Chapter 11 #2
Behind me, the dining room door groans on its hinges. I don’t dare glance back. At least not yet.
Soft smacks on the hardwood floor confirm it’s her. Barefoot. Probably without makeup. Her hair in a loose braid or gathered up in a massive bun on top of her head.
My jaw ticks with anticipation, anxiety. Fuck, I want to turn around and check on her myself.
But that’s not my role. Not right now.
Heavier footsteps follow. Those are followed by a metronomic march, and finally, a slower, drawn-out gait.
I can’t fight the smile that takes over my face.
She didn’t bring one of the guys with her. She brought all three.
Clever girl.
“What’s this about?” Josephine demands, coming to a halt across the table from where Misty and I are set up. Finally, she’s in my field of vision, and I don’t miss the terse side-eye she offers Misty.
Good. I don’t trust her either.
One of the lawyers onscreen clears his throat.
“Hello, young lady. It’s been brought to our attention that you haven’t signed the standard nondisclosure agreement required of Decker’s, uh, in-residence companions. We’re here to dot the i’s and cross the t’s.”
She waits for him to finish speaking, and when he does, she scoffs.
“Is that what you are, K? One of Decker’s in-residence companions?”
I grit my teeth at her casual demeanor. This isn’t a laughing matter. Fuck. So much is at stake here. They’re asking too much, yet she immediately turns flippant.
With a breath in, I will my pulse to remain steady, then I finally home in on her. Rather than finding the calm I was searching for, the panic gripping my chest increases tenfold.
I don’t want them to have her. She shouldn’t be here or be vulnerable like this.
But she is. Because of me.
Light blue eyes meet mine, along with the most subtle nod of her head.
I breathe out an intense sigh of relief and drop into my chair once I see the trepidation in her eyes.
She gets it.
She’s intentionally riling them up, joking around to lighten the mood, but she fucking gets it.
“Ah, well, uh, yes. Mr. Taylor signed his nondisclosure as soon as he turned eighteen.” My dad’s lawyer stumbles through his response. “Misty?” he inquires, brows raised.
Every eye in the room turns to her, and the smarmiest smile stretches over her pink lips. She doesn’t even look up or regard me before she dives right in, giddy with power.
“You’re required to sign a standard NDA.
It’ll be retroactively enforceable from the day you first took up residence at the Crusade mansion.
Based on my recollection, that was sometime in early September.
There’s a place to list the date if you can provide it.
” She finally looks up, the ugly smile still plastered on her face.
“Or, if you don’t know, we can check the camera footage to ensure accuracy. ”
“It was September third.” Kylian’s response is delivered with such intensity and vitriol I swear Misty does a double take.
Inhaling, Josephine stands straighter. She assesses Misty with a look full of disdain, her lip practically curling. Then she plasters a passive expression on her face and turns to the men on the screen.
“My permanent residence is actually Sam’s Salvage and Parts. That’s what’s listed in the Lake Chapel University database. My uncle can vouch for me. I can give you my word that I’ll stay out of the way and won’t cause any trouble, but I’d prefer not to sign anything.”
My father barks out a laugh. “Your word?” he mocks, his tone dripping with derision. “Your word means nothing. You’re playing a game of semantics, girl. Don’t bother trying to bullshit me about a permanent residence. Where did you sleep last night? And the night before that?”
The atmosphere in the room shifts swiftly and acutely, right along with the hackles that raise along my back. Judging from the murderous expression each of my boys is wearing, they’re right here with me.
He doesn’t get to talk to her like that. No one talks to her like that.
Kendrick catches my eye, shifting forward so he’s standing by her side. Locke crowds her back, and Kylian sidesteps in front, positioning himself between Josephine and the screen.
I yearn to move. To rise. To break out of the shackles that bind me to this chair—to this life—and protect them all.
But keeping them all safe requires I do nothing. Show nothing. Give nothing away.
