Chapter 17
MAE
NAKED, I STEP INTO THE BATHROOM.
He’s there, and I stand in awe, appreciating his fine form. With his back to me, I watch as Damon washes his hair and soaps his body, suds cascading over rippling muscles. He’s a sculptor’s dream. I imagine the likes of Michelangelo scaling the Pietrasanta quarries, risking death while searching for and agonizing over the finest slab of marble to carve his masterpiece and bring a god to life.
That is him .
I step behind Damon, wrapping my arms around his waist. Having not expected me, he stills, muscles tensing before I feel his heavy sigh. A sigh that carries the weight of all things unspoken. He turns and pulls me into his capable arms. Drawing me close against his warm skin, he holds me tight, bending to bury his face in the crook of my neck. He breathes me in, neither of us in any rush to part. I feel the erratic pounding of his heart and my own fractures.
Damon swallows hard, and I blink free a wave of tears. We don’t need to speak. No words can adequately express fear and how it serves to tear us apart.
We both feel it.
There’s a war taking place.
One he’s leading, but one he may also stand to lose.
Terrified of his answer, I ask, “Is everything okay?”
He nods, then he kisses my lips and whispers, “It will be.”
~
“We’re not going to make it.” Jason’s voice travels up the stairs as I make my way down.
“She’ll be ready,” Damon says, distracted by reading something on his phone.
“No woman is ever ready in five minutes.”
“I’m ready,” I announce lightly, taking the last step.
They turn in unison, both tense and a little ashen-faced. Jason, in particular, whose dark eyes have lost their edge . Then, as if stricken with a haunting thought, he averts his attention and leaves the room.
“He looks particularly troubled today,” I remark, noticing Damon has made a more concerted effort to mask his unease.
He glances toward his brother at the door, who’s now out of earshot. “Jason, ah… he had a long night.”
“Working?”
Damon returns to me, wearing a thin smile of assurance I don’t quite believe. “Yes, of sorts.”
Sensing my uncertainty, he steps closer, his hands circling my waist. He kisses my cheek, his lips lingering as I lean into him, relishing the feeling of his stubble tingling my skin. His scent lulls me into a pseudo sense of peace I want to grasp hold of so desperately.
Against my ear, he murmurs, “I wish we had more time.”
There’s no sexual undertone. Instead, his pensive sentiment runs deep, harboring a desire to embrace every fleeting minute before it’s lost.
“We have to go,” Jason calls, sans his usual cussing or command.
With a heavy sigh, Damon pulls away, the loss of his touch felt hard. I hate the shiver that runs up my spine, the anxiety in my gut something I can’t ignore. The brothers are rattled, secretive, and desperate to keep what burdens them under wraps.
Damon hooks my handbag over my shoulder, taking a stolen moment to brush his knuckles over my cheek.
“You’d tell me if something was wrong, wouldn’t you?” I whisper.
A split microsecond is all it would have taken to miss the tick of his jaw. “Of course.” He holds my gaze, no doubt reading my mind and mapping my insecurities. “I won’t ever lie to you.”
~
“Damon…” I reach across the back seat of the SUV and touch his hand. “I don’t have my passport. Peter confiscated it.”
Instead of being concerned over the expected time delay, he pats his suit pocket and winks, the first hint of his playfulness returning. “It’s safe with mine.”
I should be surprised, but I’m not. Because it’s Damon, there’s no need to question how he has it. He just does.
Focusing on the bigger problem at hand, I have just over fifteen hours of travel with Peter in close proximity, knowing full well he’ll attempt retribution of his own at some stage. If I think me holding a gun to his head was going to come for free, then I signed my own death warrant.
‘I want you there with me in Dubai,’ Damon had said while I was in and out of awareness. When I woke to shower this morning, our bags were already packed, presumedly by Rosa.
Now, here I find myself, traveling in an SUV with seats facing each other—ideal for business. Damon sits beside me, his huge hand holding mine while he makes calls to his people in Dubai. Arabic names and greetings elegantly roll off his tongue, the sounds lulling me into a sense of comfort.
That’s until my attention unwittingly meets Jason’s. With a troubled frown etched deep, he may be staring straight at me, but there’s no acknowledgment. Completely lost in thought, there’s a significant internal shift within him, and when awareness finally prevails, he inhales sharply and averts his gaze.
I steal a glance back at Damon, whose behavior is also still at odds. His cell now vibrates on his thigh, and he tilts the screen out of view before answering with a simple “Yes.”
