40 - Betrayal
Logan
She’s doing well; slotting into a world she knows nothing about, having to blend in, knowing that most of us carry guns on us and engage in shady businesses and dodgy dealings.
She’s fitting right in. Answering when she’s asked a question, laughing at people’s jokes, and taking part in general chit-chat.
Warmth spreads through my chest as I watch her; I couldn’t be prouder.
After dinner, we made our way to the living room to sink into the comfy chairs.
The ‘adults’, as they refer to themselves as, which pisses me off because we’re all adults, had moved to the kitchen.
The evening’s been surprisingly uneventful.
No one’s started a fight, there’s been no slanging matches, and no one’s drawn their gun.
Unheard of. It must have something to do with the ladies accompanying us.
Usually it’s just blokes, and Marco always ends up having to restrain at least one of us.
The fire roars, prickly flames cracking and charring through a stack of maple logs, circulating a calming aroma throughout the room that reminds me of Christmas and baking cookies with Mum.
Thick curtains fall heavily over the glass windows, blocking any outside light and trapping the heat from escaping.
There’s a speaker on the wall playing an instrumental piece of music, something classical and weirdly hypnotic.
It’s cosy here beside Cordelia. She’s cuddled up to me on the leather sofa, head angled so she can continue her conversation with Scarlett.
They’re chatting animatedly about baby names and wedding planning.
It makes me feel fucking fuzzy inside. This woman is killing my macho masculinity.
I swear she’s going to reduce me to rubble when this baby is born.
“So, what are you doing about living arrangements?”
My gaze falls to my friend, who’s sitting cross-legged on the designer rug. Taliya is kneeling next to him; it didn’t take her long to get swept under his spell. It won’t last, though. Scar would kneecap him if he knew he was even considering luring her in.
“What do you mean?”
Clarke scoffs. “Well, you sure as hell can’t live at your dad’s forever, especially not with a screaming baby.”
“I’m well aware of that, fuckface. I’ve got money. I’ll find us something.”
Clarkes eyes grow wide at my insult, and Ezio smirks. I don’t retract my statement. That’s exactly what he is. My rage was barely restrained before our loss, and now, well I have no chance. No filter.
“Excuse me?” Clarke’s dark brow rises high on his forehead.
My stare is unwavering. “You heard me.”
“O...K. Well you better move quickly,” Ezio adds, eyeing Cordelia’s round belly. “Not long now.”
“Yeah, yeah,” I grumble, flicking my gaze over to Leone and Every, snuggled up by the fireplace, smiling at each other like they’re the only ones in the room.
Cordelia’s thankfully not listening to us talk about her.
She beams, sipping from her glass of OJ, deep in conversation.
I can’t drag my eyes away from her lips as she speaks.
The way they brush together and form perfect shapes around each of her words.
The way she nibbles the bottom one when she’s deciding what to say next or gets lost in her thoughts. This woman—my fiancée — is a goddess.
“I think we’re going to make tracks,” Leone announces, rising to his feet to help Everly up. “We’ve got a fair distance to travel back.”
“Fair enough,” I reply, turning my head to address Cordelia. “We should head home soon, too.”
With a smile, she nods. “Let me just say goodbye to Papa. He’s about to leave.”
She rises to her feet with a hand on her belly and skips in the direction of the kitchen. Surprising that she still has enough energy. I shake my head, grinning to myself like a fool because it’s clear she’s enjoying herself.
“She doing okay now?” Ez queries, the leather creaking as he settles down beside Scarlett on the second sofa. Those two should make it official. They’re glued at the hip, for god’s sake.
“Seems to be. The medication doc gave her is doing a good job at keeping the sickness at bay.”
He angles his head in approval. Scarlett props her elbow against the armrest, fingers cradling her chin. Her lashes flutter, accentuating vibrant jade-green eyes. This close to her face, a smattering of reddish-brown freckles comes into focus across the bridge of her nose and cheeks.
“She’s happy.” The smile reaches her eyes. “Very excited. And equally terrified,”
I let out a low whistle. “Her and me both.”
“Cox.”
All of us look up at once, Scar’s lurking in the doorway. His lips pressed together in a thin line, yet the slightest hint of a smile tugs at each corner. It’s not a happy smile by any stretch; it’s calculating.
My eyes connect with those lightless pits of shadow and gloom. I raise both eyebrows in response.
“A word,” he croons ominously, hooking an index finger to beckon me to him like a dog.
I grunt, heaving myself off the couch reluctantly.
When we step outside the room into the hall, an icy chill crawls up my spine.
An unpleasant contrast to the toasty living room.
In the narrow space, Scar’s presence feels even more intrusive, so I casually lean back against the wall to try to put some distance between us.
