutter back open.
“Two weeks ago, sweetheart, you were alone in the volatile world they created for you. But you’re not anymore. You have me, and you have them.” I partially turn so she can see past my arm to where Marco and Jason stand, united with her.
With some confusion, Mae asks, “You’d all do this for me?”
I nod. What she doesn’t realize is the actual length we’ll go to just for her.
“But why? You’ll be jeopardizing everything.”
“Because…” Jason says, clearing his throat, “… it’s the right thing to do.”
Fresh tears slip down her cheeks. “I don’t know what to say.”
“You don’t have to say anything,” Marco adds with a wink. “Just sit back and enjoy the show.”
She turns to me, part curious, part alarmed. “Show?”
I take her hands in mine, a gesture meant to offer some reassurance. “I know I haven’t given you much in the way to have you trust me, but I need you to dig deep, Mae. I need your trust.”
She nods, and I hate to think she’s agreeable simply out of pressure to comply.
“Sweetheart, I need to hear the words.”
Mae’s wide, sincere eyes are the perfect shade of autumn. “I trust you, Damon.”
After everything I’ve done to her, my actions being far from admirable, she still looks at me the same way she did when first walking through the door at the dinner party. Like the world could be on fire, but in me, she became lost and found, a sanctuary from the flames licking at her feet.
“I’m not sending you back to the house. I have a team on their way to gather some belongings and your collection.”
“Where am I going?”
“You’ll be staying here with me. With us.”
She hesitates in answering, partly because she’s still wary about who to trust. “You want me to stay?”
Grazing her cheek with my knuckles, I smile. “Sweetheart, I never wanted you to leave.”
Mae’s lips part, and I hate to think of all the kindness she’s gone without ever since Peter set foot in her life.
“For tonight, however, I need you to remain in the bedroom. Peter is on his way to sign the contract, and I don’t want you anywhere near him. You can watch it all via camera.”
Jason tosses the iPad on the bed, already set up to capture Peter’s demise.
Her mind is working overtime with all the variations of this story, and knowing me as well as she does, the pieces fall in all the right spaces. “Except, he’s not just coming for the contract, is he?”
The corners of my lips turn. “No, he isn’t. Let’s just say there are some scores that need to be settled.”
“We’ve got some creative plans for him,” Jason confirms, because this is the language that appeals to his darker side.
It takes Mae a moment to realize this isn’t a setup and that my brother is here with only good intentions. She slowly nods as if accepting the newly formed bridge of comradery and suppresses a smile by biting her lip.
That’s one hurdle down.
When she turns back to me, however, I still gather a sense of uncertainty. “Peter… he will try to make life hard for you once he discovers us .”
I glance over my shoulder. “Marco, have you ever known me to do things by halves?”
His grin alleviates some tension. “No, sir.”
Facing Mae, I admire her selfless endeavor. “Sweetheart, I was never going to hand you back over to him, and after hearing about everything he’s done, there’s war to be had.”
To my surprise, Mae wipes the last rolling tears from her cheeks and lifts her chin in defiance of the devastation he’s inflicted on her life. “Then I want to watch every single shot fired.”
“You want to join us?”
“Yes.”
I cock a brow. “You know how much I enjoy that feisty side of yours, but I have to inform you that some of those shots are going to be hard to hear.”
“Nothing can shock me anymore.”
“Consider it therapy,” Jason sides with her.
Fuck.
“Please,” Mae says, standing on the tips of her toes to tenderly kiss my lips. It’s a tactical move, one that will forever see me lose to her warfare. “For too long, I’ve lived each day wondering if it will be my last. Now it’s time for me to watch my husband fall on his own sword.”