18. June
June
The last few days have fallen into a routine pretty easily.
I discussed the changes with Bram, letting him know I would be only working three days a week instead of whatever he would give me. We agreed to Monday, Wednesday, and Saturday, and decided that we may flex them if needed.
He was pleased with this, despite me originally worrying that he might not be okay with the lowered hours.
He continues to surprise me with his kindness and consideration for my well-being.
He's skeptical of the tattooed man that follows me around to and from, but I think he's aware he's keeping me safe.
What was once a strange annoyance has turned into me being grateful for the shadow that looks over me.
Magnus is protective, intimidating, and a total fucking sweetheart.
A drastic difference from Coen and Dominic.
They’re both too busy with whatever else they have going on to barely pay any attention to me.
Which is fine, considering the sooner they end their war, the quicker I can be free from their constant surveillance.
If only there was something I could do to speed up the process and help them out with their problem.
It’s the least I could do after they gave me ten large to live with them.
I might have had to sacrifice my freedom, but what exactly did they gain other than a liability?
I carefully walk down the stairs in my heels and into the kitchen.
“You’re not wearing that,” is all Coen says.
“Damn, princess. You’re looking fine as hell.” Magnus hops up from his stool to take my hand and help me the rest of the way.
"These shoes are a bit much, you think?" I turn to the full-length mirror in between the kitchen and the living room, taking in my outfit.
A long sleeve black dress, made of something close to heaven, with the most revealing plunging neckline, almost down to my belly button.
The length sits mid-thigh, with a short slit on the left side.
Thank God for my period being over, otherwise, I'd be worried about more than just my ass having the potential to accidentally hang out.
Chains of various lengths line my neck, one all the way down between my breasts, and a few shorter ones with matching stones.
The heels aren't too tall, maybe three inches, but it's more than I'm used to wearing.
“Not at all. I’d definitely do ya.” Magnus folds his inked arms across his chest and leans against the wall. He sighs and shakes his head.
“What?” I tuck my sleek onyx hair behind my ears to reveal diamond studded earrings.
All of which was located in my room, courtesy of my live-in bodyguards.
Along with makeup I could never afford and a stunning leather clutch that I've tucked my lipstick, cell phone, and a few of the hundred-dollar bills I was given.
Coen steps forward. “You need to change.”
“No.” I stare straight at him. He hasn’t spoken to me in days and now he’s going to demand that I switch into another outfit?
“Yes.” His jaw tenses but I don’t care that he’s bothered.
He lost the ability to have any input on my life when he left and never came back.
He’s had numerous opportunities to open his mouth and communicate with me, and yet he remains painfully silent, reinforcing my belief that he doesn’t actually give a shit at all.
“You realize this was upstairs. If I wasn’t meant to wear it, it wouldn’t have been there. Clearly you, Magnus, Dom, someone approved this. Maybe your fucking driver, I don’t know. I don’t care. Stop pretending that you do.”
“You think I don’t care?” Coen softens his resolve.
“It’s pretty obvious, Co.” I fight back the anger that rises, the one that threatens to ruin this potentially good night. He’s had ample chances to talk to me, and he’s choosing to do so now? “I won’t allow you to ruin my evening.”
Magnus pulls his ringing phone out of his pocket. “It’s Dom.” He presses the button and connects the call. “Boss.” He nods through the muffled speaking as if Dom can see him. “Got it.” He exhales and glances between me and Coen. “Um, so. Good news and bad news.”
“What’s the bad news?” I plant my hand on my hip and wait for him to tell me I can no longer go out with Cora.
He flinches like I might smack him. “You and Hayes get to hang out.”
I narrow my gaze. “And the good news?”
“You and Hayes get to hang out.” Magnus steps forward. “You two need some quality time anyway. I’ve got to help Dom with a thing, meaning Hayes is off the work hook and gets to escort you tonight.”
“Why can’t I help him?” Coen runs his hand through his hair.
“Calls for my expertise, not yours.” Magnus shrugs. “Trust me, I’d rather take your place.” He glides over and kisses my cheek. “Don’t kill each other.” He continues toward the door, snatching a set of keys off the stand. “Seriously.” And with a wink, he’s gone.
