Chapter 5
CHAPTER FIVE
ERIN
The dead woman is beautiful.
Of course she is.
Call me petty, but that was my gut reaction. My first thought when I saw the grainy footage.
Not because I’m jealous.
Because I intend to survive this, and I need to know what I’m up against.
Stunningly beautiful.
And blonde.
Natural blonde.
Not beautiful the way Bambi is beautiful, all dark glamour and chaos wrapped in designer full lips and her sharp tongue.
Beautiful in the way women in his family are beautiful: polished, sharpened, and aware of every eye in the room.
They call the Bachman women The Beauties.
And she fits right in.
Isobel is beautiful like that untouchable girl every girl envies.
And every man desires.
Pale. Elegant. Graceful.
I’m the girl next door. All of me is average in every sense of the word.
My voice is slightly raspy, my accent a unique blend of the places I’ve lived, and he likes it. It turns him on.
But she probably has the voice of a songbird. She could be standing in a fairy-tale forest, singing to the bluebird on her outstretched finger, just as easily as she could be walking away from a burning warehouse.
Whatever Carlos did to her, whatever she has been through, she is still standing.
And Lucian is staring at the screen like a man watching his past claw its way out of a grave.
My stomach twists.
I tell myself it is normal.
Anyone would react this way if someone they loved came back from the dead.
He loved her.
Past tense.
And now, he has me.
And I’m going to duct tape, superglue, and staple myself to that man if I have to.
The things he does to me in bed have already made me comfortable with shame.
I’ll do whatever I need to do to keep him.
“Lucian,” Rafe says carefully.
Lucian does not move.
His arms still circle me.
Then the first clip plays again. Isobel looks directly into the camera, and Lucian’s arms loosen.
It’s a tiny amount, but I feel it.
Deeply.
Mack speaks from the door. “They’re here.”
My stomach drops. My neck snaps as I look up at Lucian. “Isobel and Carlos?”
“No.” He shakes his head. “Absolutely not.” He tries to smile, but it’s a tight line.
“What is it?”
His arms fall away from me. I stand from the chair. There’s a burst of cold air coming into the room. Only then do I realize that every man here is smiling at me.
Cass’s voice turns my gaze.
She’s parked herself just outside the doorway. Close enough to come in if the coast is clear or turn around and head back to the kitchen if not.
“Are you all done plotting the takeover of the world yet?” she says. “I’ve got warm scones and hot coffee in the kitchen.”
“Cass,” Lucian says, taking my hand in his and leading me to the doorway. “I’m glad you’re here. We need you for this. And Ryan, too. Can someone go and get little man for me?”
The air in the room is lighter, brighter. It’s like the entire clan has agreed to take a momentary sigh of relief.
“Lucian,” I say. “What is it?”
His thumb brushes over my knuckles. “A surprise.”
I stop dead. “No.”
His brows lift. “No?”
Surprise means money. And I can’t afford to owe him more. Not when she might be on the way.
“Not with everything going on.” I shake my head. “You don’t have time for surprises.”
“Shut up, Erin!” Cass rolls her chair forward, bumping my shin.
“Ow!” I step back, “Are you serious?”
“Yes, I’m serious!” she shouts. “I’ve been locked in this house staring at the same walls, baking like I work at Costco.” She eyes Ryan, who just popped into the room. “And not all of us have a very active you-know-what life to keep us occupied.”
Blaze snorts.
“I could use a surprise,” she says.
My cheeks heat. “Shut up, Cass,” I whisper.
“Aunt Rin. We don’t say that,” Ryan admonishes.
“That’s right,” Lucian says.
Leaning down, he whispers in my ear, “Watch that mouth, or I’ll take you upstairs and put it to good use.”
Good Lord, has it gotten hot in here?
“Stop,” I hiss, despite the flood of heat between my legs.
Ryan is standing in the doorway wearing mismatched socks and one of Lucian’s black hoodies, which swallows him whole. His hair sticks up on one side.
Ryan perks up. “Can we see the surprise now?”
“Yeah, Auntie Rin,” Cass says, looking up at me and fluttering her lashes. “Can we?”
Lucian answers for me. “Yes.”
Mack ushers the three of us to Cass’s first floor back bedroom. He stands guard, his back against the closed door.
Staring up at Mack, Cass whispers, “Do you think I can get that giant of a man to spank me if I try to roll out of here?”
Shame fills me. “Ugh. How do you know about that?”
She rolls her eyes. “Please, Erin. Apparently, you are the only woman in New York who didn’t know how kinky the Bachman men are.”
“Anyway,” I say, going back to the book I’m reading to Ryan.
She laughs to herself, passing the time by harmlessly trying to get Mack to flirt, only to fail miserably. His responses are only grunts or one-word answers.
Finally, there’s a knock on the door.
Mack opens it, and Blaze appears.
