Chapter 23 Lex
LEX
“Yes, Nolan. She’s fine.”
“I want to talk to her.” His voice is a low rumble through the receiver, full of barely repressed anger. “Put her on.” He’s just as pissed that Darrio got so close to her as I am. The only difference is that it’s my own damn fault.
My eyes drag to the bed. Juliet is sprawled across my sheets, clutching my pillow like it belongs to her, lips curved in the faintest smile as she breathes deep, even, and unguarded.
Drunk, pliant, soft. The kind of soft that makes me ache to tear every piece of her apart just to put her back together again—my way.
She’s irresistible on the best of days, but when she’s tipsy and cuddly, it’s worse.
My cock is still sore from how hard it had been pressing against my fly as I’d driven us home from the club.
Perhaps it makes me a pervert, but one way I’d wanted to assure myself that she was truly okay was to spread her out beneath me and fuck her until she screamed around my cock.
I wonder when was the last time she was this drunk—when she felt safe enough to get drunk. Not that she got drunk tonight because she felt safe. No, that had been because of Darrio fucking Vargas. The thought of his hands, his eyes anywhere near her, makes my grip on the phone turn white-knuckled.
My response comes out sharp and clipped. “She’s asleep. You’ll talk to her tomorrow.”
Nolan’s low snarl hums through the line, low and vicious. I can almost see him pacing—chest heaving, jaw locked—as he attempts to work out some of the anxiety and anger flooding through him.
“You’re sure she’s all right?” he demands, sounding a bit frenzied. “She doesn’t need a hospital?”
My laugh is hollow, humorless. It’s also quiet in deference to the sleeping woman only a few feet away. My gaze flicks to her, and the organ inside of my rib cage tightens at the sight of her. At least that god-awful hiccuping finally went away.
“I don’t trust anyone in this fucking town to touch her,” I tell him. “Except Eliza, maybe. And your mom’s already suspicious enough of what we’re doing.”
He hesitates. “If I need to ask her to come out—”
“I’ll call if she needs anything.” My tone leaves no room for argument.
I move closer, letting my free hand brush her hair off her face.
She exhales softly into the pillow she has clutched to her chest and face.
My pillow. My bed. My girl. Every fucking piece of her is mine, whether she knows it yet or not.
“Where were you when Darrio came into the club?” There it is. The question I know he’s been wanting to ask since I called to tell him what went down.
Slowly, I edge away from my Sleeping Beauty and out into the hall. I leave the door to my bedroom cracked and turn towards the living room.
“Talking with the hacker that sent the videos,” I say.
“And?” Nolan presses. “Do we know anything about them? Can they be trusted?”
As far as I’m concerned, no one but Gio, Nolan, and Juliet can be trusted, but that’s not truly what he’s asking for. Nolan wants to know if we can use them and if we can get anything on them to ensure they don’t stab us in the back later.
“No idea of their identity yet,” I tell him honestly. “They used a voice modulator. Could be male or female.”
“Damn it.”
I hadn’t meant for the call to last as long as it had, but the information was too important to ignore. “They confirmed the date of those videos, though,” I continue. “Denise Donovan was alive as of eight weeks ago.”
“Any chance she still could be?” Nolan asks.
“There’s always a chance.” Silence stretches between us for a brief interlude and I debate going back into the bedroom just to watch Juliet sleep.
“All right,” Nolan finally replies. “Keep us updated on anything else they uncover for you. I’ve called Abel and asked him about the hacker he’s connected to. He has them working on this too. I just wish Allen Donovan had given you something more.”
“He doesn’t even know what he doesn’t know,” I say, the free hand not holding the phone to my ear curling into a fist at my side. Short, blunt nails dig into the flesh of my palm until it aches. “But it’s clear he didn’t even consider Denise and Morpheus involved—he said she couldn’t stand him.”
“She probably knew about the sexual abuse,” Nolan surmises.
My fist clenches tighter. A sharp sting, and then droplets of red liquid are squeezing out around my fingertips. I lift my hand and stare at the moon-shaped split in my skin and the tiny beads of blood that have oozed out.
“If she knew and didn’t do anything about it, then I hope she’s fucking dead.”
“Don’t let Juliet hear you say that,” Nolan barks.
“Why?” My upper lip curls away from my face as I watch one of the beads of crimson slide down my palm towards my wrist.
“Even if you hate your parents, you still want them to give a fuck about you,” he states. “She might act like she doesn’t care, but we know the truth.”
Closing my eyes against the sight of my own blood and anger, I release a slow breath. “Fine,” I say. “I’ll keep searching for the woman.”
“Good.”
I reopen my eyes and drop my hand without bothering to wipe the blood away.
In a cold and measured voice, Nolan brings up the other problem we’ve yet to deal with. “I’ve got an idea about Vargas. I’m working on laying out the groundwork. We’ll deal with him, but for now, you don’t leave her side. Not for a second. You hear me?”
“Yes.” My voice drops, almost a vow. “He’ll regret ever breathing near her.”
We disconnect. The silence that follows feels like it belongs to me and me alone.
Unable to stand it, I drop my cell onto the loveseat and head back to the bedroom. Juliet is right where I left her, curled up on her side with her face illuminated by a beam of moonlight drifting in through the window.
I sink onto the edge of the bed, watching her.
Her lips part in sleep, the faintest sound slipping past. Sometimes, I still can’t believe she’s truly here.
Not just here, but in my bed and willingly.
