Freckles

Chapter 40

CHAPTER FORTY

FRANCESCA

All afternoon, I tell myself I’m doing the right thing. A phrase that means less with every repetition.

I’m so worried I’ll break and run to his hotel room, that when the girl rostered to work after me calls in sick, I tell the café owner I’m happy to cover her shift. A tactic that means I have an obligation not to chase after Kincaid even if I wanted to.

Yet as the clock counts down towards his deadline, my nerves wind tighter.

At seven, I excuse myself to the staff bathroom. “Two minutes,” I whisper, starting my phone timer. A tear falls, then another, until my shoulders shake with emotion. I cry silently for my allotted time, then pull back the misery, stuffing it deep inside and closing an iron door overtop before I dry my wet cheeks with a paper towel and return to work.

Kincaid came here, apologised to me, explained himself, and my scaredy-cat arse offered him nothing. When he returns home, he’ll still have no clue why I hurt him, and I know the wound runs deep.

It’s the same injury my mother inflicted on me, dealing such a blow to my self-esteem, I still battle those emotions daily.

Kincaid suffered a similar rejection from his own mother. Lance is removed, formal. Ezra can be brutal and scheming.

A dysfunctional family who won’t know or won’t care enough to comfort him. These past weeks, I’ve consoled myself with the thought he’d move on, find someone else, but the pain he carries—pain I inflicted—is clear to see.

The least he deserves is an explanation.

I glance at the clock, already knowing it’s too late. The time is seventeen minutes past seven.

My omission can never be corrected, adding another layer of regret to the weight I already carry.

Eighteen minutes past seven.

It’s not that late.

The bus comes every twenty minutes. It will get me into the city by a quarter to eight.

He’ll probably be long gone… but fuck it. I won’t be able to live with myself if I don’t try.

“I have to go,” I yell to my startled colleague, tearing off my apron. “Sorry.”

He protests but I’m already out the door, running for the bus stop, fingers scrabbling through my bag, trying to find my bus card by feel.

Rain pours down, the typical Wellington gale driving it nearly perpendicular into my face.

I’m ten metres shy of the bus stop when the waiting vehicle closes its doors, pulling away from the curb. The car following sends a sheet of water spraying from its tyres, soaking me to the skin.

Now what?

A scooter! There’s a bright pink model a few shops along and I shelter my phone long enough to bring up the right app.

Despite the lower speed, I can take a more direct route and end up at the hotel only a few minutes after the bus would have got me there. The keycard should be in my pocket, but I can’t find it. My fingers fight the wet denim as they delve into every pocket.

I enter the lobby anyway, planning to dry myself in the bathroom, then ask after Kincaid at the front desk. Four steps from the door, a security guard stops me. “Guests only, madam. Are you staying here?”

“I’m meeting someone.”

He doesn’t budge and I reverse direction, approaching the desk instead. “Kincaid Tana. Room 801.”

The counter clerk’s lips curl as I drip rainwater onto the marble floor. “We don’t have a guest under that name.”

My stomach shrivels. “Try Lance Tana.”

“I’m afraid not.”

“Could you call the room and check if—”

“Ma’am, I’m not going to disturb a guest when you’re not even sure of their name. Is it possible you have the wrong hotel?”

He gestures to the guard and I back away. My gaze shoots to the stairs but they’re keycard protected.

If Esther stole the hotel card, she’s going to be sorry.

Not that I have a job any longer. To leave mid-shift is as good as quitting.

I stand outside, sheltering from the rain, unable to think of a new plan. After five minutes, the guard taps on the inside of the glass, waving me along. I give him the finger but walk past the front window, stopping again just before the dark alleyway to the side.

A gloved hand suddenly clamps over my mouth, an arm pinning mine at my sides as I’m dragged backwards into the alley.

I claw at the fingers over my mouth, but the rain turns them slick, I can’t get purchase.

The attacker drags me into a recessed service door halfway along, slamming me against the cold concrete.

When I blink away the rain, Kincaid’s icy glare freezes me in place.

His gloved hand covers my mouth, pressing up against my nostrils until I can only access a sliver of air. “Do you think this is a game, Francesca?”

The words are lost in the cacophony of panic as my body burns through the oxygen in my lungs.

My fists punch against him, not making a dent.

Then his grip loosens. I drag in one breath, then another.

He holds me against the wall, pinning my shoulder with his left hand while his right tears open the front of my blouse, buttons flying. With rough fingers, he drags down my bra until my tits pop free, squeezing them with his wet glove, his eyes scanning my face.

“Is this how you want it? You’re so intent on hurting me you don’t mind the repercussions?” I can’t answer. My lungs still clamour, demanding more air. “You’re not even giving me the courtesy of an answer? Should I cover your mouth again?”

“Stop torturing me! That’s not…” I heave in a breath, trying to force the words. “I wanted…”

“Now you won’t even finish your sentences?” He cocks his head. “I was building a life with you, Freckles, and you ran away like it was nothing. Like I was nothing. Now you’re crammed in my head twenty-four seven, making it so I can barely think. You’re torturing me.”

