Chapter Thirty-Four
Thirty-Four
Margot
After seven minutes in what I’d thought would be chasing heaven, I’ve reached a verdict: I don’t like this much cardio with my sex.
As far as atmosphere goes, I’d give it a solid five out of five stars, but zero out of five stars for the actual running part of the ordeal.
I’m not yucking her yum, but Claire can keep the cardio.
I am not an athlete. I don’t want to sweat from running; I want to sweat because I came ten times.
Same thing goes for being out of breath.
Not wanting to stray too far from the haunt, I’ve led Caine on a U-shaped chase.
Now we’re back behind the haunt, and I am beyond ready to be caught.
Still, I don’t want to ruin the fun if he’s loving this.
I force myself to maintain a jog instead of screeching to a stop and grabbing my ankles.
Blessedly, his footsteps move closer, and closer, and then—FUCK.
Caine crashes into me, sending me sprawling.
I belly flop on the grass with a yelp, rolling over to shoot him a withering look.
That felt suspiciously like a shove, which I’ve now decided will be added to my list of no-thank-yous.
But while I may have a grass burn on my stomach, my pussy is willing to call it an unfortunate accident.
Looking at the gas mask, I decide that I can wait to tell him how much I didn’t love being pushed until after we’re done, for the sake of the mood—it isn’t great as is.
Beyond my own irritation at discovering that even the promise of orgasms cannot make cardio enjoyable, Caine’s energy is unsettling.
Looming above me, he doesn’t say anything dirty or funny.
He watches me from behind the mask’s dark goggles.
Though I can’t see his eyes, I feel a strange sense of certainty that he doesn’t like what he sees.
Namely, me. Self-conscious beneath what feels like a judgmental gaze, I dab sweat from my brow with the hem of my T-shirt, trying to smooth my hair.
My arousal is waning by the second. As it fades, I can finally identify the sense of discomfort churning in my gut.
Something is wrong.
“Real: let’s take a minute.” I rock up to my butt, sitting crisscross applesauce. “My head isn’t in it.”
Caine steps closer. From down here, he looks taller. Still fully in character, he continues to peer at me.
Let’s try this again.
“Real: Will you take off the mask so we can talk?” When he doesn’t move, I add, “Please.”
He doesn’t reach for the mask. Alarm bells go off in my head. Caine doesn’t make me ask twice.
Oh, fuck.
My body snaps into action even as my brain finishes putting the pieces together. A survival tactic I’d honed before I finished grade school slips out to save me: the protective mechanism I used so often that I was an adult before I realized it wasn’t actually my nature.
I smile and apologize.
“I’m sorry.” Putting on my most apologetic face, I pretend the words don’t burn like acid on my tongue. “My head is killing me. I need some water before we play.”
Forcing myself to rise slowly is torturous, but I can do this.
Pretend.
All you have to do is pretend.
“Think I overdid it with all the running.” Voice light, body tense, I hold my side as if I have a stitch, inching back toward the haunt.
Stay out of grabbing distance.
Just get back inside.
You can lock him out.
Ignoring the way my stomach knots, I take another step. A laugh comes from behind the mask, distorted and wrong. The man steps closer.
He knows I know.
I run for the haunt door. Dread makes me clumsy, or maybe my legs are just tired, but I know I’m not going to make it before I’ve taken three steps.
It might be a blessing, because it means I’m ready when he grabs my arm, yanking me to what would have been a whiplash-inducing stop if I weren’t prepared.
Since I am, I fling myself back at him, driving my elbow into his gut and breaking free of his grip.
My escape is short-lived. Snatching my hair, he yanks me back toward him.
My scream of frustration pierces the quiet afternoon.
I spin as I’m jerked toward him, glimpsing his other hand as he grips my arm and begins to drag me.
I wish I’d noticed them earlier; the lack of tattoos would have clued me in that it was not Caine beneath the mask.
Now, the smear of dried blood on his hand shatters something inside me.
Caine.
“What did you do?” I scream, saliva speckling the side of his gas mask.
Wrenching toward him, the pain of losing a handful of hair barely registers.
I want his blood. I want answers. I want Caine.
Maybe I get lucky, or maybe he wasn’t expecting me to go at him instead of trying to get away, but he falters a step.
I spit onto the eye shield of his mask, punching the side as hard as I can.
It isn’t a great hit, but he staggers sideways a step.
Fumbling for any part of the mask I can grasp, I yank, hoping his head comes off with it.