I swallow down the news and do my best to process it. Turning to Coen, I say, “I’m not changing. You can’t make me. If you don’t want to go, stay here, but I’m leaving.”
“June,” Coen reaches for my arm.
I yank it away. “You know better than to try to control me, Coen.”
“That’s not what I was going to say.” He motions to his body. “Give me a second to get out of these clothes.”
“Oh. Right. Of course.”
Coen nods toward the living room. “Make yourself a drink, I’ll be right back.” He vanishes up the stairs and leaves me behind.
My heels click against the floor as I stroll over to the mini bar, not because he told me to, but because some booze could take the edge off what I’m feeling right now.
Various shades of brown fill three different crystal containers.
I assume they’re bourbon, given that seems to be their go-to.
I pull the stopper off one of them and pour a bit of it into a short glass.
Bringing it to my lips, I take in the aroma and sip it carefully.
The taste is smooth, consistent with what they usually drink. Expensive, that’s for sure.
The burn rolls down my throat and into my chest. I swallow another mouthful in hopes that it will calm my raging nerves.
Footsteps sound on the steps, and when I turn, my pulse picks up its pace.
Coen appears, black fitted jeans, pointed onyx shoes, a snug, white button-up that’s hanging open, his chiseled torso exposed as he fumbles to fasten it.
A v-shape leading down to his groin. His golden hair is messy but in a sexy kind of way.
“At least you have good taste.” He continues toward me, seizing the glass from me and taking a drink.
“I could say the same about you.” I shouldn’t, but I extend my hands and finish buttoning where he left off, leaving the top few undone.
I fix his collar and pat it down where it stood, grazing my fingers along his skin.
My gaze flits up to his, my heart nearly thudding out of my chest. I steal the bourbon back from him and down the rest of it in one swallow.
“Thanks.” He rolls his left sleeve up and tucks it neatly in place.
“Mmhm,” I mumble.
Coen fumbles with the right one but manages on his own.
Touching him like that was already dangerous enough, I can’t risk it again. Being this close to him, the flood gates threaten to burst and send me over ten years to the past when our love was fresh, unbroken.
In a way, it feels no time has passed. That he is still the sweet, miserable boy in need of someone who understands him.
He probably thought I was saving him then, but little did he know, he was the one that saved me.
From my darkness. My depression. The nightmares that kept me up at night.
But then he left, throwing me into the depths of the shadows—alone, damaged, and ruined.
I’ve worked every day since then to build up those walls.
To disallow anyone the power to hurt me that way ever again.
To maintain every ounce of control over my life, my body, my soul.
And I’ve done exactly that. Never giving another the chance to betray me—always being two steps ahead, one foot out the door at all times.
I thought I had a grip on it, but inches away from him, I can sense my soul reaching out to his, begging to sever the distance between them. I’ve been angry with him for ignoring me since I’ve been here, yet maybe that’s the only thing that we can do to ensure we don’t go down that road again.
“Are you ready?” I walk away from him in an attempt to put that tumbling wall back up.
“Yeah. Are you?” Coen rinses our shared glass in the sink and heads toward the door, plucking a set of keys from the hooks with the others.
"Your driver isn't taking us?" I follow him into the garage, careful when I walk down the steps.
“I’m driving.” He clicks a button on the key fob, the headlights of a dark matte-grey sports car lighting up.
It’s then that I notice how big the garage actually is, with at least a half dozen other vehicles parked around the space. Dom’s Mercedes SUV, a blacked-out Suburban and a matching sedan, a couple muscle cars, Coen’s ride, and numerous motorcycles.
Coen strolls over and opens the passenger door, extending his other hand for me to use for support. “My lady.”
I roll my eyes at him but accept his help anyway. If I’m going to eat shit in these shoes, it’s going to be because I’m drunk, not because I trip before getting into the car.
My fingers on his are electric, sparking that fire from our past. I ignore it and settle into the bucket seat, adjusting my dress once I’m inside the elaborate thing. Four connected rings embellish the steering wheel and are sprinkled about the leather upholstery.
He climbs into the driver's side and presses the garage door button before turning the car on. It roars to life, along with a rather large screen in the center of the dash. Coen pokes at it and music comes through the speakers.
I side-eye him. “You still listen to The Broncos?”