Chapter 14
Chapter Fourteen
Robyn
“ W orried he’ll drown, Robbie?”
I glanced over my shoulder, seeing Pat step into the living room. He might be the human equivalent of a boulder, but the soundless ease with which he moved through spaces was as effortless as sand sliding through fingertips.
Apparently, my concern that Pat didn’t like me sparked the slight change in his demeanor; still very imposing, still mostly silent, but when he did address me, it was Robbie now.
Pat was the big, sarcastic break in the icy tension that cracked between me and Damon since Belmont’s party on Friday. This time, it was me who avoided my husband at all costs, furious at the show he’d put on for everyone to see.
My wife.
Robyn Remington.
Just the thought of the name sprung a leak of shivers down my spine. I’d never used the name aloud. It was my own personal version of Voldemort, my married name going unspoken for fear of what it might conjure. Ache. Anger. Regret. Longing.
“Who says that’s not what I’m hoping for?” I countered, giving myself one final look at Damon in the pool below, his muscles gliding through the water.
These last few nights it was the same unspoken ritual. He’d swim and not look up, and I’d pretend he didn’t know I was there.
No matter how long I stood—twenty minutes, then thirty minutes, and now forty minutes—he wouldn’t stop swimming until I was gone. Like he’d kill himself to prove he wouldn’t be the one to walk away from me again.
Even now, days later, I could remember perfectly the feel of those muscled arms wrapped around me at the party. Those legs as they threaded through mine and led me around the dance floor—led me right into his trap. And that mouth…
That kiss —that stupid, incredible, engineered, addictive, dangerous kiss—had changed something. Created a weakening. A wanting. Like pulling a single piece from a Jenga tower, my resistance to him hadn’t toppled, but it wavered. And no matter how I wanted to pretend I stood just as unbroken as before, there was no ignoring the gaping hole in my restraint.
“Is it?” Pat’s droll lilt poked at me.
Spinning away from the window, I gave him a blank stare, hoping he’d interpret it one way, though the twinkle in his heavy eyes suggested it was the opposite.
“For my sake, let’s hope not because then I’ll have to jump in there and save his wiry ass. Again.”
That brought a small smile to my face. “How many times have you saved him?”
Pat tipped his head and sank into the chair facing the coffee table—and his one-thousand-piece puzzle .
“About as many times as he’s saved me.” He squinted at the progress.
The border of the puzzle was finished, and small pockets of the interior were coming to life. The scene was a coastal image of the Cinque Terre in Italy.
I hummed to acknowledge him and moved away from the window. “I’m going to head to bed.”
Pat lifted a brow. “It’s early for bed, no?”
My frown deepened. It was only nine, but I had no interest in another of my husband’s fan club waxing poetic about all he’d done for them. Not after the stunt he’d pulled at the party.
“Sit.” He jerked his chin to the chair adjacent to him. “You’ve done nothing for the last two nights.”
My head tipped, but I found my feet angling toward that empty chair.
“I thought you didn’t want any help on your puzzle.”
“No,” he grunted, his big hand causing an earthquake in the box of puzzle pieces. “I don’t want Damon’s help. He always fits the wrong pieces together.”
“Sounds about right,” I muttered and sank into the soft leather, my elbows resting on my knees. I reached for the pile of sherbet-colored pieces I’d set aside a few nights ago, all belonging to the sunset in the corner.
We worked in peaceful silence for several minutes, nothing but the soft click of puzzle pieces snapping together. And then Pat went and ruined it.
“When I met Damon, we were both being held in a Japanese prison.”
I frowned, instantly wondering what the two of them had done, but I knew better than to ask.
“That doesn’t sound like fun,” I murmured and fitted another piece into my section.
“You’d think it was for the kind of…habits Damon picked up in the place,” Pat muttered wryly under his breath and then cleared his throat as though he’d just realized he’d said a little too much. “I’d saved the wrong woman from the Yakuza, and Damon had bested the wrong mob boss in poker,” he told me anyway.