Tragically, it doesn’t. His head’s still on his shoulders, and he’s wearing a balaclava.
I rip it off, my nails clawing at his face as I do.
There, his dark hair shorter and ice-blue eyes angrier, is Nicholas.
Fuckfuckfuckfuck—
Nicholas moves in fast, grabbing my upper arms and dragging me away from the haunt.
Digging in my heels, I rip trails through the grass, but it doesn’t do me any good.
I lunge toward him in desperation, throwing the hardest kick I can into the side of his kneecap.
It connects, and I do it again and again until he releases me.
That felt so fucking good is the last thought in my head before pain explodes across my cheekbone, my teeth snapping together on my tongue.
I teeter sideways from the force of the blow, barely staying on my feet.
Bracing myself, I wait for the dizziness to pass.
Worth it.
My vision clears. Nicholas cocks his head to the side. “Aren’t you happy to see me, Manna?”
I snort, faking bravery I don’t feel. He can smell fear, I’m sure. Stepping closer, amusement flickers in Nicholas’s eyes as he takes me in. Seeing how much he’s enjoying my discomfort makes me seethe.
My mouth moves before my brain can stop it.
I spit in Nicholas’s face, enjoying the sight of my blood-tinged saliva speckling him for exactly .
03 seconds before my head jerks painfully to the side, stars exploding in my vision again.
He never hit me when we were married, a fact that made me slower to recognize how toxic his behavior was.
While I can’t say being backhanded now is a pleasurable experience, spitting in his face was well worth the pain.
“I see your attitude hasn’t improved.” Leaning in close, a face that should be handsome is hideous with rage. “Still defiant as ever.”
Anger crackles. “You know, you never had to experience my defiance again. All you had to do was stay the fuck away from me.”
“If I could, I would.”
My sweat-soaked bra and panties suddenly chill me. Gritting my teeth, I almost wish he’d come close again. This time I might bite him. “Why can’t you?”
“You ruined my name, and now you’re going to repair it.” He steps toward me, and I step back despite myself. “I’ve spent hours in prayer, years in prison. I am a testament to the power of a changed soul.”
“Congratulations.” I study my fingernails, refusing to look at him. “That doesn’t have a thing to do with me.”
“Oh, but it does.” The downside to my manicure inspection is that I miss him reaching for me. Nicholas grips my chin. I jerk my head away, reigniting the burn in my cheek.
“After your public betrayal, our reconciliation will be the ultimate proof that I am a changed man.” This time, he grabs my face too tightly for me to wrench free. “Think of our shared testimony, rebuilding our marriage after your betrayal and my indiscretion.”
“When you say betrayal…” I give him my best poker face. “Are you talking about me turning you in for embezzlement? Or me pushing you through a window?”
It doesn’t get the response I hope for.
“You broke the marriage covenant when I was at my lowest. Instead of guiding your husband back to the lord, you abandoned your role of helpmate.” Nicholas looks too pleased with himself. “This is your chance to make things right. Otherwise, I tell the world how the fall actually happened.”
Fuckfuckfuck.
“Nobody will believe you.” The rebuttal sounds weak, even to my own ears. “You told everyone you fell, remember?”
“I’ll confess that I lied to protect my wife.” His smile is nausea inducing. “My wife, who has struggled with her mental health as long as I’ve known her, and who I’m now worried might be a danger to herself or others.”
The little voice in my head screams, But that’s not true! as if it makes a difference.
“You’re coming home, Manna, and we will try this again.”
Again snaps like a trap closing on a limb. My desperation to escape is so strong that losing a leg seems a reasonable sacrifice. I have an answer for all the times I wondered if I could have done something different. If I was too quick to jump to violence.
He was never going to let me go.
He still won’t.
I step toward him. Suprise flickers on his face, then it turns to arrogance. Like he’s pleased with this turn of events and thinks I’m going to go easily.
Not a chance.
Lunging, I drive my shoulder into his chest, shoving him backward.
He’s grabbing for me, but I don’t care. Again and again I drive my knee up.
I’m not landing great hits, but they’re throwing him off enough that he can’t restrain my arms. I get in an uppercut, barely managing to dodge his fist coming for my face.
If he lands even a half-powered hit, I’m in trouble.
Staying close is my only option, making sure he doesn’t have enough space to throw a solid punch.
We’re a tangle of attempted punches and futile kneeings. I’m losing strength.
