Chapter Twenty-Five
Bellamy
There’s a loud commotion on the other side of the door. Angry, raised voices filter in through the wall, although what they’re saying remains indecipherable. I’m about to go investigate the matter for myself when the door to my office flies open. It bounces violently against the wall and almost shatters in the process.
Quick to gather both my wits and my jaw from off the floor, I shift my gaze over to the man storming my way, groaning internally when I recognize him.
I’m not shocked he’s here to confront me, only surprised at how long it took him.
“Peter,” I say coolly. “I see you’ve decided to treat my door with as much regard as you did your wife.”
My words stop him dead in his tracks.
He’s not used to me being this blunt with him but I don’t need to pretend to tolerate him anymore now that he’s been convicted.
“You stupid bitch ,” he spits. “You were supposed to get me off.”
Rachel, my assistant, rushes in, wide-eyed and concerned. “Should I call the police?”
I smile at her. “It’s alright. Looks like Peter has decided to give me his feedback in person rather than via our survey. I’ll handle it, thanks Rach.”
She hesitates at the door, loath to leave me with him. It’s brave of her given that she’s all of five feet tall. I give her another reassuring smile and this time she ducks out, leaving me with him.
With a world-weary sigh, I stand and pick a loose piece of lint from off my dress. “I’m good at my job, Peter. Great, actually. No, spectacular . But I’m not a miracle worker. You beat up your wife in the middle of a public street, in broad daylight, in front of three witnesses. And that’s not even accounting for the Ring camera footage which broadcasted a 4K replay of your assault for the jury. Even Muhammad Ali couldn’t have won this fight.”
He storms to my desk and slams his palms down on the surface. “Then why the fuck did I pay you hundreds of thousands of pounds if you couldn’t get me acquitted?”
Unflappable, I reply, “I’m glad you brought up payment actually, Peter. Accounting tells me you have an outstanding balance of eighty thousand pounds. Since you were kind enough to come visit me in person today, I’m happy to escort you to our CFO’s office so we can get that all squared away.”
He slams a fist down on my desk. “I’m not paying you a fucking dime. You lost .”
Men like Peter Gingrinch make me want to quit this job and never look back. I thought there was something noble in being a criminal defense attorney — in representing the wrongfully accused or in helping everyone get equal representation under the law. But these days, I find myself almost universally representing men like him — spoiled, selfish, privileged assholes who hurt those closest to them the second they don’t get their way.
They were taught the world revolves around them and that there are no consequences to their actions. Well, in the adult world, there are. And when those consequences have come calling, I’ve yet to see one of those men rise to the occasion and bear them with accountability.
This tantrum is just another example and reminder of the weakness of the man before me.
I give him a placid smile, not rising to his level.
Or, in his case, abasing myself down into the pits of Hell where his level is, in fitting company with the rapists and pedophiles.
“You’re paying me for my legal advice. And my consistent advice to you starting a year ago was to plead guilty in exchange for a lighter sentence. You ignored me repeatedly, even when I told you time and time again that this case was unwinnable and the jury would hate you.” His face gets progressively redder the more I speak. A vein pops out in his forehead, tracing a line down to the bridge of his nose. “But that’s the issue with you, Peter. You think you’re smarter than every woman you meet, which is exactly why when your wife kindly informed you that you’d gotten the time of your meeting wrong, your knee jerk, instinctual response was not to thank her for her help, but to beat her to within an inch of her life for her perceived impertinence.”
The vein looks like it’s going to explode out of his head now. Staring into his eyes, I see the moment he tips over into madness.
With a furious roar, he uses his forearms to sweep the contents of my desk to the ground.
Despite the violent outburst and the ensuing loud crash, my heart rate is still even.
That is, until I look down and see the framed picture of my family shattered on the floor. It’s a photo of Rogue and I and the kids from a day we spent at a county fair while we were on a trip in Cornwall. He’s standing, holding a pigtailed and smiling Rowan in his arms, and I’m crouching, gathering Rhodes, Riot and River in a group hug to my chest.
