Chapter sixteen
Damon and Annie's Home, London
Damon
My suspicions have been confirmed. There’s a lot more to Emma’s backstory than I was aware of.
The young woman in front of me is independent and capable because she has had to be.
And tonight, I’m going to find out exactly what she’s been through and put in place the measures to support her the best I can, however that may look. Right now, I have no idea myself.
“Start at the beginning,” I tell her firmly. “From the first time you ever saw Moreno until now. I need every detail if I’m to keep you safe, Emma. What happened, and what does he know about you?”
Her tense shoulders sag visibly, and her ice-blue eyes drop to between her feet. She leans forward, places her elbows on her knees, and drops her head into her hands. The long blonde ponytail poised on top of her head falls forward.
My instinct is to go to her—all I want to do is wrap her in my arms and share some of my strength.
But I’m uncertain of the connection between us; when I’m in the same room as her, my mind explodes.
Everything I promised myself I would never want with someone other than Connie dissipates, and I imagine having it all with Emma.
“Do you want to be called Emma or Kathryn?” I ask her, and she looks up. Fresh tears coat her cheeks, and she wipes at her eyes with trembling fingers.
“My name is Emma,” she replies curtly. “Kathryn no longer exists.”
“Noted.” Keeping myself in my chair is torture.
She’s vulnerable, more vulnerable than I’ve ever seen her.
In all the months that I’ve known her, she’s never looked so emotional.
Even the day she gave birth and I walked away, she seemed more in control.
“Would you rather speak to someone else about this?”
“No,” she responds, shaking her head. “I’ll tell you. It’s just been a long time since I’ve allowed myself to relive what happened that day.”
“We have all night. Do you want a drink?” I rise and walk over to the cabinet in the corner where I keep my best liquor. Her eyes follow me across the room—I feel her gaze on me even without looking at her. My body tenses under her scrutiny as I wonder what she is thinking. How she sees me.
“A drink would be good,” she replies. “As long as it’s strong.” I glance over and she smiles shyly. “I think I may need it.”
“Me too.” Our eyes lock, and I can’t look away. From memory, I open the cabinet then pick the bottle from the shelf. The tension in the room increases a notch, and for the first time today I notice the shape of her nipples beneath the plain white t-shirt she is wearing.
Pulling my focus away, I concentrate on pouring two generous measures of whiskey into the waiting glasses. I always have crystal ready for when someone visits, and meetings conducted in my office normally require alcohol.
Once done, I walk over to her and offer her a glass.
She looks up at me and suddenly, make-up free, she looks so young.
Her clear skin is coated with a soft rose glow, and her plump lips shimmer under the lamplight.
I swallow as my cock hardens in my suit—fuck, I wish I was wearing denim; it would be less obvious.
Her eyes drop to my crotch then lift back to mine.
She flushes red and diverts her focus back to the floor.
“Moreno was the local loan shark where we lived,” she begins, her voice so quiet I can barely hear.
I place the whiskey glasses on the desk then crouch down beside her before spinning the chair to face me; she stills, then reaches for my hand.
“My parents promised me they would never use his service. I had seen what he did to those who didn’t pay. My best friend, Casey, her father lost his fingers from his right hand. Moreno’s men removed them one by one with wire.”
She sobs, and it catches in her throat, causing her to cough. “And his family watched it happen.”
“You’re doing great,” I tell her, squeezing her fingers in mine.
“They promised me,” she wails. “They lied to me for months. I was so angry with my parents that night, the night he murdered them. They died thinking I hated them.” She stops speaking, and her free hand lifts to her mouth. She heaves into her fingers, but nothing spills out.
“Take your time.” I take her second hand, leaving me squatted before her, holding both. Our fingers twist together on impulse. “I’m here for as long as you need me to be. Trust me, please.” She snorts quietly, startling me. “What?”
“Damon,” she whispers, and the obvious vulnerability in her tone speaks directly to my protective instincts.
Fuck, all I want to do is keep her safe.
Anyone who’s caused her pain, I want to drain them of their own life slowly and agonizingly.
“Trusting you has never been an issue. You are the most moral man I have ever met.”
I laugh out loud, and she jumps. “You may be the only person who admires my morals.” She giggles. The sound is so fucking sweet. “Plenty would disagree.”
“Well, they’re wrong. You’re a good man.”
She pauses, then continues her story. “I knew money was tight.
We lived in a nice area, a typical family home with three bedrooms and a small backyard.
But then Mother stopped turning on the heating, and I noticed it was supermarket budget brands in the cupboards.
“Each time I asked, they waved away my questions. Then I noticed the men following us. They would wait outside our house in the mornings, follow us in the car to school, and be there when I got home. When I asked my father about them, he told me I was imagining it. I wasn’t.
