9. June
June
Ipush around the soggy cereal in my bowl and reminisce about last night.
Simon had surprised me, like really fucking surprised me. In a way that was totally unexpected and so fucking wonderful.
It’s been a while since I’ve felt the type of adrenaline I did from the second we pulled into that sketchy, dark alley. I had a hunch that he would take me somewhere fun, but I had no idea it would have turned into that.
I witnessed someone nearly die, and that same man murder another.
The entire atmosphere of that building was buzzing with a darkness I haven’t felt in a long while. It was familiar and foreign all at the same time, and I was living for every second of it.
And then the cherry to top it all off—almost getting caught.
I hate lying to my men, but something about being that damn close to Dominic finding out was a thrill I hadn’t anticipated either.
It’s not like I’m lying lying. I’m just not telling them the whole truth.
And isn’t that exactly what they’re doing to me?
Only, none of them have questioned where Simon and I went last night.
Do they even care? Do they not wonder where some other man has taken their girlfriend?
I ask questions and get vague answers—they don’t ask questions at all.
Simon and I didn’t do anything bad; we just did something they wouldn’t approve of.
It’s not like I fucked Simon or went running through town naked.
But they also don’t approve of me doing pretty much anything outside of existing within this house, so it’s difficult to tell what really should be off-limits.
They can’t keep me locked away forever.
Not that I would allow myself to be caged anyway.
The confines they have on me are almost too much to handle, but if I were able to have more moments like last night, maybe I could balance the line of being their good girl while still dipping my toes into my bad side.
Something has been missing from my life, and for a blip of time tucked away in that room with Simon, I felt like I had finally found it.
My gaze falls to my knuckles, swollen and bruised from punching that guy in the face when he wouldn’t get out of the way.
I recall the rush that came over me, the pull to inflict pain on this arrogant asshole.
I wanted to do more than just hit him, and a large part of me wished that we weren’t in a hurry and that Simon would have used the gun he had pulled out on him.
Watching Axel and Bradshaw fight to the death unlocked something from within me. Or maybe it just shined light on a darkness that had been hiding all this time. Either way, witnessing them have the raw, unrestricted ability to beat the living shit out of each other made me want for a chance to…
My mind trails off at the endless possibilities. What is it that I want?
To hurt myself? To inflict pain on someone else? To kill?
Whatever it was, the drive to make it happen was higher than ever.
I have to talk to Simon, to convince him I needed more.
"Good morning, princess." Magnus approaches me from behind, wrapping his ink-marked arms around my frame. He hugs me tightly and kisses the side of my head. "How did you sleep?"
“Pretty decent actually.” I turn and catch his lips with mine. “You?”
"Could have used about ten more hours, but I'll survive." He shoves his hand into the box of Cheerios and pulls out a handful, tossing them into his mouth. "Where did you and Simon eat last night?"
“Um, uh, some Mexican joint.”
“Word.” He releases me and strolls over to the coffee machine, pushes a few buttons and waits for his cup to brew. “How was it?”
I shrug. “Decent.”
Two lies already told in a ten-second conversation.
“What had you out so late?” I ask him, even though I know he won’t tell the truth either.
“Work stuff. The usual.”
“It’s usual that you’re out all hours of the night?”
Magnus sighs and comes back over to me. He takes my hands in his, cupping them together on the marble countertop. He steadies his serious gaze on mine. “I promise it won’t always be like this. We’re just dealing with some changes. Once we’ve handled it, we’ll be more present.”
Is he referring to those shipments and the men who died in the process?
Why can’t he admit that’s what has them busy?
What is the harm in saying what’s really happening?
How could that possibly put my life in danger?
And why is that something that has to remain a secret?
How do they think I would possibly react that causes them to refuse to tell me?
The whole selling point in involving me with their business was so they could keep me in the loop and not exclude me from everything.
I was supposed to help them, provide insight into situations that they hadn't already considered.
Even Gwyneth thought my business degree would give them a fresh new perspective on how to run things.
They insisted that I finish my schooling, but I didn't realize it was just another way for them to bide their time of keeping me in the dark.