If there was a doubt in my mind that our girl couldn’t fend for herself, even against the likes of Thomas Crusade and his slimy lawyers, those are laid to rest the moment she opens her mouth to respond.
“Do you make a habit of asking women half your age where they’ve spent the night?” She wrinkles her nose, then grimaces. “That seems kind of inappropriate, don’tcha think?”
It’s the casual “don’tcha” that sends me.
I have to bite down hard on the inside of my cheek to stifle a laugh.
My father is unaffected, though, and clearly uninterested in being put in his place. “You’ll sign or you’ll leave. It’s as simple as that.” His obsidian eyes don’t stray from her through the screen.
But Josephine doesn’t miss a beat.
“And if I’m not comfortable signing something I haven’t even had time to read?”
A glimmer of cruelty flickers through his bland expression.
“You’re welcome to read it. In fact, you can take it with you and have your lawyer review it. Take all the time you need. You can return to the isle, and to my house, when you’re ready to sign.”
My rage is simmering so hot it’s moments from boiling over. Apparently, I’m not alone in that regard.
“Jo.”
All eyes are on Kylian with that single word.
“You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. They’re making it seem like you only have two options. You’ve shown me time and again that things aren’t always black and white.”
Locke hums his agreement, and Kendrick slings an arm over her shoulders, letting his hand brush casually along her bicep. He plays the gesture off as nothing more than friendly, but as I observe them, it’s obvious the contact soothes her. Instantly, her shoulders lower a fraction.
When he bows his head low and murmurs, “We’ll back you up, Mama,” her tight expression softens imperceptibly. “All of us,” he says. “If you don’t sign, we’ll figure it out.”
Misty huffs beside me. K’s statement was quiet but clear from where I sit. Though I doubt our virtual friends caught the sentiment, she obviously did.
I’m still frozen where I stand. And I really fucking hate it.
This is happening because of me, yet I’m helpless in this moment—useless.
My brothers get to support her. They get to say the words I desperately wish I could say. I fucking hate it, but I have to believe that by holding back now, I’m protecting her in the future.
It’s all I have to cling to.
The hope that when this is all over—the feature, the extreme access, our lives on display for public consumption—the life waiting on the other side will be filled with peace. Privacy. Long nights of passion and pleasure. Slow mornings waking up with her in my arms.
The hope of what could be is enough to sustain us all through the sacrifice of now.
Josephine catches my gaze as she wordlessly walks around the table. She holds her head high as she passes in front of the projector, momentarily cutting out the feed.
When she reaches me, her fists are clenched and she’s quietly cracking her knuckles.
“Let me use your pen,” she says, bumping my chair with her hip.
I gulp past the trepidation burning a hole in my esophagus and obey, willing my hand not to shake. Misty shuffles a stack of papers beside me like she’s preparing to present them to Joey. Before she can, I snatch them out of her hands and cut her out of the exchange.
My girl may be required to sign away her privacy and dignity to stay here with us, but I refuse to let her give away another piece of herself. I won’t let Misty get the satisfaction of making her any more uncomfortable, especially after the stunt she pulled with the photo slideshow the other day.
With her lower lip pulled between her teeth, Josephine takes the pen from me.
I cling to the papers like they’re my last will and testament.
With one brow cocked in a way that almost makes her look unaffected, she rests a palm on the polished surface of the dining table.
“Siren,” I whisper, overwhelmed by both reverence and sorrow, wishing I could say more.
Her brow line softens, and she gives me a subtle nod. “It’s okay, Cap,” she whispers back, taking the papers out of my hands and placing them on the table in front of her.
While she takes her time reading over the first page, every person in the room—physically or virtually—is focused on her. Seconds turn into minutes, and all the while, no one dares to speak. The only sounds come from the occasional shuffle of paper as Josephine reads through each word.
After close to ten minutes, she clicks her pen, tilts her head enough to catch my gaze, and nods once more.
“It’s okay,” she mouths. Then she scrawls her initials on the bottom of the first page.