The boys are struggling to see who can be the closest to me and I’m laughing at how adorable their in-fighting is.
A stranger snapped the candid moment and then sent it to us.
I love that picture.
The glass is cracked in the middle, the spidering fissures reaching all the way across the edges of the frame, obscuring everyone’s face in the process.
Crouching, I reach for it, absentmindedly dusting off the glass like that’ll fix the problem.
“What’s going on here?”
Glancing up, I find Rogue in my doorway. His hands are buried casually in the pockets of his suit, his stance nonthreatening.
But his expression is black and his dead stare is pinned unflinchingly on the man who stands on the other side of the desk, his face still tomato red from screaming at me.
His eyes move slowly from Peter, to me, to the mess at my feet, taking in the scene with an expression that grows progressively darker and more volatile with everything he sees.
Finally, his gaze comes back to me. He watches me closely, getting a read on my brewing emotions. “You need me, sweetheart?”
I place the cracked frame back on my desk, returning it to its pride of place, and shake my head. “No, I can handle this.”
“Sounds good,” he purrs, going over to the couch that lines the left wall of my office. He drops onto it and lies down, casually crossing his ankles over the side of the armrest. “Tag me in if you change your mind.”
“Who the fuck are you?” Peter asks.
Rogue reaches into the breast pocket of his suit and brings out an energy bar. Lately, Rogue has been dropping the children off at the gym with Phoenix who’s teaching them martial arts, then going weightlifting while they train, so he’s eating more than ever. At thirty-four, my husband has never been more attractive. He’s grown into his body, his sinewy muscles rippling beneath his suit, and it’s all I can do but to openly stare.
Focus .
“Who am I? Oh, that’s easy.” He grins easily in response, a sharp smile full of teeth that would warn a man smarter than Peter to be careful, then tips his chin at me. “Her husband.” He unwraps the energy bar and takes a bite. “Don’t mind me. I’m just here as a casual observer to your public execution.” He waves a hand in my direction. “Proceed.”
“Peter,” I say, bringing his attention back to me. “Your sentencing is tomorrow. I suggest you go home, shower, eat an expensive cut of steak, and enjoy your last night breathing free air before they lock you up to rot in a dark hole for the next ten years. As tomorrow is the last day I’ll ever have to lay eyes on you again, there are a few things I’d like to say.” I round my desk, stepping over the discarded memorabilia from my desk until I come to stand before him. “You are a despicable, despicable man. I’ve never seen such a disproportionately sized ego to ability ratio in my life and that’s saying something considering I represent failed criminals for a living. Your lack of class is outmatched only by your total absence of intelligence. I’ve known rocks with more critical thinking skills than you, but even that will go over your head. You’ll walk into prison cloaked in your belief that your wealth and privilege make you superior to your fellow inmates and they’ll teach you a lesson for it that you won’t see coming.” I take a step closer.
Slowly, I drop my gaze down the length of his body, taking the measure of him and finding him woefully wanting.
My pointed perusal done, I lift my eyes back up to meet his. Over his shoulder, I catch Rogue grinning at me.
“You didn’t listen to my advice the last time I offered it, but maybe you will now. Don’t worry, this one’s on the house given your obvious financial issues. Are you ready?” I swipe a nonexistent piece of lint off his shoulder and look back up at him. “Learn how to make a shiv, you’re going to need it. The only thing inmates hate more than child abusers are wealthy white men who beat their wives.” Smiling politely, I add, “You belong in prison, Peter. I’m sad to add a loss to my record, but knowing you’ll be rubbing elbows with London’s finest murderers does feel like a win.”
Peter is hardly breathing, the air remaining trapped inside him and puffing out his chest until he looks like he’s going to blow.
With a labored exhale, his words hiss out at me in a venomous explosion. “You fucking cunt .”
Spittle flies from his lips and hits my cheeks.
A tired sigh comes from over his shoulder. Rogue stands, buttoning his suit jacket as he shakes his head.
“See, now you’ve crossed the line.”