“Bested or swindled?” I countered, taking the box and scouring for more sunset pieces.
“Sometimes, to bring down monsters, Robbie, you have to become one. But with what you do, I think you understand that.”
I gritted my teeth. Coloring outside the lines of the law for vigilante justice was one thing. Becoming a full-blown criminal to take down other criminals was another. At least in my mind.
But he was goading me, and I wouldn’t take the bait. Maybe this was part of Damon’s plan, too: to have his cook and his bodyguard talk him up and try to wear me down. Not possible.
“Pat—”
“Damon saved me in prison,” he interrupted me. “Didn’t have to. He didn’t even know me, but he saved me from a beating with his big mouth. The Yakuza controlled the guards, who looked the other way as they’d beaten me for several days. If Damon hadn’t stepped in, I think they would’ve killed me that time.”
“And so now you’re indebted to him for the rest of your life?” I popped another puzzle piece into place, feeling the smallest measure of satisfaction, especially as I added sardonically, “Sounds exactly like something Damon would do.”
“You misunderstand him, Robbie,” Pat warned with a rough growl. Unlike my husband, as soon as the burly Irishman began to open up, he didn’t try to mask his frustration.
“I don’t misunderstand the man who uses everyone else to his advantage.” Including me .
Pat muttered something unintelligible under his breath, and my irritation grew.
The reason I’d been cooped up in my room the last two nights was because I was haunted by what Damon had said—how he’d dared me to ask about our past. Threatened me with the truth if I called him unfaithful again.
And I almost did.
I almost gave him reason to unleash his secrets so I could hate him more, but a thread of doubt held me back. The only thing worse than hating my husband would be a reason to not hate him at all.
It wasn’t possible. I swore it didn’t exist. But…
“You wanted to be there, didn’t you? At the holiday party?” Pat eyed me, but I didn’t look up.
“Of course.” I angrily clicked a piece of red sky into its spot. “That was part of the deal.”
“But you’re angry about it.”
“Because he introduced me as his wife,” I snapped and picked up another piece.
“And are you not?”
“That’s not the point.” I curled my fist around a piece, the tines digging into my palm. “I could’ve just been his associate. Our…marriage didn’t need to be advertised to the world, as if that will stop me from ending it when this is over.”
Pat shook his head, a hard exhale tumbling from his chest. “In this line of work, Robbie, associates are collateral damage to making deals. They’re the pawns that get picked off until those deals are made.”
“Then something else.”
I flipped over piece after piece, searching for more belonging to the sunset; there was a good chunk missing, yet I wasn’t coming across any that belonged.
“I won’t lie and tell you Damon doesn’t want the world to know you’re his, but neither can I agree that there was another option that wouldn’t have put you in more danger.”
My throat felt stiff, swallowing becoming a task.
“Anything else, and Belmont would be hunting you down right now. The shortcut to an upper hand over Damon.”
My eyes snapped to his. “And it’s somehow different because I’m his wife?”
“To go after his wife would be a declaration of war, not a negotiating tactic,” Pat grunted. “Especially the way Damon had to play this.”
I continued to dig through the box: a distraction. Though finding a sunset piece seemed as elusive as finding a good reason to disagree with him.
Damon was playing with fire to go after Belmont the way he had, but the quickest, surest way to figure out the details of Belmont’s arrangement with Shazad and the specifics of their operation was by being invited inside, not barging through the gates and storming the castle.
It was why my brother and I were never able to get close enough.
Damon’s strategy, though, was the embodiment of keep your enemies close , the inherent risk of that undeniable. I’d felt the full crush of its weight when Damon pointed out the security cameras in the room once the mistletoe drone was gone.
Every person, every interaction monitored. Even the number of men who’d moved at the slightest perceived threat to Belmont…the only safer place for me would’ve been to not be there at all.
