Chapter 51
FIFTY-ONE
Gigi
I grab a coat from the hook as I leave, to conceal the lingerie, but it does nothing to mask the chill as Pixies’ front doors shut behind me. I turn a corner, stepping into a nearby alley. I slip the wig from my head and take the contacts out of my eyes, blinking freely now.
Harry’s footsteps echo behind me. I spin round as he paces closer, hands tugging at the collar of my coat. His eyes bore into the poker scar.
“Princess, what the fuck is that?”
Dozens. Dozens of scars litter his body. A vicious reminder, he once claimed, that he was indebted to me for the rest of his life. I mirror that feeling more than he knows.
His jaw tenses with impatience. “Did Jamie do this to you?”
“No,” I say instantly. “The burn wasn’t him.”
“Is that why you flinched when he came up beside you?” Harry’s voice croaks. “Is he hurting you? Is that why you’re with him—?” He cuts himself off mid-sentence. “Does …?” He tries to speak, but the words break apart halfway through. “Does he force himself on you?”
It’s on the tip of my tongue to scream my denial, to put on a facade to protect him always, but I falter. My voice fails me, laying out the truth between us like a beacon of light in the dark.
Harry nods knowingly, a lethal, chilling calm washing over him. “Then why are you married to him?”
I shake my head madly.
“Tell me – right now. You know what? I’ll fucking kill him instead.”
My fingers snap round his wrist, stopping him mid-stride.
“Why?”
I shake my head, quicker now. “Don’t make me say.”
“Gigi, get off.” He pulls at his wrist, meeting my eye. “I don’t want to hurt you, so I need you to let go.”
I strangle out, “No.”
I tighten my grip. His body trembles with the physical torment of withholding his rage.
Baring his teeth, he roars, “Fucking tell me!”
I fight the instinct to flinch. Tears spill down my cheeks as my chest breaks in two, my breath hitching. “I did it for you.”
His eyes flood with bewilderment. “What—? What do you mean?”
My shoulders are shaking, barely held together by the weight of what I haven’t said. “Harry, no—”
“I need you to say it, Gigi. I swear to fucking God.”
My fingers won’t stop shaking, and I curl them tighter round his wrist. But I see the disassociation there; the confusion and betrayal in his eyes.
“Harry, please.”
His eyes shimmer with unshed tears before I even say the words.
The fight leaves me, and I break into a sob. I try to wipe the tears away and pretend I still have control, but I don’t.
“I did it because—” I choke on the rest of the sentence, the confession lodged in my throat, my voice shattering with the words. “Because they’d kill you otherwise.”
He takes a step back – not big, but enough for me to feel the distance between us. And something behind his eyes just … dims. His gaze passes over me with utter devastation, like he doesn’t recognise me. His emerald eyes are lifeless now, as if he’s completely disassociated from the present.
His mouth opens slightly as if he wants to say something – but nothing comes out.
Everything comes to a screeching halt at a deep, familiar voice.
“Gigi?” the person calls. “Is that you?”
Jamie.
Harry doesn’t move. Doesn’t blink. Just stares past me like he isn’t here anymore. I’ve broken something in him that can’t even register pain.
I surrender to panic, shoving at his chest, concealing him in the dark shadows creeping along the sides of the alley. “G-get out of here.”
He backs up easily, even though in any other circumstance I’d struggle to lay a finger on him. Then he snaps back to the present, clutching his fingers round my wrists. He holds them between us, tormented, his mouth slightly open as though he’s forgotten how to breathe.
“He can’t see you.”
The steps draw nearer.
Jamie calls again. “Gigi?”
Disbelief continues to render Harry still.
“Go,” I beg.
I’m not allowing the months I signed my life away protecting Harry’s life to amount to nothing. Not when we’re unprepared for a fight. I’ll add another selfish tally to the wrong decisions I’ve made, though none stand clearer than the decisions that leave him unharmed.
I give him a final shove, and he falls into the darkness.
Squeezing my shoulder firmly, Jamie pulls me round to face him. “I told you not to come out tonight,” he states, brows drawn tight. “You’re meant to be at home.”
“I wanted to see you.”