“I don’t mean to.”

He ignores my weak words, yanking at the wet fabric of my jeans until the denim grazes my skin. He tires of the resistant fabric and flicks out his knife, slicing through the crotch and legs until he has the access he needs. He bites the fingertip of his glove, pulling it free, then tears away my lace panties. His hand cups me, then he roughly forces a finger inside me while I try to slap him away.

“What’s the matter, Freckles? Don’t you like being treated like the enemy?”

He withdraws his finger, and the relief is overshadowed by a new rush of adrenaline as he fumbles at his zipper, freeing himself and stroking his enormous cock until its erect length presses hard against me.

The hand pinning my shoulder moves to cover my mouth again. He spits into his palm, wiping it over his dick, then repeating the process before lining himself at my entrance.

“You want to be friends, Francesca?”

I shake my head, unable to speak. My lips are sore and swollen. My brain isn’t functioning.

He pushes inside me, the rough entry scraping against my walls, not bothering to be gentle, to be kind. And his brutality results in a flood of arousal. On his next thrust, he glides smoothly inside, making me sob with how much I’ve missed them. Missed him. The tangle of brutality and softness that makes me feel whole.

“That’s my girl,” he purrs. “Get nice and wet for me.”

“Wait.” My palms press against his chest with no effect. “Please stop. I want to talk. To say I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry? You left without a word, abandoned me, but now you’re sorry?”

The last words are in a mocking high pitch, timed to his thrusts inside me. He pins my throat, tongue licking my face, collecting the sheen of raindrops and tears as he forcibly pumps inside me, growing rougher and faster by the second.

“You’re my fucking soulmate and you left me. Without you, I’ll never have anyone to love. I’ll die alone. You think I deserve that as my punishment?”

My arms curl around his neck, fingers tugging his hair. “Stop. I just came to talk. I don’t want this.”

“You are such a fucking liar, Freckles.” He tilts his hips, thrusting inside me at a different angle and I groan, the feel of his rock-hard cock dragging against such a sensitive area better than anything I can remember.

“That’s more like it.” His breath heats my neck, cock withdrawing and thrusting inside me while his fingers circle my clit, careful where the rest of him is raw aggression. “Is this how you like it? Did I waste time trying to figure out what you enjoyed? Should I’ve just held you against the wall and fucked you hard until you were screaming instead?”

His cock continues its invasion, pushing deep like I’m being skewered alive, but even if I couldn’t sense the growing heat in my core, I can hear the slap as my pussy soaks itself in welcome.

It’s just self-defence.

I tell myself until the words lose all meaning.

But my toes curl and my eyes roll back in my head as his rough penetration finds the sensitive spot again and again. It ignites a mix of panic and pleasure and the rough tear of longing I’ve never experienced before.

Instead of pushing, my hand cups his neck, pulling his lips down against mine until he’s devouring me, the hot pump of his thick cock a battering ram full of pleasure.

My core turns to liquid when he pinches my nipple, twisting it, the sting sinking into my brain and heightening every sense until it’s almost unbearable.

It’s better than anything that came before.

“You dirty fucking girl,” he mutters, and the words are like a balm on my struggling brain. “Did you want this all along? Do you like being a filthy slut for me?”

His torso pulls away, face twisting in awe as he stares at his cock pounding into me, my walls encasing it right to the base. The raw ache of ecstasy punches any common sense out of the way.

Then he abruptly withdraws, and I punch his shoulder in frustration. “Tell me why you left, Freckles. Explain the reason you abandoned me.”

“Like you can talk. You said if I ran, you’d find me and drag me back home, but you didn’t. You let me leave. You left me alone until I settled into a new home and a new job. Why didn’t you come after me?”

“Oh, sure. You ditched me like poison two minutes after I solved your problem, but I’m the one in the wrong?”

“You told me you’d never abandon me.”

“I… What? When?”

“On the night you forced yourself into my house and utterly ruined everything I had planned. The night you tried to drown me.”

“I didn’t try. If I had, you’d be dead.”

He spreads me wide, pumping inside me again, making me groan. “Why did you leave?”

“Because you don’t understand the word no.”

“Neither does your wet pussy.” He hits at an angle that makes me squeal with enjoyment. “Tell me why you left.” He pulls out again, and my fingers claw his hips, trying to force him back inside me. “Is this still your idea of no?”

But he quickly gives up the tease with a groan, pumping into me with long thrusts that hit the right spot every single time.

“Are you gonna come for me?” he asks in a voice made of gravel. “Are you going to scream?”

And as wave after wave of pleasure crashes over me, I do.

My mind goes walkabout for a few minutes, awareness returning when Kincaid sets me on my feet, tugging what’s left of my wet jeans into place while I screw up my face at their rough cling.

He swipes us into the hotel, hand gripping mine as he hurries to the lift, taking it up to the top floor.