“We’re all selfish sometimes, Robbie, but don’t mistake the man who’s amassed an empire by reshaping consequences into advantages for one who’s only acting in self-interest,” Pat said. “The mark of success isn’t the absence of setbacks, but the ability and adaptability to turn those setbacks into strides forward.”
My head flicked up. “Are you his motivational coach, too?”
“If you mean do I kick his ass when I think he’s doing the wrong thing? Then, yeah, I guess I am.”
I set the box on my legs and asked him squarely, “So did he do the wrong thing?”
“Once you were there? No.” His shoulders dropped. “I think he did the wrong thing by bringing you. I think he’s risking too much by letting you be involved, but no matter how many times I tell him, he won’t change his damn mind.”
“I have to be involved.”
His lips pulled into a firm line. “That’s what he says.”
“Well, he’s right.” And it might’ve been the only thing my husband and I agreed on at this moment.
“I wouldn’t say right. I’d say determined to do whatever it takes to win you back, no matter the risk,” Pat rumbled, and before I could protest, he added, “Since the moment I met him in that prison, it’s always been about you, Robbie. For him, it’s always been you.”
Heat flamed in my cheeks. The shocking tenderness from the sheer mountain of a man didn’t even come close to the utter genuineness buried into each syllable. I tried to look away, tried to speak, but for seconds, I could do nothing but feel Pat’s confession layering into Damon’s exact sentiment like mortar around bricks of truth.
I jerked my head, battling through the walls that closed in from the inside.
“It’s been fifteen years, Pat. It doesn’t matter what it was or what it’s been, all that matters is what it is. And what it is, is unsalvageable.”
I dug into the box again, the pile of pieces scraping loudly from side to side. Even though my focus was faulty, what I was searching for wasn’t there.
The box clunked as I set it down on the table. “I think your puzzle is missing some pieces.” And your mind, a few screws.
Pat tipped his head to the side, replying low, “I think you are, too.”
And then the sly bastard reached into his pocket and pulled out a handful of sunset-colored pieces, setting them in front of me. “Hard to see the whole picture when you’re missing pieces, Robbie.”
He’d played me, hiding them this entire time to prove his point.
Bitterness welled on my tongue. Bitterness for this conversation. For his defense of Damon. And for the torture hearing those words and wanting them to be true, put me through.
“I don’t need all the pieces to see how it’s going to end,” I said and stood.
“Or maybe you just don’t want them.” Pat looked up, his hard-set expression not even cracking under my irritation.
“Maybe I don’t,” I volleyed back and then changed course; if he was being this forthcoming, I might as well take advantage of it. “What time are we meeting with Belmont tomorrow?”
I’d heard what Belmont’s man had said to Damon, but it wasn’t specific. Was Damon to show up whenever it was convenient? I doubted it. More likely, Belmont had provided further communication with the details of the meeting, and I had yet to know about it.
“Afternoon.” Pat’s gaze dipped to the puzzle and then rose again at the smooth-as-whiskey answer that infiltrated from the other side of the room.
“Meeting’s set for four,” Damon drawled.
Heat tumbled along my back like a warm Slinky down my spine. Rolling my shoulders back, I turned as Damon strode into the room. Even bare-chested with a pool towel cinched low on his waist, water still dripping from the loose ends of his hair, he looked distinguished and utterly gorgeous.
God, this would be so much easier if I weren’t still so attracted to him. Even when he was ruthless. Even when he was calculating. Even when he reminded me of all the reasons I should keep my distance, I still never wanted to look away from him.
“Puzzle is coming together good,” Damon remarked, his shoulder brushing mine as he stopped beside me.
“Don’t touch it,” Pat grunted.
“I didn’t.” Damon lifted his hands, his palms flat in mock surrender. “I was just looking? Am I not allowed to look?”
Pat’s jaw twitched. “Sometimes your looks are dangerous.”
I shivered as Damon’s shoulder bumped mine. Pat had no idea.