“Rogue—”
“Sorry, sweetheart. He’s mine now.” He casually tosses the energy bar wrapper into my trash can as he walks up to Peter. His hand comes up to grip the back of his neck. I can tell based on the way Peter pales that Rogue is squeezing the life out of him. “And, Peter, you’ll find that my approach is a lot less diplomatic than my wife’s.”
With that, he uses his grip to slam Peter’s head into my desk.
The sound of his face colliding with the hard surface is chilling, bone breaking and cartilage twisting loudly in my office. I jump, my hands flying to my mouth in shock.
“She’s a peacemaker, that’s why I love her,” Rogue adds with a smile, talking about me with ease while his prey groans in pain. “And I’m more than happy to be the bad guy in the relationship. Balance, you know?” He pulls Peter back up to standing. “Now that we’ve been introduced, let me make something clear.” At their full height, Rogue stands four inches taller than the other man. He looks down at him, taking in his mangled nose, bleeding cheekbones, and bruised jaw. “Insult my wife again and you’ll be picking the pieces of your teeth off her office floor with a pair of tweezers and a magnifying glass. Do you understand me?”
Peter nods frantically, his expression still twisted with rage and a promise of retribution. Rogue’s expression goes from outwardly friendly to downright mean in the blink of an eye. Peter’s skin takes on a ghostly pallor as he swallows thickly.
“See, I don’t think you do. Let me give you a taster to make sure the message really sinks in.”
Peter doesn’t have time to react.
Rogue pushes down on his neck and brings his knee up in the same move. It slams brutally into his jaw and I hear in real time as at least ten of Peter’s teeth shatter. He howls in pain and drops to his knees, his hands closing over his mouth in agony.
Rogue leans over him until his face is level with Peter’s. “ Bon appétit . That’s French, if you didn’t know,” he informs him. “My friend taught me.” Straightening, he positions himself between me and Peter, shielding my body away from him. “Get the fuck out of here while I’m still in the mood to let you leave alive and in one piece. Well, more or less. Have you ever picked your teeth off the floor with broken fingers? I haven’t, but I’ve been told it’s not fun.” Rogue places his shoe on the back of Peter’s hand. He adds slight pressure and the man whimpers. “You have two minutes before I change my mind and give you a go.”
Peter scrambles to his feet as best he can, dazed by the pain and dripping blood onto the floor in a zigzagging line to the door. Before he can slip out and disappear, I call to him.
“Peter.”
He turns and I step out from behind Rogue’s body, coming to stand shoulder to shoulder with my husband.
“Would it surprise you to know I have friends at Belmarsh Prison? Not everyone thinks so lowly of my legal services. You’d be shocked how many of them would be willing to do me a favor if I simply asked.” Steeling my spine, I hiss, “Come to my office again to threaten me and I won’t need my husband to defend me. I’ll handle you myself. For Lydia and the many other women I’m sure you’ve hurt in the past.”
I don’t stay to watch him go. I turn away and face Rogue. He doesn’t take his eyes off the door until he’s sure the threat is gone and no danger is imminent. Only then does he look at me, his features softening and his mouth relaxing into a real smile, not the awful grimace he gave Peter.
My arms cross over my chest and I lift a brow at him. “You’re paying for a cleaning service to get the blood and teeth out of my floors.”
He grins, his hand wrapping around my hip and pulling me into him. “I can afford it.”
I snort, my palms finding his chest. I stare at and play with the buttons of his dress shirt absentmindedly for a moment before I murmur, “I could have handled him myself, you know.”
“Of that, I have no doubt. But you’d have had better luck convincing me to run buck naked through Siberia in the dregs of winter than asking me to sit quietly by like a good boy while he insulted you.”
I laugh at the visual.
“Fine. I suppose I would have reacted the same way if the roles were reversed.”
Rogue sobers, his expression turning serious in a heartbeat. “Be careful with him, Bell. I know the rage I saw in his face well. I don’t think we’ve seen the last of him.”
“He’s going to prison tomorrow, hopefully for a long time.”
“Money and power open a lot of doors, we know that better than anyone,” he warns. “Just like those things bought him his temporary release on bail instead of remand which he should have gotten based on his crime, they may very well buy him a reduced sentence. You’ve made an enemy there, one who hates women. I’m asking you to please be careful.”