I always thought we’d end up together—but in a way that I had to force, chaining her in my bedroom, keeping her and feeding her and forcing her to love me as she was always meant to.
Perhaps her parents’ failures are my successes.
My thumb traces the curve of her cheek, the slope of her jaw, then drifts lower, hovering over her throat where her pulse flutters, steady and vulnerable. Darrio should’ve never been allowed to get that close to her. Nolan’s right about one thing—he will be taken care of. Sooner rather than later.
After a while of just watching her, I get up and undress before sliding into the bed alongside her, pressing my chest to the hollow of her back until her warmth seeps through the shirts she’s taken to sleeping in. My shirts. My woman. Mine.
Juliet shifts, as if she’s drawn to me as much as I’m drawn to her, and closes the minute space still left between us.
My hands go instinctively around her, one at the hollow of her throat where my fingers keep a steady, selfish watch of her thrumming pulse and the other on her lower belly, anchoring her to me.
The world shrinks down to the sound of her breath and the hammer of my heartbeat in my ears.
Juliet might think she understands how much I want her, but she doesn’t. She can’t possibly understand how I’d fucking carve my own heart out of my chest for her. Now that I’ve had her, there’s no going back.
She’ll never escape me. I’ll guard her, cage her, ruin anyone who even looks at her wrong. Morpheus. Vargas. And anyone else stupid enough to forget she’s already claimed.
Sleep takes me down into its inky black depths as I listen to the soft thread of her breathing and match it to my own. At first, it’s a dreamless kind of rest with a soft, floaty sensation that comes with restfulness… until it cracks wide open.
Darkness folds over the room and the bed.
Long tendrils of shadows stretch out, capturing my arms and legs and ripping me away from the woman in my arms. My eyes shoot open, but it’s too late.
The bed has become a boat cast into a never-ending sea of storms. She remains still and silent, slumbering on.
“Juliet!” The scream I release is captured by a torrent of wind and carried away.
I stand, stumbling as the bed rocks back and forth, nearly casting me into the waters surrounding us. “Juliet!” I try again and again, and it disappears into a soundless void.
Another step and I’m thrown from the bed, my back crashing into ice-cold waters. The liquid morphs into hands, at first dozens, then more—hundreds—grabbing at me as I struggle back towards the surface. They drag me deeper into the dark.
When my feet hit sand and rock, the wall of water surrounding me—choking me—comes crashing down and I find myself standing on a shore of glass and stone. Laughter echoes all around, the sound dried out and raspy.
“Lex!” I whip my head to the side as Juliet’s voice comes through like radio static.
“Juliet!” Her name is a scream so hoarse that it rips through my throat. “Baby, where are you?”
No response. Sweat tickles my spine, sliding down the curve of my back. I crawl towards that first sound. Glass shards stab into my skin. My fingers drag over cliffs as I growl and claw over the shoreline.
Anger and desperation push me further to ignore the pain in my limbs, the blood running white-hot rivers down my legs and arms.
“Juliet!”
Laughter echoes back to me, not Juliet’s but a man’s. Morpheus’? Vargas’? I can’t tell.
Smoke crawls up my throat each time I echo her name.
Over and over again, I call for her. The rocks and glass beneath me bleed away into wet sand and I collapse against it, harsh breaths escaping me as the fresh air thickens into grasping chains.
They snap out from the gritty particles, wrapping around my ankles and wrists.
They pull me, dragging my broken, bleeding form over the ground.
“Fuck!”
Jerking my head up, I roar with rage. Dark clouds swirl above my head and then, a beam of light pours through them, illuminating a lone lighthouse several feet away.
The chains go still, but don’t release me.
My eyes widen as I spy a figure stepping out at the top, her body backlit by the single point of light.
Juliet.
As soon as I make the realization, the world shifts again, turning over on its axis, and I’m falling, the chains disappearing as quickly as they appeared. I close my eyes, preparing for a jarring impact. To my surprise, however, it doesn’t hurt when I land.
Instead, it’s as if I merely jumped a foot or so and when I peer open my eyes, I’m dressed in a pair of basketball shorts and nothing else. The blood has all been wiped away to reveal nothing but clean, unbroken, unblemished skin. Lifting my head, I take in the new surroundings.
Cory’s Gym. Relief fills me. Oh, thank fuck.
I take one stumbling step through the building, then I come to a stop as shadows towards the back of the room disperse and reveal Juliet in a ring, her teeth bared and blood dripping steadily from her forehead and nose.
“Juliet!” I dive forward, launching myself across the room in her direction.
Just before I reach her, those chains appear once more, snagging around my waist, ankles, and throat.
Snarling and cursing, I fight against them, one hand trying to pry the links surrounding my throat and the other reaching for my girl.
She never looks up. Never even notices me as the shadows dive atop her. “No!” My scream combines with hers.
A cold shock wakes me from the nightmare and I jolt into the early morning with the realization that the room has gone from comfortable to icy. My breath fogs out in front of my face, but more important than that—Juliet is still here. In my bed. Against my body.
I drag her closer for a moment, grateful for the wakefulness. Despite my exhaustion, I force my eyes to remain open as the seconds tick into minutes into an hour. I count every breath, keep my palm pressed flat to her throat, marking every heartbeat.
So long as she’s in my arms, she can’t be taken away. Mine is not a gentle possession. It is a bound thing, a vow that’s etched into my soul. And it cannot be erased.