This conversation is different from the others. There’s no Arabic. There’s no business talk or friendly banter. Instead, there’s a cryptic medley of mm-hmm, okay, of course, anything you need, make it possible , the standard replies when ambiguity matters. It’s earned Jason’s attention, who seemingly can piece the word puzzle together.
When the call ends abruptly without so much as a farewell, Jason asks, “Sorted?”
The men share a knowing glance, a small, satisfied smile passing between them, and for the first time this morning, there’s a glimmer of hope in their eyes.
With a nod and a squeeze of my hand, Damon replies, “It’s game on.”
~
DAMON
She looks like a wide-eyed deer about to be shot. And I don’t blame her.
Mae has already given so much of herself that I would be a complete asshole if I expected any more from her.
Yet, here we are.
She’s about to board a long-haul international flight with two men who’ve coerced and blackmailed her over the course of two weeks, and her husband. The abuser. The prostitute-loving serial cheater. The repeat rapist. The psychopath .
Things may have dramatically progressed for us, but that still doesn’t change the foundation upon which our relationship is built. I can’t expect her to forget the hell I’ve also put her through, just as much as her mind won’t allow her to forget. The intricacies of it are ticking over in her brain, and in all honesty, I’d be a little concerned if they weren’t.
After clearing customs, the SUV pulls alongside the private plane. Knowing we need a moment, Jason exits. The car door closes, and Mae finds herself fiddling with the hem of her dress in one hand and twisting her earring with the other. I’ve witnessed her do each nervous trait before, but never together, which tells me an internal battle is raging.
Staring ahead through the windshield to where Marco and Peter are waiting, I debate how to begin. Ultimately, I start with the truth. “You’re the bravest woman I know, Mae.”
She turns to face me, her glistening fawn eyes wrenching my heart out. There’s no confessing why I think she’s the bravest because I can’t bring myself to speak of the truly heinous acts she’s unwittingly survived. I can’t unload unspeakable trauma into Mae’s life and expect it not to destroy her.
I won’t.
Because I don’t yet know how.
And while the building blocks of full-scale retribution against Peter and Carlson are being constructed, keeping Mae safe in the interim is my priority.
“Plans changed,” I continue, sticking to the reality she does know. “In fact, every day you’ve been in my life, plans have evolved into removing you completely from liability and blackmail. You have to know that I no longer hold anything over you.”
She considers me for a long moment, searching for anything that might hint at a lie. “What about Jason’s video?”
“I had him delete it that same day.”
Her sigh of relief is palpable. “You did? Why?”
“Because you became more than a bargaining tool. Because videoing you with sinister intentions was a despicable move. Because I allowed your trust to be violated, and knowing I hurt you affected me in ways I never imagined it would. When we first met you and Peter and witnessed his appalling behavior firsthand, we realized we needed an edge, and you were, in effect, collateral.”
Mae absorbs every word because she’s been trapped in a marriage where her husband has never once felt compelled to apologize for the barrage of abuse he’s inflicted. Sadly, it’s a foreign concept to her.
“It was a poor decision and one we both deeply regret,” I continue, and no part of that is a lie. “While no apology is adequate, Mae, I am truly sorry. I… we, fucked up.”
She swipes a tear before it drips off her jaw. “Thank you. Given everything that’s happened, that means more than you’ll ever know.”
Cupping her cheeks, I kiss her soft lips, tender at first because, at this very moment, we’re both vulnerable. When Mae unbuckles her seat belt and takes it upon herself to increase the pressure, I haul her onto my lap so she straddles me, and fuck , it feels too damn good. Finding my way under her dress, my hands slide up her thighs and around her ass. Our tongues meet for the first time in days, and suddenly, I find myself never wanting to let her go.
“If I’m to be completely honest with you…” I say, reluctantly breaking apart enough to still graze her lips, “… it’s that you, Mae Ellison, have become my addiction.”
The smile she wears is a glimmer of the woman I remember from the kitchen when I’d made her breakfast—carefree, flirty, and a little coy. It looks good on her. “I like the idea of being your drug. And I particularly enjoy hearing my true name on these.” She kisses my lips as my hands knead her ass, rolling her hips over my hard cock.
She sighs, perfectly so, similar to the way she does after an orgasm.
Kissing a path to her neck, she angles her face, offering herself to me. Her breathlessness and need is enough to drive me insane.
“How long have you felt like this about me?” she asks.
“Sweetheart, it was birthed long before meeting you in person.”
Mae melts into me, her defensive walls coming down a fraction more.