Something in my chest softens immeasurably at his tone and at the clear worry in his face. Reaching up, I palm his cheek. “I will, I promise.”
“Let me get you a security guard.”
“No.”
“Bell—”
“No, Rogue. I’m not some popstar with a stalker who needs to be protected. That’s overkill — nothing’s going to happen to me. I’ll be careful and pay attention, but I’m not getting a bodyguard.”
He makes a discontented noise but doesn’t argue, correctly reading the expression on my face that tells him he’s not going to win this one. “Fine. But you need to tell me the second you feel threatened or scared in any way, okay?”
“Yes. And if it comes to that, then we can revisit the bodyguard question.”
His charming smile is back, the one he keeps only for me. He holds me tighter. “Look at us compromising. We’re so good at this marriage thing, sweetheart.”
I laugh loudly, my hands moving to close around the back of his neck. “What are you doing here anyway? Did Rachel call you?”
“No, but as it happens, she was very relieved when I appeared. I understand why now.” He dips his head and seals his mouth to mine in a sweet kiss. “I wanted to see you.”
I cup his cheek fondly. “You’re in my office more than you are your own, you know.”
“We can easily remedy that if you come work at CKI.” His hands tighten on my waist. “Be my chief counsel. I need your brilliant mind to keep my ass out of jail.”
Rogue has been trying to get me to come work for Crowned King Industries almost as long as I’ve been a licensed solicitor. I’ve always refused, preferring to have a separation of church and state in our household, but these days my refusals are getting less and less staunch.
“That’s getting more tempting with every spoiled, rich asshole I represent.”
“Exactly,” he says, nodding. “At CKI, the only spoiled, rich asshole you’ll have to represent is me. And I’m pretty sure you like me so that’s half the battle won already,” he adds with a pleased smirk.
“Like you?” His eyes narrow. “Baby, I love you.”
A sound of pure male satisfaction rumbles up his chest and he releases me. My brows pull together when he heads for the door, but he closes and locks it, then comes right back to me.
“There’s another reason I came to see you, but it’ll have to wait.”
“What do you m—”
My words cut off when his mouth slams down on mine. The force of his kiss pushes me back into the wall. He cups the side of my neck and rubs circles over my pulse point with his thumb as his mouth moves over mine.
Fire ignites low in my gut at the way he touches me, his hands as worshipful as they’ve always been. I’m pressed against the wall, trapped beneath his massive body, the heat of him engulfing me and there’s nowhere else in the world I’d rather be. I arch into his touch and he groans low in his throat.
“Do you know how fucking hard watching you verbally eviscerate that wanker made me?” When I shake my head, breathless and incapable of words, he cups my ass. “Do you want me to show you?”
I nod and he uses his hold on my ass to press me into his very hard cock.
“You’re blushing,” he murmurs, brushing his thumb over my cheek. “Seventeen years since we first slept together and you’re still blushing.” He buries his face in my neck, his tongue coming out to lick the skin at my throat. “Could you be any more perfect?”
“A good singing voice and I’d be unstoppable.”
He laughs and his lips find mine again, his entire frame shaking from his laughter.
Palming my thigh, he runs his hand up the length of my leg and to my hip where his fingers toy with the line of my thong. He hooks his index under it and slowly starts pulling it down, his mouth still claiming mine.
I’m panting wantonly into the kiss, my hands gripping his hair as I pull him closer, always closer. When my panties are off, he lifts me into his arms. My legs wrap around him and he groans loudly, the sound almost pained. He paws at my ass, greedy fingers digging into my flesh, and walks us over to my desk chair.
He sits, bringing me down onto his lap. For a couple minutes, all we do is kiss. I grind my pussy into him, rocking my hips back and forth over the length of him until he’s making near feral sounds of pleasure. Hearing the way I affect him even after all this time and after four babies heats my blood to dangerous degrees.
It takes all my strength, both mental and physical, to rip my lips from his, push off his chest and stand. Rogue leans forward immediately and reaches for me blindly, his eyes still closed.
