CHAPTER SEVENTEEN #3
But as much as I needed her to remove her touch from my body, I never meant to hurt her.
I never meant for my harsh tone or words to fill her eyes with tears or redden her cheeks with anger, yet both were evident now, and I was flooded with guilt.
In this moment, making her upset felt like a greater sin than murder, and if I had the means, I would give my own back a thousand lashes for ever opening my damn mouth and making her cry.
Still, another part of me—the sensible part—told me this was good. It said, if she hated me, she’d keep her distance once and for all, and I could get on with business as usual.
So, I forced my lips to sneer, forced my face to reflect an anger toward her I could never feel. I stared her down, and I wished so badly she could see the feigned hatred on my face as I uttered in a low, growling voice, "Well, that's too fucking bad, Princess.”
Her lips curled into an expression of distaste. “Don’t call me that.”
“Oh, but isn’t that exactly what you are? A pretty little princess, living in her castle, being told exactly what to do, what to wear, who to fuck—”
“Shut up,” she snapped at me, taken aback. “You can’t talk to me like this. W-why are you—"
“Oh, but I can, and I am,” I said, not allowing the guilt I felt to seep into my tone. “And I’m telling you to stay the fuck away from me. You have to."
And even as I said those words, I longed to live in a world in which they never had to be said in the first place.
She held her head back and peered down her long, straight nose, her lips curving into a hurt, albeit challenging, smile. "Oh, that's funny because just a minute ago, that wasn’t at all what you wanted, was it? No, I think you do want me. I think you—"
"Do you even understand what I could do to you? Do you think it’s beneath me to hurt a woman?" I interrupted harshly, tipping my head and staring her down. "Hell, just the other night, Gerald sent me to murder some lady. Did you know that?"
Her expression was stoic. She didn’t want me to believe she could be rattled, but she was. I could tell by the way she swallowed, the way she hesitated before replying, "But you wouldn't hurt me.”
Never, I agreed silently as I lifted my hand, and with the back of my knuckles, I traced the length of her long, slender throat, damning my gloves for providing a barrier between my skin and hers.
"Her neck was almost as pretty as yours too," I commented in a murmur, my eyes fixated on the diamonds dangling from her earlobes, sparkling beneath the chandelier lights. "And that's exactly what I thought before I snapped it."
She exhaled and tipped her head to the side, lengthening the expanse of smooth, pale skin. God, how I wanted to sink my teeth into her flesh. How I wanted to give her everything she begged for, everything she and I both wanted.
If only.
"But you thought about me," she whispered, breathless and wanton.
I turned my head to seek her eyes, knowing she couldn't see mine, but hoping that somehow, in some way, she knew I was looking as I admitted against my better judgment, "All the time."
She swallowed again, her hand lifting to hover over the mask, her fingertips barely grazing the surface. So close, so close to revealing my face to her needy gaze, and, God, what I would give to let her.
“I want to see your face,” she whispered, pleading. “I want to know what you look like.”
“Would that change things?”
"No," she replied, and, God, I believed her. "Just … please—"
"Analise!”
At the sound of her name being called from somewhere in the house, somewhere close, she gasped and tumbled backward out of my reach. She landed on her bottom with her eyes still on me and her chest heaving as Benjamin hurried into the room.
"What the hell is happening here?" he asked suspiciously, taking in the sight of me on the couch with my pants torn and her on the floor.
"What does it look like?" I fired back, gesturing toward my leg.
He came closer and peered at the length of gauze. The accusatory glare faded as he wrinkled his nose and asked, "The fuck happened to you?"
"Marco happened," I muttered, taking my time standing from the couch.
"He's dead though?"
Benjamin addressed me like he held some kind of authority over my position, like I had to answer to him in this circle of corruption.
Neither was true, as far as I was concerned.
Truthfully, apart from being the slimeball Analise was dating—for reasons I still couldn’t understand—I had no idea what his actual purpose in this family was.
He was just there, and I hated him for it … among other things.
Like jealousy.
I was so jealous of him; it made me feel sick.
I regarded him with exhaustion as I asked, "Do you have to ask?"
He crossed his arms over his chest and tipped his head back to look up at me. “Well, where’s Dean then? I didn’t see him when I—"
“Were you looking for me for a reason?” Analise interrupted him as she shoved the first aid kit beneath the sofa before standing.