“Why won’t you tell me, though, Magnus? I don’t understand.
You were always the one who wanted to include me, but even you hardly talk to me these days.
” I chew at the inside of my lip, my emotions bubbling up to the surface even though I want nothing but to keep them at bay.
“Did I do something wrong?” I mean, other than almost dying.
“No, no no no.” Magnus brings both of his hands from mine and places them on my cheeks. “My sweet girl, no. You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“Then what is it?” I ask him. “Why won’t you tell me? Do you think I can’t handle it?”
He tucks my hair behind my ear. “You know better than anyone that I think you can handle anything. You’re the strongest person I know, princess.”
A low beep alerts us that his coffee has finished brewing.
“Who’s making you keep secrets from me? Is it Dom or Co?” I lean into his touch, savoring the comfort it brings me.
“It’s not that simple.” He runs his thumb along my skin. “But I promise it’s for your safety.”
Anger courses through me. "My safety." If I have to hear something is for my fucking safety one more time, I'm going to lose my Goddamn mind. "Fuck my safety." I shake off his hands and push back from the stool.
The garage door opens and someone walks into the kitchen. I don’t bother looking to see who it is, because like clockwork, I already know.
“Have a good fucking day at work!” I call out as I stomp up the stairs and into my bedroom.
A few minutes pass and even though a bit of guilt starts to trickle in at having scolded Magnus, the fury I feel continues to overpower any other of my emotions.
A soft knock sounds on the door, and when I look up from my spot on the floor next to my bed, I spot Simon standing there in the hallway.
He leans against the frame and crosses his arms over his chest. “Want to talk about it?”
“No.” I clench my fists even tighter than they already were.
Simon stiffens in place and his brows furrow. “Let me see your hands, love.”
I pull them toward my body. “What?” Why? No.”
He kicks off the door and stands as close to the inside of my room as possible. “Damn it, June, let me see your hands.”
“Just let me leave, Simon.”
“Fuck it,” he mutters and barges into my bedroom, not giving a shit about the stupid rule that he isn’t allowed in here.
Simon kneels next to me and pries one of my fists from me, peeling my fingers away from my palm and revealing the crescent shaped cuts lining my skin.
He sighs, his resolve softening. “Give me the other one.” He takes it into his hand, gently pulling back the fingers on that one, too.
“Come on, let’s get you cleaned up.” He lifts me off the floor with ease, helping me rise to my feet.
I want to shrivel back down and crawl under my bed, hiding and wasting away into nothing, because that’s how I feel.
Like nothing. One minute, I’m confident and on top of the world, and the next, I’m insecure and doubting everything.
I’m furious and sad, and I just want something to make sense.
I thought I had finally found something stable, a constant in my life, but it’s like once I found solid footing, the rug was pulled out from under me.
The only steady part of my life is gripping my arms and helping me down the hallway to the bathroom where he’s not forbidden from entering.
Simon puts his firm hands on my waist and raises me onto the counter. He turns on the faucet and looks under the sink for what I can only assume is a first aid kit.
I study his face while he goes to work, not paying attention to the burn of the water or the sting of the ointment he puts on the tiny cuts.
Instead, I focus on his meticulously crafted bone structure, the delicate shape of his lips, the wispiness of his long eyelashes.
The same man who brought me my abuser so I could get my revenge, who had a smile on his face when I sliced the guy’s throat, is the same guy who is tender and kind and caring.
He pulled a gun on some random stranger last night and here he is, delicate as a flower.
“I didn’t realize you hurt your hand either, love. Why didn’t you tell me?” He turns my wrist and runs his thumb along my swollen knuckles. “I think you should have this looked at.”
“You’re looking at it right now.”
He tilts his head slightly. “You know what I mean.” Simon applies soft pressure to my hand. “Does this hurt?” He moves around, applying more pressure and bending my fingers carefully.
“No,” I lie. But I wouldn’t erase it if I could. It’s a reminder of the first time in a long while that I’ve felt relatively normal and I welcome the pain with open arms. “I’m fine, really.”
Simon continues to work my hand. “You may be able to fool them, love. But you don’t fool me.”