He’s so lust-addled, he’s stuttering, barely able to string two words together as he finally manages to peel his eyes open. “What the– What are you… Where are you going?” His pupils are dazed, his voice thick with desire, his hair disheveled, his lips shining from my lipgloss.
“Nowhere,” I answer. Then I spread his legs and drop to my knees between them.
“Fuck,” he groans when I unbuckle his belt and unbutton his trousers with practiced expertise.
I pull his cock out, wrapping my hand around him as best I can, and go in for the kill. I run my tongue up the underside of his shaft from the base up. When I get to the tip, I close my mouth around him and push down his length, taking his entire cock into my mouth.
“ Jesus ,” he gasps. “You’re a dream, you know that? My favorite fucking fantasy.”
I hum in acknowledgement of his praise even as I continue bobbing up and down his cock. I loosen my jaw and relax my throat, taking him as far back as I can until my nose is pressed against his stomach. He fists my hair with both hands and guides my head up and down. He’s muttering unintelligibly; filthy, heated words of love and lust.
When I cup his balls and roll them between my fingers, his head falls back and he curses loudly. I hollow my cheeks and suction just the tip into my mouth and his entire body shudders, goosebumps erupting across his stomach.
“Fuck this,” Rogue grunts, leaning forward and pushing me off him. “I’m not going to last and I need inside you.”
I release him with an audible pop and fall back onto my ass. His hand on my shoulder pushes me further still until I’m lying on the floor on my back, and then he’s on me.
His body drapes over mine as he pins me to the floor. One palm comes down next to my head as the other reaches down to part my legs. He doesn’t even bother to pull his trousers down further than right beneath his cock and suddenly he’s pressing against my entrance.
He finds my lips once more, tasting himself on my tongue and moaning with abandon as he pushes inside me.
The strangled noise that rips from his lips makes me smile against his mouth.
“How are you always this wet for me, sweetheart?”
I laugh softly and wrap my arms around his neck, pulling him closer. He starts pumping and I arch into him, searching for deeper thrusts.
“Right there,” I pant.
“Yeah?” He thrusts again, a savage drive of his hips that moves me up the floor. “Here?”
“Mhmm,” I confirm, stars shooting behind my eyes when he hits that soft spot inside me.
His voice drips with arrogance as he does it again. And again. And again. “Like that?”
“Yes… yes… yes… Oh, god .” Pleasure coils, dark and delicious inside me, growing and burning until it feels like my entire body is on fire.
A violent shudder rips through him at my loud moans and his thrusts turn brutal. His hips slam into me, the sound of flesh against flesh resounding loudly in my office as both of us build towards an impossible climax.
“Tell me you love me,” I beg, my head thrown back in exquisite pleasure.
He growls, the sound angry. “If you have to ask then I’ve been failing as a husband.” He rolls onto his back and takes me with him so that I’m sitting on top of him with him buried impossibly deep inside me. I gasp. “I love you.” He drives up inside me, spearing me almost to my stomach. “I fucking love you . Every waking moment of every day is consumed with thoughts of you.” He grunts, his words turning almost pained. “I don’t know how it’s possible that my obsession with you still gets stronger with every passing day.”
His frantic confession is all it takes. I come with a loud, throat-ripping cry. My legs shake uncontrollably, the muscles in revolt at the assault of pleasure hitting me. I’m still screaming my release and clamping down on him when he follows me over the edge with his own sounds of demented rapture. Rope after rope of his cum floods my walls as I slump over him, boneless.
His arms close around me and he holds me, his fingers drifting aimlessly over my lower back in a familiar caress. The companionable silence stretches for comfortably long minutes as we hold each other.
“Do you ever think about how close we came to never meeting or meaning anything to each other?” I ask him, burrowing my face into the crook of his neck. I listen to the reassuring beat of his heart against my right ear. “If Thayer hadn’t applied for the scholarship behind my back, if I hadn’t gone to Bella’s at that exact time on that exact day, if we’d never gotten detention…”
He cups my cheek and looks down into my face. “No, sweetheart. I don’t.” He stares at me like he’s taking inventory of all my features to draw me from memory. “Meeting you wasn’t random chance, it was fate. I would always have found my way home to you eventually, no matter how long it took.”