Cupping her cheek, I reply, “I can quite easily fuck off everyone else so that I can listen to you discuss your love of literature and art all day and night. So I can hear your laugh and have it all to myself, at least for a while, because I’ll never tire of seeing what turns your smile. And because I’ll wage war on any asshole who makes you cry, myself included.”
Mae bites her bottom lip, but it does little to stop the tremble. Compliments, as well as apologies, also seem to be few and far between for her.
“You’re a force to be reckoned with, Mae.” I gently pull her lip free with my thumb, the look in her eyes causing a dull ache in my chest. “If anyone knows how to survive a storm, I’m looking straight at her.” My confession exposes a side of me no one has ever witnessed. “I can’t bear to lose you.”
After a few agonized heartbeats, she whispers, “Why?”
My knuckles graze her cheek. “Because, sweet girl, I know what it’s like not to have you in my life, and there’s no going back to that.”
~
MAE
“Welcome on board, Ms. Ellison,” the hostess greets with a perfect smile. “Please take a seat wherever you’re most comfortable.”
“Thank you.” I glance down the plane and marvel at the palatial interior. There’s a red oak wood dining table surrounded by four large leather chairs. A living area faces a giant television, and on either side of the television are bedrooms and bathrooms.
After Damon shakes hands with the pilot and they share a laugh, it’s evident there’s a warm rapport between them. He takes my hand and offers me the seat at the table furthest away from the aisle, with Jason sitting opposite. There’s no denying the air thickens when Peter boards. It’s a heavy, itchy, saturated blanket of animosity suddenly draped over us.
He looks like shit.
With his face unshaven, hair tousled, and clothes rumpled, the last few days for him have not been kind. There’s strange bruising under each eye, and his nose is swollen.
There’s no empathy or pity from me. I loathe his miserable existence and despise the very day he sauntered so cavalierly into my life—that tragic, ill-fated flight. And now here we are, about to take another flight, this time under significantly different circumstances.
Hearing Peter shuffle his way down the plane, there’s a frightening shift in Damon’s demeanor. He’s already a formidable force on a normal day, now it looks like he’s dying to snap every bone in Peter’s body just for breathing in our airspace. But he isn’t alone. Jason is a picture of utter disgust. I thought I’d already witnessed him at his most unhinged, but it appears he could, at any given second, slit Peter’s throat with the breakfast menu.
Unable to read the room, Peter halts beside us, his attention falling to Damon’s hand resting high on my thigh.
“Fucking Jesus,” he mutters. “Maybe you should throw dirt on my coffin before you move on to your next free ride.”
My hand itches to slap his hateful face.
“You buried yourself, you stupid asshole. Sprinkle your own damn dirt and leave me the hell alone.”
I’ve seen that deranged look in his eyes many times before. Fortunately, now I have three grown men acting as obstacles, leaving his desire to hurt me just that.
“You heard her,” Jason warns. “Now, fuck off .”
Damon’s silence is terrifying. He doesn’t deign Peter a single glance, his thumb idly stroking his bottom lip with a dangerous contemplation. I squeeze his hand, reassuring him that Peter’s words carry no weight, and to my relief, he returns the gesture.
Marco pushes Peter. “Keep moving, dipshit.” He takes a moment to greet me. “Morning, Mae. How does it feel to finally be free of the shackles?”
I look pointedly at my soon-to-be ex-husband. “Like they now belong on someone else.”
“An accurate prediction, I’d say.” He shoves Peter once more, and they move toward the living area.
It’s in their journey that I notice Peter’s unusually contorted gait like every step is twisted and agonizing. “Why is he walking like that?”
The brothers share a glance, each suppressing a knowing smile.
Damon pulls my hand to his lips and kisses me. “I believe he recently made a new friend with similar kink interests.”
~
“We’re only five hours into a fifteen-hour flight, sweetheart. Go to sleep.” Damon’s hand inches high on my thigh, and there’s no denying the rush it gives me. “You’re probably still fatigued.”
He and Jason look equally as ruined, but work prevails with laptops open and paperwork spread out over the table. Although, from what I observe, it’s not all work. The brothers seem to be communicating a silent narrative I can confidently tie back to Peter.
I didn’t press them on the kink comment, despite my curious mind entertaining the possibility of Peter getting some of what he deserves.
“Come join me,” I say, hopeful he might seriously consider it. There’s still so far to go, and after eating the avocado and feta sourdough toast Damon ordered for me, I’m unable to focus on my drawings. But I know, without a doubt, I’ll sleep much better with him by my side.
“Don’t tempt me, my sweet girl.” Gently tilting my face, he kisses my lips. “I’ll walk you down.”
“It’s fine.” I graze the angular line of his jaw with my fingertips. “Stay. I’m no longer scared of him.”
