Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
ANDIE
I killed a man.
Sitting on the bed, I stare at the wall as scenes from a movie flash before my eyes. But it’s not a movie. It’s me. What I did. I did that. I killed him. I finally killed him. I thought I’d feel happier about it. I don’t. I feel nothing. Not a fucking thing.
“Alexandria.”
I don’t look over at Liam when he quietly slips into the room.
“Don’t call me that,” I seethe on a rasp. Max always called me Alexandria. I never want to hear that name spoken again.
Liam’s large frame kneels at the foot of the bed. He stares at me with stormy, gray eyes, while I continue to stare at the wall, watching the movie of me killing a man. Not a man. The devil. I killed the devil.
Cold metal touches my limp fingertips as Liam pushes something into my hand. Jax’s knife. I killed the devil with Jax’s knife. I stroke the red handle. Jax would be proud of me. I miss him. I wish he was here. I look back at the wall.
Hours pass. I don’t know how many. The first rays of the morning sun glimmer along the horizon and through the tree line outside the window, slowly brightening the room with sunlight.
“Why are you here?” I ask Liam, slowly stroking the hilt of Jax’s knife. I have a painful blister on my thumb from the constant friction of rubbing it for hours.
Liam hasn’t moved the entire time from the foot of the bed. His legs must be numb by now.
“Because you’re here,” he says.
I’m finally able to tear my eyes away from the wall. My vision is screwed up from looking at one thing for so long. Phantom shapes float around my visual periphery.
“You knew who I was in Geneva.” It’s not a question.
Liam nods. “I did.”
Like a rabid animal, I launch off the bed at him, clawing and punching at his face, his chest, any part of him that I can connect with. He doesn’t fight back. He doesn’t stop me.
I sit on his chest and smash my fist in his face.
“You held a gun on me!”
I hit him again.
“You fucked me!”
And again.
“You lied to me! Everybody lies to me!”
I scramble off Liam, my sights set on the door, and finding my ex-boyfriend. I’m going to kill him.
Liam moves at the same time, banding his arms around me and holding me in place, as I scream, and scream, and scream, struggling with him to let me go.
I kick at his shins and scratch at his forearms. I’ve devolved into a wild thing without thought. I want to hurt something, the way that I’m hurting.
“ Bella , calm,” Liam hushes in my ear, holding me close.
Like he flicked a switch, I go limp, every bit of fight in me gone. I’m reduced to pained whimpers as Liam turns me in his hold and cradles me like a child.
“He’s really my father, isn’t he?”
Liam brushes my sweat-soaked hair from my face. “Let me take care of you first, then we’ll talk.”
I’m too tired to argue. I’m just too fucking tired all around.
He carries me into the bathroom and stands me on my feet. With one arm still supporting me, he turns the handle to the shower. I watch as he strips out of his clothes. First his shirt, then his belt and pants. He leaves on his black boxers; they outline every hard inch of him. He’s aroused, fully hard.
Steam billows up and fogs the room, creating a cloudy mist of warmth. Liam slowly and carefully removes my blood-stained clothes. Max’s blood. I didn’t even realize I had gotten any on me.
Once I’m completely naked, Liam picks me up again and steps inside the shower, placing my back directly to the spray.
I shut my brain off and close my eyes, allowing the hot water to soothe my aching muscles. I hum when Liam’s slick hands coarse over my wet, bare skin. His touch is tender, not sexual. He takes his time, soaping my body, then rinsing it clean. His large hands lather shampoo in my hair, massaging my scalp until I feel every bit of tension melt away.
No one has ever taken care of me like this before. Ironic that it’s my angel-turned-devil who seems to know exactly what to do. We don’t even know each other that well, our one night together, notwithstanding. I should hate him. I shouldn’t let him touch me like this. But I just don’t fucking care right now. About anything.
His fingers slide through the strands of my wet hair. Something floral tickles my nose.
“What’s your full name?” I ask him.
He angles back my head to rinse the conditioner out.
“Liam Patrick Connelly.”
“Very Irish.”
“Aye.”
I open one eye. He grins at me and turns me around, twisting my hair to wring it out.
“Any relation to the McCarthys?”
I’m a McCarthy. My mother was… oh, right. She’s dead. Declan said he killed her. And yet, I still don’t feel anything about that. I really am a fucked-up mess.
“All Irish families are related in some way.”
He wraps his arms around my chest and molds my back to his front. My body is so warm now from the heat of the water falling on me from the front, and his heat pressing against my back. I’m cocooned.
“I dream about you,” I tell him.
The shower feels almost like a confessional. Like I can say anything here, confess my darkest thoughts. Can it also absolve me of my sins? Of the most heinous sin I just committed?
“I hope it’s the same dream I have where you’re riding my dick.”
Light laughter bubbles out of me because I can’t deny it.
“Why doesn’t this feel weird?”
Being in here with him should freak me out. I shouldn’t let Liam get within a hundred feet of me, let alone shower naked with him. Liam is basically a stranger to me. He works for Declan, which makes him dangerous. But somehow, for some inexplicable reason, I feel safe with him.
He hums in answer, the vibrations from his chest tickling my skin and making my nipples pucker.
“What does Declan want with me?”
Soft lips place a kiss to my shoulder. “He wants to know his daughter.”
I blow out a small scoff. “It can’t be that simple.”
“Why not?” Liam questions.
Because everyone, throughout my entire life, has used me. Hurt me. Lied to me.
I want to ask him why he’s doing this. The night he and I spent together in Geneva was not one filled with tender moments. It was twelve hours of rough, hard fucking and possession. He ripped from me dark desires I never knew I wanted and claimed me in a way that has branded me as his. He haunts my dreams. It’s strange to feel this pull with not only him, but with Jax and Keane as well. And Rafe—I can’t think about him right now. My emotions are too raw where he’s concerned.
“I need to know if Jax and Keane are alive.”
The last time I saw Jax was from the window. He had taken down one of Declan’s men.
Liam tenses behind me. I move to slip out of his arms, but he pulls me back to him.
“Your boyfriends are now sitting on the throne,” is all he says.
I don’t respond to the jealousy in his voice. I don’t argue that Jax and Keane are not my boyfriends. I don’t think there’s a label for what we are. Complicated would be the word I would choose.
I’m also not surprised that they stepped in to fill the void left gaping wide open with my not-real father’s sudden disappearance. Instead, I ponder on how I can manipulate that information and use them to make my next move.
“Are you ready to get out?”
“Not yet,” I answer.
The water is no longer warm, and my fingertips have pruned. But I’m not ready to face reality. I need a few more minutes of peace. Because once I step out of this room, I’m no longer Alexandria Donatella McCarthy Rossi. I’m the woman who is going to rain hell down upon the families and Julio Ortiz and burn their houses to the ground.