“What name did you use? The front desk—”

“Knows better than to let bedraggled strays into my room.” His breath is hot on my neck, and his arms reach around, pressing my soaking wet form against his.

“You’ll ruin your tux. Good luck getting that deposit back.”

“I love that you’ve travelled on our private plane but still think I’d hire a tux for my school dance.”

“You rent jewellery.”

“Only to get my uncle laid.”

I smack his arm when he laughs harder, trying to suppress my own giggles. “It’s ridiculous to buy a tuxedo. When else are you going to wear it?”

“To our wedding for one.”

“Right. We’re getting married, are we? Nice of you to tell me.”

“Well, I’d ask but chances are you’d just turn me down. You seem to be in quite the mood.”

A wave of sadness rolls over me. My voice is soft, all trace of humour gone, as I say, “That’s not the reason I’d turn you down.” I close my eyes, butting my forehead against his lapels, soaking them even more. “There’s something I need to tell you and you’re not going to like it. Your uncle is going to like it even less.”

“Have you been sucking Ezra’s cock again?”

I slap his shoulder. “That’s not the funny anecdote you seem to think it is. This is serious. I don’t want my last memory to be you laughing at me.” When he stills, I meet his eyes, not wanting to hide. “I hired a man. That’s what the five thousand was for. He was meant to dispose of the freezer, but he needed the house empty and that was the night… well, I came home to you in the bath.”

“Did he threaten you?”

“No. He said I couldn’t get the money back or reschedule, but when I phoned him to try, I… You were being a colossal dick at the time, okay? And I had the appointment at the clinic because someone decided not to use protection. And I… I asked him how much it would cost to kill you.”

The silence elongates until it’s smothering, then Kincaid clears his throat. “Go on.”

“Go on? No, that’s it. I tried to hire a hitman.”

His eyes capture mine, searching them like he’s looking for an answer. Then he smiles again, expression teasing. “Oh, that’s so sweet. You were willing to spend your hard-earned money on me?”

I push against his chest. “It’s not a joke.”

“It’s also not a surprise. We’re talking the same day you stabbed me, yeah?” He taps the tip of my nose. “Unless this is a prelude to pulling out another knife, we’re both past that point, aren’t we?”

The jocularity throws me off guard. He obviously doesn’t understand, and I try again. “The man’s in a rival gang or something. He said if I didn’t give him the gate code and a keycard to the manor house, he’d turn the recording over to your uncle.”

Kincaid goes very still, then steps back, his good humour gone. “Why did he want access to our house?”

“For a USB stick. He said it belonged to him, but someone stole it. He was going to break in and retrieve it from the safe.”

“And you gave him the information when?”

His words are so loud, I recoil. “I didn’t. I ran.”

“Don’t be afraid.” He puts his hand around my neck, tugging me close again. “Tell me the truth.” His voice is low and urgent. “Whatever you gave him, you must be straight with me now, otherwise I can’t help you.”

“I’m not lying. I don’t even know the code.”

His eyes drill into mine, merciless as they strip me bare. My stomach twists into so many knots, I might never get them untangled. Then the stiffness in his shoulders eases. “For god’s sake. You really had me worried there.” His brow creases again. “But I don’t understand. What’s the problem?”

“I tried to have you killed, and a rival gang has the recording to prove it. The moment he gives it to your uncle, I’m dead.”

Kincaid snorts. “If he gives it to my uncle, he’s dead. Uncle Lance hates blackmail, and he appreciates threats against family even less.” He unpins my fringe, tidying my wet hair, then cups my face. “Is that really the reason?”

“Yes, but I… I don’t think I’ve explained it right.”

“You explained it just fine.” He bends down until his forehead rests against mine, his knuckles running up and down my throat. “People try stuff all the time and I should’ve warned you. They pressure guards, associates, repairmen. Anyone who goes in or out of our property is a target and our enemies will do anything to gain advantage. You can’t trust anyone.

“If you did give him information, then I’d have an uphill battle to convince my uncle, but you didn’t.” He bumps his nose against mine. “No one gives a shit about a little attempted murder between friends.”

He might have ended in a joke, but his earlier words reveal a horrible truth. “That sounds lonely.”

He shrugs. “From the outside maybe… but you’re not on the outside. You’re on the inside where it’s cosy and warm. You’re with me.”

Kincaid wraps his arms around me, his heartbeat thumping loud enough to keep time.

“I’m sorry I ran without talking to you. Especially since I know how awful it is to be abandoned by the people who love you.”

His arms squeeze tighter. “You love me?” When he pulls back, there’s a tender smile on his face, and my chest swells with expectation. He nods at the bathroom and pats my arse to hurry me along. “Better get in the shower, we’ve got a plane to catch.”

I ignore the bump of disappointment. “You think we’ll still be in time for the dance?”

“If not, there’s still the afterparty.”

I have my hand on the connecting door when he whispers, “And I love you, too.”