I’m unsure how I expected Damon to react, but his darkening expression—like a tempest rolling in on the horizon—is not it. Beneath it all, however, his eyes remain soft just for me, and eventually, he concedes with a simple, “Okay.”
Offering him a tender kiss, he snakes his hand around my neck and leaves me weak for him as if it’s our first time again. I want to crawl back on his lap like I did in the car and finish what we’d started earlier.
“You know where to find me if you change your mind.”
The low growl of warning that reverberates from his mouth to mine strikes a pang of desire between my legs. “Sweetheart…”
“Yes?”
“Go before I make better use of this table.”
Heat floods my face because there’s a part of me that wouldn’t turn down the offer. Instead, I heed his advice and mouth, Bye , before heading down the aisle. All longing I have for one man turns to hatred for another. For five hours, Peter hasn’t moved or uttered a word. It wouldn’t be a stretch to assume the man is dead. On approach, I’m left disappointed to find him staring blankly at the wall.
I’m opening the bedroom door when I hear his voice. It’s low enough to go undetected by the others, including Marco who sits closest.
A threat just for me.
“I should have let him have you.”
Chaos wreaks havoc on the peace I’ve found with Damon because the breath is suddenly knocked violently out of me. I turn to face Peter, a cruel smile twisting his swollen lips when he sees the torment play over in my mind, knowing I’ve heard it before.
Those very words, verbatim.
They were in my nightmares no more than forty-eight hours ago. So, why did they just leave his mouth?
“Who?” I ask. “Who are you talking about?”
Peter has mastered the art of gloating without saying a damn word, and satisfied I’ve taken the bait, he longs to witness me spiral.
Anger surges me forward until I’m close enough to scratch his eyes out. “Who the hell are you talking about? Carlson?” Silence. His smile widens into a smirk. “ Answer me, asshole.”
“Is there a problem?”
The air thickens upon Damon’s arrival, but my husband doesn’t care. His sole focus is on settling a score, considering me now as someone who’s losing their mind. “You might want to put a leash on your slut.”
That’s all it takes.
Warnings have long since expired, and Damon makes good on his promise, his elbow connecting sharply with Peter’s already dislocated nose. A wail of excruciating pain is left in its wake and while it should bring some satisfaction, a maniacal laugh follows, proving just how unstable the man truly is. Jason turns in his seat to face the altercation, ready to offer his own services, and on the seat opposite us, Marco waits, itching to be next in line to teach my husband a lesson.
“What did he say?” Damon asks me.
With my own hands balling into fists, I keep my attention on the man who no longer controls me, no matter how hard he still tries. He said, “I should have let him have you.”
Peter looks me dead-on, victorious that he’s reeling us both in on the same hook. Then he says, “Ask Damon what it means, honey.”
What?
“Why don’t you just tell me?”
Through a gross, bloodied smile, he whispers, “Because it will be so much better coming from him.”
All sound around me dies, my thoughts an echo chamber of possibilities I’m too frightened to entertain.
I turn to the one man who can give me answers when my husband won’t. “What is he talking about?”
The storm I’d seen earlier as his dark irises roll closer. “Don’t allow him in your head, Mae. He’s desperate to hurt you any way he can.”
There’s no hint of betrayal.
Nothing that would lead me to believe Damon is in on the secret.
Looking back at Peter, I wonder how I never saw it from the start. That urge he’s had to be so cruel. I was once in love with a man who, right from the beginning—the courting stage—had been fulfilling his prostitute fetish and devising plans to detonate my life, piece by piece, just like he is now. It all makes the words roll off my tongue with frightening ease.
“I’ve never hated anyone more than I hate you, Peter. With every fiber of my being, I wish you dead. But rotting in hell would be a fate far too kind for what you deserve.”
While his smug grin momentarily falters, I once again see the desire of a man who wouldn’t think twice about bludgeoning me to death.
Damon takes my hand in his and leads me into the bedroom, closing and locking the door behind him. There, I wrap my arms around my stomach, sick over what it is that’s been troubling the brothers all day, in being here with Peter after everything he’s not just done to me but to the women he brutalized for sex and the secrets he still holds, waiting for the opportune moment to strike once more.
Placing a finger under my chin, Damon tilts my face to his, because he’s adamant I heed the words. “You’re free of him, Mae.”
“It doesn’t feel like it. Not yet.”
“He’s desperate and determined to hurt you, and will literally see him cross through the depths of hell to do so. I’ve bared witness to the truly depraved shit that man has endured the last forty-eight hours, and I can promise you, it’s the stuff of nightmares. Yet there he is, wanting so badly to break you further, even if it means he’ll be subjected to another round of fuckery.”