“Your surprise is ready!”
For a split second, all I see is that clip of Isobel over and over.
There are good and bad surprises.
I can’t help looking up at Blaze and asking, “This is the good kind of surprise, right? I’m not sure I like surprises anymore.”
Blaze laughs. “That’s rich, coming from the woman who almost got jump-scare tackled in the woods this morning because she decided rules don’t apply to her.”
I stare up at the big man. “I was gathering kindling.”
“You were gathering trouble,” he says.
“Same skill set,” Cass mutters. “Let’s go, people.”
Lucian appears next to Blaze. He smiles a genuine smile this time. “It’s the good kind, baby. I promise.”
Does every woman get a little wet when her man calls her baby in that voice?
A shiver goes down my spine.
And it’s the good kind.
“Is the surprise that you caught the bad guys?” Ryan asks.
The air leaves the room.
Every adult stares down at Ryan. All of us want nothing more than to reassure him.
“No,” Lucian finally says.
Ryan’s shoulders fall. “Oh.”
Cass gives him a look. “Are you worried about bad guys, Ryan?”
“No,” he says quickly. Then, after a beat, “But if there were bad guys, could I help fight ’em?”
In unison, Cass, Lucian, and Mack all say, “No.”
Ryan sighs like we are all deeply unreasonable and he’s the only sensible one in the room.
Bayne calls from outside the room, “I like your courage, though, ye brave lad.”
“Do not encourage him,” Lucian calls back.
Ryan stands tall because being called brave in Bayne’s dangerous Scottish voice is apparently even better than surprises.
Lucian squeezes my hand once, then looks at Cass. “I need the three of you to keep your eyes closed until we tell you to open them.”
“Why?” Ryan asks.
But Cass and I already know why.
Lucian Bachman does not do small things.
Go mega over the top or go home.
Bachmans don’t bring flowers; they build you a greenhouse.
He does not provide dinner; he shuts down restaurants.
He does not arrange safety; he invades Scotland, builds an army, and acts like it’s a reasonable Tuesday.
Lucian holds my hand as our group squeezes down the hallway, Mack leading the way and pushing my eager sister’s chair.
“Lucian,” I say slowly, “what did you do?”
He looks down at me. There is something almost boyish beneath the darkness in his face.
Not innocent.
Never innocent.
But he’s pleased with himself in a way that makes my chest ache and my smile stretch wide.
“Everyone is accounted for. The team knows the room restrictions. Mack will remain at the door.”
“The team?” Cass’s eyebrows fly up. “Oh, God. It’s going to be big. Is it something big?”
Ryan gasps. “Like a helicopter?”
“No,” I say.
“Like a tiger?”
“No,” I say again.
Lucian’s expression barely changes. “No live animals.”
“Maybe it is a tiger,” Ryan whispers.
“It is not a tiger,” I say.
Cass tilts her head. “Could be several small tigers.”
Lucian’s mouth curves again.
Oh no.
He’s really gone over the top now.
A tiny voice asks me, “Is it because he feels guilty about wanting Isobel to be alive?”
I shake it off.
We reach our destination, obediently closing our eyes as we stand in the open doorway of the living room.
“Open them,” Lucian commands.
Cass’s eyebrows fly up. “Oh, God. It’s rich-people stuff.”
Cass’s face changes.
Not much.
But I see it.
The way her shoulders draw in. The way her fingers tighten around the chair’s arms. The way the idea of being given things—nice things, soft things, unnecessary things—feels as if it does not belong to her.
I know that feeling.
Luxury always belonged to other people. Women who had the right bodies, right names, right lives. Women who did not count their change at the register.
Women who were allowed to want without calculating what wanting would cost.
Lucian knows that.
Of course he does.
He knew it that first night I showed up at his house wearing what was probably a Target clearance dress, trying to pass it off as couture.
He knows every bruise the world left on me, even the ones I never showed him.
And he did this to show me—to show my family—we are absolutely worthy of luxury.
Mack stands there, huge and tattooed and, for one impossible second, looking like a man trying not to smile.
“Ready to shop?” he asks.
Red Shutters is gone.
Not literally. The stone walls remain. The beams, the fireplace, the windows looking out toward his dense Scottish woods.
But the living room and dining room have been transformed.
Completely.
Clothing racks and shelves have replaced the furniture. Not random clothes.
Beautiful clothes.
Soft knits and silk flowing like water. Lounge sets folded in creamy stacks.
Cashmere nestled on polished wood.
Shoes line the far wall in neat rows. Boots. Heels. Flats. Slippers that look softer than clouds and probably cost more than my old wardrobe combined.
Handbags sit on the dining table, each one arranged like treasure.
Black leather. Deep burgundy. Soft taupe. One of the exact blue of a stormy evening sky.
Things we can enjoy on a night out when we get free.
A separate table holds beauty products.