He brings his fingertips to my hair, rubbing the few strands between them. Then he lifts them to his nose, inhaling deeply before exhaling. “Let’s go home.”
As I step through the front door, Jamie pushes past me, headed straight to the kitchen. I toe off my shoes, making it only a few steps as I watch from the safety of the entryway. He pours himself a glass of whiskey, rolling his shirtsleeves up to his elbows.
He takes a slow sip. “Are you not taking off your coat?”
Alarm flares through me at his cold voice, but I remain still.
Silence descends, increasing his staggered breathing.
The glass splinters between his fingertips, the cracked shards shattering to the marble tiles. He flexes his hands, the remaining fragments trickling to the floor like rainfall, and then turns his back, running his hands under the tap.
I peer up the stairs slowly, hoping to go unmissed with my quiet strides down the hall.
“You’ll stay in my room tonight.”
No.
Panic has me near stumbling, my hand meeting the wall. I turn round hesitantly. He’s leaning against the counter, the sight making my skin crawl with the effect of thousands of tiny spiders.
“Have I done something wrong?”
“Something wrong?” he asks dismissively. “Why would you have done something wrong, Gigi?”
I see it – the look in his eyes.
He knows.
He knows where I was tonight, why I was there, who I was with.
I hesitantly pass my gaze over the block of knives. They’re usually stacked full, yet one is missing. Perhaps it’s in the dishwasher. Perhaps there are a million excuses for where it could be, but the palpations of my heart suspect the bitter truth.
While I try desperately to rein in my fear, Jamie’s voice is deadly calm.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”
I should run free. I should defend myself. I should leave now—
A sound echoes in the hallway. I barely register it.
Jamie sighs irritably, pushing himself off the counter. He barges out of the kitchen, and I watch as he traipses through the hall, slamming the front door and locking it tight.
“Can’t even close the fucking door behind you,” he snaps. “Are you capable of anything?”
I duck my head. “No.”
I watch him in my peripheral as he leaves, ascending the stairs.
“I expect you in my room in ten minutes.”
I’m in the room within five, blade in hand.
As I slip under the sheets in fresh pyjamas, they feel bitterly cold despite the excessive tog count.
With each second that passes, I feel everything. Hear everything. The ticking of the clock. The spray of water from Jamie’s shower. The groans of the house.
My hand trembles on the knife tucked under my pillow. One of us isn’t going to make it out of this night alive. If I run now, he’ll only find me, and I need this fight – I’ve persevered with him enough.
The shower stops, and I listen out. The closing of the shower screen. The pad of his feet against the tiled floor. The wipe of the mirror. A routine I’ve grown accustomed to before his violence.
Will this time be my last?
Jamie exits the bathroom, steam billowing round him. He’s naked, water droplets clinging to his skin. He doesn’t even bother with a towel. He just stands there, dripping onto the carpet. I turn my head away as he nears the bed. He grips my jaw hard, forcing me to face him. I let him turn my chin.
His voice is low, edged with that familiar menace that makes my stomach churn. “Look. At. Me.”
I do – slowly. His pupils are slightly enlarged, anger lingering under the surface.
“Why were you at Pixies tonight?”
“To see you.”
He grips my cheeks, curling his fingertips into the skin. He squeezes so hard I feel my teeth groaning with the movement, aching for redemption.
“Now the truth,” he persists. “Why were you there?”
I couldn’t even speak if I wanted to.
He shoves two fingers into my mouth, wrapping them round my bottom row of teeth. He tugs down forcefully, sharper with each second. My jaw screams in agony, feeling like it might snap.
I slap my hands on his chest. “STOP,” I try to say, but it comes out muffled. Nothing.
I’m completely at his mercy.
Again.
“Harry St. James was in the venue tonight.”
My jaw groans until, suddenly, I feel a crack.
I scream through hissed teeth, tears falling from my eyes. I attempt to beg, but it’s fruitless. Jamie eases the ache slowly, withdrawing his hand.
For one pathetic second, I think I’ve gotten into him.
My hands cushion my jaw, and I wince at the pain, barely hearing him say, “And he was there with a woman. Some whore, they said …”
Jamie leans closer, closer, until I can feel his hot breath on my face, laced with the bitterness of whiskey. “So I ask you again, Gigi, why were you at Pixies tonight?”