Abruptly, the bodyguard rose and rubbed the back of his neck. “All right, I’m heading in for the night. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
My jaw went slack. I scrambled to think of something to ask—some reason to stop him or call him back, but once more, his presence dissolved like sand from the room, leaving Damon and me alone.
Bastard.
“I’m heading to bed, too,” I clipped and walked around the other side of the chair, using it as a barrier as I tried to flee.
Tried being the operative word.
A warm grip closed over my bare arm. “Robber, wait.”
He stepped closer, and I gravitated toward the warmth of his bare chest.
“Let me go,” I warned low.
“Never,” he threatened even lower, the smooth magnetism of his voice made my resistance start to fade .
If I gave in…the complete loss of control…the feral passion promised by that kiss…it would be my undoing.
“Robber…”
Again, I trembled as his other hand lifted to trace my cheek. “Don’t be mad at me,” he begged and then promised, “Let me make you not mad at me.”
“It’s not possible,” I lied through my teeth. Lied to him. Lied to myself.
Damon dropped his head, the orbit of his mouth dangerously close to mine, and the gravity of attraction became too strong to break.
His lips slanted over mine, and God help me, I sagged into the conquering of his kiss. In two days, I’d starved more for the taste of him again than it felt like I had in the last almost two decades. With a soft whimper, I tipped forward and reached for his chest.
Damon stilled when my palm pressed to his pec, the warm muscle trembling under my touch. My mouth parted, and his tongue delved inside. He stroked deep from the get-go. Seeking. Demanding. Hunting. And when his tongue finally tangled with mine, I almost fell into him the way my knees went weak.
With a deep groan, his body gave a sudden flex, sinewed muscle rolling against me, letting me feel the length of him straining against the towel.
“Ask me anything,” he begged, his decadent lips charting a course along my jaw to my ear, where he repeated the sentiment.
Anything.
The plea anchored this moment to our kiss at the party, and the butterflies in my stomach fell like their wings had turned to lead. This was nothing more than his next move—the next step in whatever his plan was to win me back.
“I know you want to. ”
I shivered, feeling the questions about our past hanging like fishing hooks on my tongue, drawing my writhing, resistant mind toward his answers.
I wasn’t afraid of the truth. I wasn’t even afraid to learn he hadn’t been lying. I wasn’t even afraid of having him again. God knew I was the opposite of afraid for that.
I was afraid of having something to lose. Of having him to lose again. That was what had almost destroyed me all those years ago. Not his disappearance. Not his treason. Not his personal betrayal. It was the unadulterated assault of loss that crippled me.
“Just one question,” he said, his lips taking mine again. I sank into the kiss, allowing myself into the underwater of desire for one last moment before I had to come up for air. To survive.
I clamped my teeth onto his bottom lip, biting it hard enough to draw a slice of blood as he drew back with a hungry hiss.
“Robber…” he growled low, his tongue licking away the film of red.
Swallowing, I mined the lust glimmering in his eyes, saving it for later when I could carve it into a memory. And then I tipped my head and murmured, “What time are we leaving tomorrow?”
My question wasn’t what he was expecting or wanting on many levels, and I used the surprise to step out of his hold.
“That’s my one question.” I angled my head, daring him to deny me an answer. He tried to reach for me again, but I backed farther away, demanding one last time, “What time?”
His shoulders lowered then, his head hanging in the first sign of defeat I’d seen. Scraping a hand through his hair, Damon looked up, his gaze begging forgiveness as he said, “You’ll find out tomorrow.”
My heart thundered. Of course. A sad smile creased my lips at the calm civility of his cruelty.
Shaking my head, I turned and walked away. I made it all the way to the stairs before I stopped and looked back. Damon hadn’t moved like the war inside him shackled him to the spot.
“You wonder why I don’t care about your truth,” I told him. “It’s because you dole it out in pieces just like that puzzle, and I know I’ll never get the full picture until it’s too late.”