A slow smile stretches across my face.
“Good answer, baby.”
I sigh happily and snuggle back into his throat, intent on spending at least the next few minutes enjoying the feel of my husband beneath me.
He almost immediately stirs.
“Shit. The kids.”
Startled, I sit up, eliciting a groan from him and shiver from myself when I drive back down his length. “What?”
“Your surprise. I swear, you’re lethal to me, Bell. I get distracted the moment I see you.” He lifts me off him with ease, tucks himself away and stands. Fishing my panties from his back pocket, he gets down on one knee and helps me put them back on. When he’s done, he grabs my hand and tugs me after him. “Come on.”
“Where are we going?” I ask as he throws the door to my office open and drags me down the hall.
Rachel isn’t at her desk, which means she mercifully must not have heard our rather enthusiastic floor gymnastics routine.
“You’ll see.”
Rogue doesn’t say anything else. He simply pulls me past rows of my employees who all smile at me. When he arrives in front of our largest conference room, he stops.
He tips his chin at the door. “After you.”
“Okay…” I move past him and grab the handle. With one last suspicious look over my shoulder at him, I push the door open and walk in.
“Congratulations, Mummy!”
Someone blows into a party horn at the same time as a confetti cannon erupts, both of them startling me.
My hand goes to my mouth in surprise as I see all four of my children before me, with Rachel smiling just off to the side. They’re honking their party horns or holding up signs as they clap excitedly for me.
Next to them, the table is laid out with trays and trays of food and more bottles of champagne than I’ve ever seen.
Rogue wraps his arms around me from behind, his chin coming to rest on my shoulder as he holds me.
“Congratulations on your milestone business anniversary, sweetheart. Ten years ago today, you started Sinclair Royal. Look at everything you’ve accomplished in that time.” He presses a kiss to my cheek. “I’m so incredibly proud of you.”
Tears pool in my eyes as I watch the scene before me, overcome with emotion. “The kids?”
“They wanted to be a part of this. They’re as proud of their mum as I am. Except Rowan, I’m not sure she understands what’s happening quite yet, but she’s happy as a clam to be on party horn duty. We might have a musician on our hands. Or a tone-deaf daughter, it’s hard to know which at this point.”
It still shocks me that Rogue ever doubted himself as a parent. He was born to be a father and he’s embraced that role like a second skin. If anything, he’s too protective of a parent. We routinely have to have conversations about how he’s not allowed to ‘get rid of’ anyone who so much as blinks wrong at one of his children.
“This is amazing,” I tell him, wiping my tears away and going up to my kids with a big smile on my face. “ You guys are amazing. Thank you so much for the surprise,” I say, gathering them all up in a hug.
“Are you happy, Mummy?” Riot asks. It still bewilders me that my kids have British accents and call me “Mummy”, but somehow it makes them even cuter than they already are.
“ So happy.”
“Can we join the party?”
I look over my shoulder to find Sixtine and Phoenix hovering at the door with equally big smiles on their faces.
Well, Sixtine’s face. Phoenix’s is set in his usual mask of cool disinterest.
“Of course! This is our anniversary after all.”
Rogue grumbles grumpily from behind me. “Not sure I like you sharing an anniversary with my wife, Sinclair.”
Phoenix shrugs but avoids giving me a celebratory hug nonetheless.
We stay in the conference room for hours, inviting the rest of the London employees to join us and cheers to the last ten years and the next ten. When it comes to the second half of the toast, I hold back my glass and glance over at where my husband is now standing on the opposite side of the room.
He senses my gaze. His eyes find mine immediately and an arrogant smirk curls his lips when he sees that my glass isn’t lifted with the others’.
He knows that having played the long game may well pay off for him very soon and that victory is near.
Only time will tell how much longer I stay at Sinclair Royal and when I leave to go join him at CKI.
***