“To what do I owe the pleasure?” I ask, plastering a smirk on my lips to hide the discomfort that’s twisting in my stomach like a bloody corkscrew.
“How is everything coming along?”
The way he refers to my relationship with my pregnant fiancée as everything pisses me right off, and I end up biting down on my tongue to stop myself retaliating. Prick.
“It’s fine.”
His wiry eyebrows draw together in a scowl, and he hisses at me through his veneers. “It needs to be better than fine, Cox,” he growls. “You need to be fucking irresistible.”
“I am irresistible,” I snort back, spreading my arms, gesturing to myself with a rather self-conceited expression. Sarcasm is better than anger.
“Don’t play smart with me,” his voice is gravelly, laden with heavy threat. “I’m about to make a deal with her father. Don’t fu–”
“No!”
The high-pitched cry has us both standing to attention. Cordelia stares at me from the end of the hall, mouth open, eyes wide in a frenzied panic; in the midst of an impending meltdown.
Fuck.
“No, no, no!” she screeches, eyes shut tight, shaking her head from side to side in disbelief.
I take a step closer to her, but she reels backward, throwing an accusatory finger in the air.
“No!” she screams, and I swear the sound’s loud enough to shatter glass. Then, without warning, she bolts for the front door.
My feet pound against the floorboards as I give chase, only stopping when she runs headfirst into Leone, who was in the middle of retrieving Every’s coat.
He blinks quickly, green eyes pinging open in surprise.
But he recovers in mere seconds, wrapping both arms around Cordelia’s waist to stop her fleeing.
“Get the fuck off me!” she thrashes desperately, flinging her limbs around wildly and trying to sink her fangs into his burly arms. What is it with her and biting people?
“Stop,” he grunts, tightening his grip whilst he waits patiently for her to wear herself out. “Basta.”
“Cordelia, enough.” The rumble that arises from my throat has her baby blues widening. A scowl quickly takes the place of the panic.
“Fuck you, Cox,” she spits, venom dripping from her words like a snake. “I fucking hate you!”
Dad and Vincenzo come hurtling from the kitchen to see what all the commotion is about. And Clarke and Ezio are by my side in a heartbeat. When they realise what’s unfolding, they withdraw their guns and step back, hanging in the shadows, ready to act if I need backup.
Cordelia’s words sting, particularly because my feelings couldn’t be any further from hatred. She’s lashing out though, saying stuff she doesn’t mean to hurt me, because she’s hurting herself. I’ve been there, bought the fucking t-shirt.
Still cautious of how she’ll react, I close the distance separating us.
Leone’s still grappling with her as she teeters about in her heels on the shiny wood floor.
I give him a nod, and he lets her go. With puffed-up cheeks heated with rage, she gets up in my face, stiletto heels stomping the floor.
“Cordelia–”
“No,” she rams her finger hard into my chest, flinching when she discovers nothing but a wall of muscle. “You’re not dragging my papa into this shit! I won’t let you!”
“He’s already involved! Open your fucking eyes!”
She gasps, a look of sudden vulnerability clouding her features.
“Why do you think you’ve got an ex-army officer as your fucking bodyguard?”
“Nico?” Her voice is strained as she speaks his name, as if she doesn’t believe me.
“Aye,” I half laugh. “Ever wondered why he’s always there? Ready to jump at a moment’s notice? Answering your calls before the first ring? Dropping everything to come to your aid?”
My laboured breaths burst from my lungs, nostrils flaring as my body’s fight or flight instinct kicks in.
The answer: always to fight, never run. Jagged nails sink into her flesh with a grip that will likely mark her soft skin.
Rarely do I get this angry with her, but this naivety of hers; it’s going to get her killed.
Fingers splaying against her fair skin, I force myself to relax my taught muscles.
When she tilts her chin up, there’s tears in her eyes.
Her mouth falls open, lower lip wobbling as she tries to speak.
Nothing comes out but a broken, heart-wrenching sob that seems to do nothing but amplify the elongated silence surrounding the two of us.
Finally, she averts her eyes, holding her arms close to her chest.
The light squeeze of reassurance on my shoulder has me pivoting to see who it is.
“Take a minute, Logan.” Dad’s voice is steady, attempting to ground me.
When the haze of my rage dissipates, I’m shaking violently. Anger management has always been difficult for me. Blaming myself for never being good enough to save Mum took a toll on me. That’s what I was going to therapy for, and until now I’d kept it in check. Until I met her.
“I’m fine,” I growl without glancing back. “We’re going home.”
Her button nose crinkles, and her eyebrows pinch together. “I’m not going anywhere with you,” she says throatily.
I seize her wrist, clamping down before she can pull away. “Yes. You are. Bike. Now.”