Despite everything, the nerves settle. “One day when the time is right, I need details about this ‘fuckery’ you speak of.”
His laugh sends my heart into a flutter. “I don’t know if there ever will be a right time for such a discussion. Honestly, it’s the only time I see Jason genuinely tremble with fear, and that’s just at the mention of it.”
Biting my bottom lip, it’s hard to stop the spread of my smile. “I have to be honest. It fills me with joy knowing Peter’s getting what he deserves. Does that make me a terrible person?”
“Sweetheart, that just means he never succeeded in breaking you. If he did, you’d be indifferent to his suffering.” Damon kisses my lips soft and true, and I wrap my arms around his neck, loving the feel of his tongue caressing mine. Then, with marked regret, he breaks the connection. “Mae,” he murmurs gravely with desire but afflicted. I feel the heaviness of his heart, a great shift from only moments ago. “You’re the strongest woman I’ll ever know, but I need you to understand that the burden of what he’s done to you isn’t yours alone. I will fight for you long after he’s dead and buried.”
Emotion seizes my throat and chokes my whisper. “I know you will.”
Damon rests his forehead against mine, our noses touching. He breathes me in like I’m his only life source, and when the dust of the volatility has settled, we remain completely and unequivocally lost to each other.
~
DAMON
“Stay with me.”
I wish I could.
I wish I could crawl into bed beside her and make love to the woman who is as infatuated with me as I am with her.
Instead, I gently place my earbuds in her ears, and as she lays down, I hit play on my favorite playlist. She smiles at The Weeknd’s familiar melody of ‘Die For You,’ and even with the dark circles under her eyes, prominent against her fine porcelain skin, Mae is still a picture of incredible beauty.
I kiss her soft lips as she strokes my cheek. Then, as I move back to the door, I watch as she gives into sleep.
God, she’s beautiful.
I hate that fucker even more now that I have to leave her side because he has it owed.
Mae doesn’t need to hear what happens next.
She doesn’t yet need to know why it’s happening.
Closing the bedroom door, I turn and stare at the piece of shit in front of me. Brazen when facing off with Mae but cautious when left alone with three men. He glances between Marco and me, warily studying my clenched fists.
I nod to Natasha, the hostess, and she takes her leave, closing the steward’s curtain behind her. She’ll then disappear into the cockpit—out of sight, out of mind.
Marco’s quick to action, cuffing Peter’s hands behind his back. His physical protests are no match for an ex-Delta Force with a penchant for strong-arm truth extraction.
And he’s no match for me.
“My man, Finny,” I say, casually, “is currently paying your piece-of-shit brother a visit, who I’m guessing will sound just like you when he’s on all-fours screaming for mercy. In the meantime, you’re going to tell me all about Carlson.” I lower myself to his level, fighting the urge to break every bone in his body. “You’re one twisted fuck, but you know that already. I can’t say I was completely surprised to learn you drug and rape your wife. I’d already had you pegged as a low-life predator.” I hold the asshole’s stare, his brow damp with sweat. I inch closer, resting my hands on either side of him on the chair. “But it takes a truly depraved, sick, son-of-a-bitch to let his brother help himself to his wife’s body.”
He opts for silence, his nostrils flaring.
“I have to hand it to you, though, Peter. You and Carlson cover your tracks fairly well.”
Something I’ve said triggers a gross smile to spread across his face. “You’ve got it wrong. A ‘cover-up’ would suggest we didn’t have it all planned down to the finest detail. You see, that’s the best thing about having a brother who’s a doctor. He knows just the right amount of drug to give to keep someone alive but completely knocked out for an entire twenty-four hours. I bet you can only imagine how we made use of that time.”
“Fucking hell,” Jason mutters from the back, dragging a hand over his face.
Beside me, Marco cracks his neck.
“But it doesn’t end quite there, does it?” I ask, already knowing the answer.
“You know it doesn’t.” The bastard winks as if, somehow, I’m in on his game. That I, too, share the same sick desires as him.
Infatuated is what I am and what he’s made me. So infatuated am I with the idea of murder it makes my admission sound as cold and detached as the promised act itself. “Soon, Peter, in the very near future, after I’ve personally broken every bone in your body, I’m going to kill you.”
He remains performatively stoic, albeit for the vein pulsing in his forehead as he once again attempts to draw parallels between us. “Only after you get what you want, right? I guess what that means, Damon, is that we’re not so different, after all.”