18. Nero
18
NERO
“I swear on my middle finger’s life, I didn’t see shit.” Eight nervously shifts from foot to foot, weakening the honesty of his statement.
He’s called Eight because he’s a fucking giant, often seeming closer to eight feet than seven, he was born in the eighth month of the year, his given name is August, and he has only eight fingers.
Eight swears one of his finger removals was an accident.
He won’t tell anyone about how he lost digit number two.
He has no reason to lie, but I appreciate his endeavor to pull me over the fence. “You were way too up in her business to get the slightest peek. Can’t say I blame you. Your girl is fine .”
Miranda, who I know has been listening in from the start since her perfume grew more noticeable when Eight knocked on the door of my room in the Clark’s compound to issue his tenth apology, giggles during his last statement.
I veer my fist toward his eyes.
“Jesus fucking Christ. I was giving her a compliment. Not an invitation to my bed.”
“I don’t give a fuck. Keep your beady eyes off my woman. Clothed or naked.”
While pffting like I have no reason for my anger, he hands me a wadded piece of paper. When our eyes lock, he silently pleads for me to open it in private.
When I nod, suddenly remorseful that my jealousy has me seeing friends as enemies, Eight pivots on his heel and stalks down the corridor.
He’s partway down when I try to make up for his bloody nose. “She’s single.”
He cranks his neck back to face me, his smile announcing he appreciates my extension of an olive branch but that he has no intention of letting me off easily. “Who?”
I play stupid as well as I do jealous. “A giant doesn’t want a boneless carcass to feast on. He needs meat. Lots of juicy meat.”
It’s fucked to admit this while standing across from my brother in arms, but I’ll never be a man who tiptoes around the truth. I much prefer stomping on it.
I’m hard as stone and uncaring who knows it since my room door has a lock, and the woman from my dreams is making herself at home in my domain.
With a grin of a serial killer, Eight says, “I’ll buy you an hour. Any longer than that, you’re on your own.”
His reply has me wishing he was dead. Eight only knocks at your door when you’re being summoned. That summoning only occurs around here by one man. Nikolai.
This kills me to admit, but I never thought the day would come where I’d put a woman above my loyalty to Nikolai.
Today is that day.
When Nikolai underhandedly threatened Miranda, I almost lost my shit. It was only when I recalled why his guards are up did my anger sit the fuck down.
He wasn’t pissed about the massive hit his empire just took, or that someone is playing him for a fool. He’s worried about Justine and how she will handle the best caterer in the state playing hooky on her big day.
He wants to protect his ahren from a bucketload of disappointment as readily as I’m striving to do the same for my butterfly.
After a quick work of my jaw, I open the note.
As expected, it is from Nikolai.
Need to see you at P’s.
Bring your girl.
When I flick my eyes up, my thoughts a mix between fuck no and double fuck no, Miranda strays her eyes to mine. She’s holding an invoice in her hand, and a deep groove is scoured between her dark brows.
“Did you witness Roy replace my birth control pills, or did he tell you he did that?”
I grind my back molars together to lessen the severity of my scorn while pacing closer to her. “I witnessed him do it.”
“When?” She doesn’t sound angry. She is more curious than anything.
I think back to the numerous times I saw her almost build the courage to leave him before I rewind back to the only time he gave me any indication he wanted to keep her for himself.
“It was around a month ago. You’d gone out for a run in that hideous sweater he was adamant you had to wear over your workout clothes. He extended the route on your running app so you’d be gone long enough for him to change your birth control pills.”
She looks torn between kissing me and strangling me.
Or perhaps she wants to kiss me and strangle her husband.
I much prefer the latter.
“I snuck inside in the middle of the night to change them back, and then I got blind fucking drunk.”
When the light finally switches on, Miranda has no trouble deciphering the facts. “Because you hated the thought that he still wanted me, which meant you couldn’t have me.” She smirks like she’s shocked I haven’t slotted the pieces together as quickly as she has. “When Roy told me the house across the street had been sold to an investor wanting to flip it when the market improved, I was devastated. I met your mother when she came to approve the remodel of the house her only son had purchased for her. She was so excited about the rebuild, so to hear it wasn’t going through, I grew worried something terrible had happened to her.” Her smile almost buckles my knees. “My devastation mimicked hers when I tracked her down in a brand-new condo a few streets over and she learned I was married. I hadn’t been wearing my wedding ring the day we met.”
As her eyes spark with love, she continues her story. “Apparently, I was exactly her son’s type, but there was no hope for us. She said he would never mow another man’s turf, no matter how untidy his yard, because she had raised him better than that.” Her expression is an odd mix of lusty and understanding. “What changed your mind?”
“It wasn’t a what. It was a who.” I step closer, hating the minute few feet between us. “His betrayal should have destroyed you. It should have broken your spirit.” Pride puffs out my chest. “It didn’t. Your cocoon was already cracked when you arrived at the hotel.” I cup her cheeks and drag my thumb over her lips. “He had finally lost you, so there was no reason I couldn’t help you find yourself again.”
“This isn’t a game of finders keepers, Nero.”
I scoff, confident as fuck that I’ll have her believing differently in a matter of minutes if forced to express myself with more than words.
“But even if it is, you were also married.”
“On paper. Not in my eyes or in the eyes of my mother. My divorce is close to being completed.”
“Close… but not finalized.” Her smarts exceed her beauty for half a second. “Why was the annulment denied?”
I’m lost as to where she is going with this and what the invoice she is clutching has to do with it, but I’m willing to play along if it keeps her wings fanned as wide as they are now.
“Even strung out and drunk, I was still smart enough to request a prenup. The infidelity clause of said prenup is why the annulment was denied. Tasha told the judge she would have proof that I’d cheated at our next mediation hearing, which is scheduled for some time next month.”
“ Would have? Not had?”
I nod, still confused.
My bewilderment doubles when Miranda smiles at me like it is Christmas morning and I found her under my tree, wrapped in nothing but a bow, before she asks, “Where are you keeping them?”
“Them?” I ask, acting daft.
I’ve shared a lot of dark and demented shit with her the past few days, but I’ve kept Roy’s captivity on the down-low. I don’t want her learning that I am a complete fucking psycho before she’s fully under my spell.
I can’t pull the wool over her eyes, and in all honesty, I don’t want to.
“ Our cheating spouses, Nero. Where are they?”
Against my better judgment, I nudge my head to the door. “Let me show you.” With her confidence too high to topple, I add, “We just need to make a quick detour first.”