He furrowed his brow, not appreciating the interruption. But even with his expression of displeasure, he turned from me to address her.
"I was talking to Gerry last night. And I couldn’t wait to talk to you, so I came over as soon as I woke up," he said, reaching out to caress her face.
She flinched, and I doubted he noticed. I doubted he'd care if he did.
But I noticed, and as his palm molded to cup her cheek, that jealous rage I only felt in their presence took flight in my gut. It dug into the softness of my flesh, burrowing deep as the pain struck in pangs of nausea.
I wanted to cut that hand from his body. I wanted to throw it in a blazing fireplace, to scorch the flesh from the bones, along with every memory of having touched her skin.
She didn’t flinch when I touched her, I thought, and I wanted to boast with pride, but what the fuck did it matter when she was already his?
"He was talking about when we’d be getting married." There was a suggestion in his tone and a smirk on his face, like marriage was a dastardly scheme.
Hell, I guessed for some people, it was.
She frowned as a momentary look of desperation overtook her eyes. She tried to hide it, tried not to make it obvious, but I'd know that look anywhere.
She didn't like Benjamin, let alone love him.
Someone was forcing her to be with him, to get married, and I wasn't sure if it was Benjamin or Gerald.
Or someone else entirely … but who? And why?
"Oh, I don’t know,” she replied, clearly hesitating. “I mean, we’re not even engaged yet. Why bother talking about—"
"Hey, creep," Benjamin said, glancing over his shoulder at me, "do you always listen to conversations that have nothing to do with you?"
I frowned, though he couldn’t see it. "Maybe you shouldn’t have started the conversation in front of me if you didn’t want me included.”
"Well, that's your cue, fuckface," Benjamin said, his brow lifting with a snide smirk. "Leave.”
And like a dog, I listened, but not before flashing his back with my raised middle finger.
Then, with a shake of my head, I turned away and walked toward the doorway, ready to put this night behind me.
But before I could leave altogether, I thought better of it and stopped to glance over my shoulder.
“Thanks again for putting me back together, Nurse,” I said, catching the look of frantic desperation in her eyes as she swept her pleading gaze over me.
She nodded and managed a weak smile as she replied, “You’re welcome.”
What does he do to you? I wanted to ask her. And one day, I would.
One day, I'd demand she tell me, knowing damn well I wouldn't like what I heard. And then I'd kill him, and unlike the others, I'd wear his blood proudly on my hands.
But today wasn't that day.
Because as I entered the foyer, ready to change my clothes and leave Seint Manor, to return to a world that was growing exceedingly more uncomfortable by the second, I bumped into Virginia, and I remembered what she had said before I left the house to execute Marco.
She had wanted to talk.
"Ma’am," I greeted with a nod of my head, swallowing.
“Have you forgotten about our meeting?” she accused.
There was no point in denying it, and I nodded.
“I apologize,” I muttered, hating myself for the compliance. “I’ve had an eventful night.”
With a contemplative sound, she dropped her gaze to my injured leg. "I see. Your poor slacks are ruined," she mentioned, as if it hadn’t already occurred to me. "Come. Gerry keeps spare clothes for you this way, doesn't he?"
"I know where they are," I said, following her toward one of the house's lower-level guest rooms, where Gerald kept the closet stocked with brand-new suits and shoes.
It’d been this way for a year now.
After every job, I was meant to strip, dump my soiled clothes in the trash can in the room, and shower before changing into one of the fresh suits hanging in the closet.
It was an accommodation he made to keep me working for him while keeping my brothers from suspecting a thing … and to keep the cops off my ass.
"Let me help," she insisted, opening the door to the bedroom. "You're injured."
“I’m okay,” I said, but my insistence went unheard.
She stepped inside and gestured for me to follow. I looked at her, noticing now the silk robe she wore, tied at the waist. Little was covered of her chest, her cleavage on full display, and if I had to guess, I'd say she wasn't wearing anything underneath.
"Well?" she said expectantly.
"I don't know what the hell is going on here," I said, continuing to stand in the open doorway without making a move to enter, "but I’ve told you before, I’m not interested."
A look of heated disapproval fell over her face as she cocked her head, scrutiny heavy in her eyes.
"Oh, I apologize if you’ve gotten the wrong idea, but I’m not giving you a choice," she replied as she pulled a pistol from the pocket in her robe.
My heart leaped into my throat as she gestured with the gun into the room.