My hand slips under the pillow, and I wrap my palm round the knife’s hilt.
His dark eyes bore into mine. I stare back.
“I’m giving you three seconds.” His features sharpen, but his voice is void of emotion as he counts. “Three … two …”
“One,” I finish.
Before he’s even registered it, I swing hard, impaling the side of his neck. He roars as I slice through the skin, embedding it into the part just underneath his jaw, narrowly missing his carotid artery.
FUCK.
I twist in his hold as his hands slip from me, clawing at the sheets behind me to slip out from underneath him.
My hands flail, grabbing for something – the lamp on the nightstand, a book – anything to use as a weapon.
I manage to knock over a glass, shards scattering across the floor, but it’s not enough.
I flip myself onto my front, clinging to the end of the bed to pull myself to my feet—
There’s a flash of something metallic in his hand before he swings.
He stabs deep into my side. A burn of fire rips through my flesh, and I scream, the sound echoing off the walls. Pain explodes through me, white-hot and blinding. Blood seeps out, staining the sheets.
Hands grip my hips, flipping me onto my back. Adrenaline surges through me, pushing me to fight. I lash out instinctively, my nails raking across Jamie’s face. He roars, the sound shaking the room.
When he staggers backwards, I manage to roll to the side, landing hard on the wooden floor.
My vision blurs from the impact, and from the wound on my side.
Jamie’s on me in a second, his weight pinning me down.
The knife clatters to the floor as he cuts off my pyjama shorts, using both hands to hold me in place, his knees forcing my legs apart.
“JAMIE, NO!”
I fight back with everything I have, scratching at his arms, biting his shoulder, kicking his torso.
Jamie howls, “You stupid fucking bitch!”
He slaps me hard across the face, the impact snapping my head to the side, and stars explode across my vision.
His grip is unrelenting on my wrists, pinning them above my head with one hand while he forces himself between my legs, his breath rancid against my neck. I thrash wildly, trying to buck him off and screaming for my life despite how awful the reality is.
I thought this day would come, but now it’s here, I don’t want to die.
I don’t.
Jamie releases my wrists, his strong palms capturing my neck, silencing my scream. I pummel my hands into his chest.
He pushes hard with the desperation to kill, limiting the effectiveness of my movements with each lost breath. I gasp for air, my lungs burning, as he squeezes.
“I’m going to kill you.” His voice shakes with each word, his whole body vibrating with molten anger. “I’ll fucking kill you.”
His fingers tighten like a noose, and the world starts to fade, black filling my vision. The pain in my side loosens. I feel nothing. Nothing other than the wet sensation of blood smearing the floor underneath me.
And with each second, I feel the truth in his statement.
He’s going to kill me.
Darkness creeps in, my body going limp under his grip. Jamie’s face blurs above me, his eyes gleaming with triumph.
My ears scream with white noise, and I can’t hear anything – nothing other than the creak of a floorboard.
In my remaining flicker of light, I peer over Jamie’s shoulder.
I see the silhouette of a man; piercing green eyes that hold me captive.
He draws his arm back in one swift movement before slamming down. Jamie’s body shudders with the impact, and I watch the trickle of blood start from his hairline.
His head whips to the side with another brutal slash.
He rolls off me, and I cry out, finally clutching onto a breath. My hands grapple for my throat as my thundering heart slams against my ribcage.
What happened—?
What—?
I turn my attention sideways, my body shaking with the adrenaline coursing through it.
Harry stands there, his lips parted, shaking with an inhale of breath, a look in his eyes that completely obliterates the rage swarming his body. It’s so powerful I barely notice the knife gripped in his palm and the pool of blood dripping from the sharp edge of the blade.
The pain fades slowly as time stands still.
Harry stares at me, straight into my soul, transporting me to somewhere elsewhere. Somewhere where death, pain, and anguish aren’t our reality. Somewhere far away from every sacrifice we’ve made.
Jamie stirs, groaning from the brutal shot Harry inflicted.
Harry blinks as if bringing himself back to the present, and that dark, demonic rage swarms him as he strikes unrelentingly again. And again. And again.
He doesn’t stop.