Chapter 10 #2
Behaving true to type, she stubbornly crossed out and initialed every line item regarding transfer of assets to her.
She’d even caught the generous alimony I tried to hide in another section.
I couldn’t go outside the legal dissolution of our marriage and put money into the bank account I’d set up for her either.
The disagreeable brat closed it and mailed me a cashier’s check, along with the debit card shredded into razor-edged confetti—probably in the hope I’d nick an artery on one of the pieces.
She hadn’t spent a penny of it—not even for the fee to cut the check.
It was more than odd. I’d have sworn I left Steve Ashland without any assets, and I couldn’t figure out how she was supporting herself.
I didn’t blame her for the other package she’d sent containing all her piercing jewelry, her wedding ring, and a large pile of dog excrement.
Although I still had the video feed from cameras I’d placed around the property, judging by the sale sign at the end of the driveway, she didn’t plan to stay.
I couldn’t even track her phone anymore. As if she’d known I’d added a hidden locator to the device, she set it in the driveway and drove over it several times with a large SUV. On a whim, I decided to try the number, only to find it had been disconnected.
At least she hadn’t found the GPS tracker on her vehicle—not that she went anywhere.
Aside from weekly supermarket trips, she didn’t leave the property.
Instead, she played fetch with Dante and took him for long walks while workmen hauled out her father’s tacky furniture and replaced it with more tasteful selections.
She was probably staging the house for sale, but I couldn’t help hoping she’d stay.
It would be safe for her now that her father’s guards were nowhere to be found.
Fuck. They didn’t deserve to breathe her air, much less breathe at all, but my warning, given to Steve’s driver before he could escape, would keep them far away from her.
Only one person visited her. A middle-aged Japanese woman came every day at nine in the morning and left at noon.
According to the magnet decal on the back of her minivan, she was from a mixed martial arts studio.
A bit more research revealed her to be a Krav Maga instructor—which explained Natasha’s significantly more muscular figure and all the gym equipment she’d had delivered.
God, I missed her lush curves. At least she was gaining the weight she shouldn’t have lost in the first place. Her hair had grown back into a short cap of bouncy curls that highlighted the chiseled bones in her face. The new hair suited her, but I missed her innocently rounded cheeks.
As I watched her make the trek to the mailbox at the end of her driveway, Saoirse walked into my office without knocking. I scowled when she arched a brow at what I was watching.
“Christ, Lachlan. Aren’t you bored yet? You’ve been creeping on that poor girl for six months.”
“Shut it.” I leaned closer to the monitor and narrowed my eyes when Natasha pulled something from the mailbox and jumped up and down before crouching to hug Dante. “Don’t you ever fucking knock?”
“No.”
Resolving to ignore my annoying sister, I turned my attention back to my laptop. “What the hell is she so cheerful about?”
I liked seeing Natasha happy but hated it at the same time. After everything I’d done to her, I had no right to feel that way either. Worse, I was self-aware enough to know what I was doing was beyond toxic for both me and Natasha. I just… I couldn’t let her go.
When had she become more than a means to an end?
“Still don’t know why you’re so damned curious when you know she hates you.” She propped a hip on the edge of my desk. “If you have to keep digging into Natasha’s private business, catch a screenshot of the video and enlarge it until you can see what she’s holding.”
When I didn’t immediately reply, she rolled her eyes and turned my laptop to face her.
Within moments, Saoirse had a somewhat blurry still image on the screen.
She squinted at the laptop, then laughed.
“Looks like Natasha got herself a passport. Guess that’s your sign to stop tormenting yourself with what you’ll never have. ”
“Piss off, Saoirse.”
“Gladly. I’m tired of seeing you all butthurt over something that’s entirely your fault—particularly after I begged you to stop.
” She sobered and touched my shoulder. “A word of advice first. I want you to remember in vivid, technicolor detail what Natasha did to Steve Ashland. You need to remember she was virtually naked, leashed, and powerless when she had her dog rip out her father’s throat, and you especially need to remember how much she wants us both dead. ”
“Dante wasn’t hers,” I muttered, refusing to acknowledge Saoirse’s point—especially since I was wrong. The damned dog had been Natasha’s from the moment I forced them to share a kennel.
“That’s what you got out of everything I said?
For fuck’s sake.” Saoirse closed the laptop and wrapped her arms around herself before moving to the window overlooking the tree where I used to make Natasha piss like an animal.
“You didn’t see her face, but I watched her.
She was so cold. No emotion, no surprise.
No…nothing. And when she looked straight through me with those utterly expressionless brown eyes like I’d be next if I didn’t stay perfectly still…
Well, I get nightmares sometimes, which would probably delight her to no end. ”
“Saoirse—”
“You didn’t hear her tell me she’d make you hurt.” She shuddered and her breath hitched. “God help me, I believed her. The whole way home, I felt like there was a monster built of Natasha’s rage hiding in my back seat. Fuck, I still sleep with my Ruger—when I can sleep at all.”
I rubbed my forehead and sighed. “I’m sorry.”
“You know what really keeps me awake at night? I could have been Natasha’s friend, and you could have been a good husband to her.
Helping Steve’s daughter live a safe, happy life without fear of mistreatment would have been the worst thing we could have done to him.
” She laughed bitterly. “Instead, you took a horrifically abused little girl and turned her into a sociopath. Congratu-fucking-lations.”
As I was wishing I’d never told her about Natasha’s past, she shook her head and walked to the door. She stopped and laid her hand on the doorframe, then added, “Coulda, shoulda, woulda, I guess. I’ve already lost one brother, Lachlan. Let her go before I lose you too.”
“Leave. Close the door behind you.”
She slammed it, and I winced at the sharp crack before opening my laptop. I loved my sister. We were all each other had left. As much as I hated her words, she was right.
I’d gone too far. My actions forced Natasha to kill, and she was training her body to do it again if I dared come near her. She had no idea about the turmoil she caused, and no idea how my heart leapt and sank every time I saw her.
And I could not stop. She was worse than cocaine in the way she sent me to the height of ecstasy, only to kick me into blackest despair. It was only fair, considering I’d done the same to her multiple times a day for weeks.
The cameras followed as she skipped up the driveway to the house, Dante at her heels. I didn’t have audio, but I could almost hear her laughter.