I should have run—
The haunt’s back door opens with a bang, cracking against the wall of the building. Shock turns into relief. Nicholas’s head jerks toward the sound. One of his hands is in my hair, the other wrapped around my wrist. My split lip throbs, but I can’t help smiling.
“You should have stayed in Texas,” I say, right before Caine reaches us.
· · ·
There’s an unexpected elegance to Caine’s violence.
The fluidity of someone in their element.
Nicholas didn’t have a chance. At first, I was scared, thought he might, because Caine let him land a few hits.
I was moving in, ready to jump on Nicholas’s back and try to choke him out, when I caught a glimpse of Caine’s face. His smile.
Never mind, then.
The fight is quick. Before long, Caine’s hauling a barely struggling Nicholas toward me and the building.
A bruise forming on his cheek, sweaty hair falling over his face, Caine is terrifying.
A wolf dragging its kill back to the den.
He could be a stranger; the energy radiating off him is that wrong.
As if he feels my gaze on him, Caine looks up, face softening when our eyes meet. Warmth fills me.
Oh.
There you are.
“Will you get the door for me, gorgeous?” He says it like he has an armful of groceries, not a half-conscious man.
I do. Unceremoniously, he hauls Nicholas into the haunt, banging him against every possible obstacle on the way. When he knocks him against the door frame so hard I wince reflexively. Caine gives me a sheepish look. “Whoops.”
Nicholas groans, and Caine refocuses on him.
Witnessing the change in his body language is surreal, the transformation from my Caine to this one.
I follow him as he lugs his near kill into one of the side rooms. There’s paint-splattered plastic sheeting on the floor from when we were working on props. Nicholas is dumped in the middle.
The first strike of Caine’s boot against his ribs isn’t nearly hard enough to be satisfying. “Answers first,” he mutters to himself. “Get answers first.”
Louder, to Nicholas, he barks, “How did you find her?”
Nicholas doesn’t answer. Caine kicks him again.
“How.”
Another kick.
“Did.”
Kick.
“You. Find. Her.” Kick, kick, kick.
Equal parts calm and wild, Caine circles Nicholas, gazing down at him with a look that can only be described as bloodlust. Nicholas spits a mouthful of blood onto the sheeting. “Private investigator.”
Nicholas flops onto his side, facing me, and even bruised and bloodied, there’s no hiding the hate on his face. “All you had to do was keep your mouth closed about the money.” He hacks a laugh. “But you never understood your place—”
“Nope. You’re done.” Knocking Nicholas onto his back, Caine straddles him, landing punch after punch, each more vicious than the one before it.
“Caine.” His head snaps toward me. His eyes are dark, mouth set in a hard line. Blood splatters his face, and even though I’ve seen him covered in fake blood, knowing it’s real makes it so, so different. We’re frozen in time, Caine’s chest rising and falling rapidly.
“Yes?”
“Just proving you can stop.” As I say it, it feels silly, but I need to. “So later, you won’t wonder if you were out of control. You’ll know you weren’t.”
Realization, and something that looks almost like relief, crosses his face. He nods, glancing down at Nicholas, before looking back at me. “Thank you.”
I nod. My heart shouldn’t feel like it’s trying to break free from my chest to get to him, but it does. What it says about me that I can feel this right, this loved, in this moment, I don’t know. But I do.
Nicholas groans, spitting another mouthful of blood. Caine looks from me toward the hallway. “Why don’t you go put your headphones on and hang out in the office until we’re done here?”
I’m tempted but torn. Walking away feels unfair, as if I’m passing yet another problem off to him.
I don’t want to witness this, but I can.
More importantly, I feel as if I should, because Nicholas is my responsibility.
If I hadn’t trusted him, if I hadn’t married him, if I hadn’t tried and failed to kill him—
“Stop thinking.” Caine interrupts the spiral, his voice too soothing for the moment. “You don’t need to be here for this.” Before I can protest, he says, “I know you can handle it, but I’m here, so you don’t have to.”
“Thank you.” It isn’t even close to enough.
His wink makes me shake my head. “No, thank you. Nice to prove I’ve still got it.”
“Anytime.” The second the words are out, a wild laugh bubbles up in my chest. “Actually, no, I take that back. Once we get through this, let’s never, ever do it again. Deal?”
Caine smiles, teeth flashing against the blood on his face. “Deal.”
As I turn to leave, he adds, “As long as nobody fucks with you again. Otherwise, all bets are off.”