“The day they died, I returned home from school to find my parents tied to our dining room chairs. My father was only semi-conscious; his ears had been removed and were lying on his lap. My mother had been gagged, and clumps of hair had been pulled from her scalp.”
Still crouched, I listen to every word for anything that could be a hidden clue. She’s breathtaking in her ability to articulate what happened calmly and accurately. My knees strain under my weight, and I rock from side to side to relieve some of the stress.
“When I walked into the living room, I froze.
Moreno himself grabbed me around the waist and held me to him while I faced my parents.
He placed his gun at my temple and told them he would blow my brains out if they didn’t pay up.
My mother whimpered behind the gag as my father blinked and tried to focus on what was happening.
One of the guards removed the tape from my mother’s mouth, and she begged Moreno to let me go.
“She offered him anything he wanted—our house, our car, her body. He laughed and suggested perhaps he could have me. My father tried to jump from the chair…he managed to stand, then fell straight to the floor onto his face.”
The anger that has been sitting in my chest since she started speaking flares. “What age were you?” I ask, my tone calm—unlike my mind, which has every depraved situation that could have happened flitting through it.
“Fourteen.”
“Did he touch you?”
She lifts her chin and stares directly at me. “No,” she says firmly. “He didn’t rape me, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“Thank God,” I mutter, then stand, pulling her up with me. She wraps her arms around my waist and lays her head on my chest.
“When it became clear they couldn’t pay him, he shot them dead in cold blood. A single bullet to the front of their skulls. He simply lifted his weapon and fired. Twice.”
The tears come and there seems to be no stopping them.
We stand there together in the middle of my office and hold each other, both of us needing comfort.
I need someone to be there for, and she needs the support she hasn’t had since she was a teenager.
After a few minutes, her sobs recede, but she remains snuggled against my torso.
I use my arm to encourage her toward the gray sofa that sits to the side of my office.
It’s old and worn, but I’ve had it since I was a teenager.
It holds too many memories to be disposed of, but Connie made me keep it in here.
We drop down beside one another, and she lies against the back of the sofa and closes her eyes. “I testified in court,” she says. “It was my evidence and identification of Moreno that put him away. To this day, I still don’t know why he didn’t shoot me too. I’m certain that’s a decision he regrets.”
“Most likely,” I agree. “What happened then?”
“I was moved to a children’s home on the south coast. Given a new name, some counselling, and told to get on with my life. They always advised me to stay away from the city, but I need to be here. This is where I’m from. When I watched the lawyers in the courtroom,
and what they said helped incarcerate Moreno…”
She takes a deep breath, reopens her eyes and looks directly at me. “I knew that was who I needed to be. Becoming a lawyer was what I always wanted; it was the only thing I cared about.” She glances to the window behind me. “And now that dream is gone too.”
“No it isn’t,” I tell her. “It’s merely on hold. You will get that law degree and you will practice, but right now, you need to stay safe and take time to heal from all this.”
I wave my hand around signaling the whole fucked-up situation we’ve found ourselves in. “When do you want to return to work?”
She shrugs, non-committal. “Yesterday,” she suggests, and I chuckle.
“Not an option,” I advise, placing my hand on her knee. “I need to keep you safe until we lock up that bastard.”
“And how do you suggest doing that?” she asks.
“You are going to stay here with me. You will be my nanny.”
***
Emma
“Your nanny?” I splutter, panicked. “You have one.”
“I don’t,” Damon says simply. “She quit.”
“Why? What did you do?”
“Why would you automatically think I did something?” he replies, sulky. His face contorts, annoyed by my assumption. “She has a family emergency. She needs to return to wherever she’s from.”
“Bullshit, she just didn’t want to hurt your feelings by telling you she didn’t want to wash your underwear anymore.” He gapes at me for a second, then grins.
“You are incredible,” he says. “After everything that’s happened and what you’ve told me tonight, you’re still telling jokes.”
His face slackens, and it’s as if he isn’t looking at me but through me.
His blank expression makes me uneasy; I prefer to know exactly what someone is thinking.
What our relationship is, this situation, it all has me perplexed.
“What is this, Damon?” I mumble under my breath, part of me wanting him to hear the answer, the other part not. “What are you doing?”
“Keeping you safe.”
“And what about my apartment? You were paying the rent. It can’t just lie empty.”
“The contract has been canceled. There is nothing further to discuss or worry yourself about. You are staying here with us. Where I know you’re safe.”
***
Damon
Emma listens intently as I outline my idea.
I need someone to care for Annie and she needs somewhere safe to stay.
The solution popped into my head the moment Julia told me she had to leave.
Then I told myself I was being ridiculous.
There’s no way I should be suggesting that the woman who was the surrogate for my daughter become my nanny.
With undeniable tension between us, surely I’m setting myself up for complex circumstances.
But when she crumbled in my arms moments ago, I had to keep her, and this seems the easiest way to make it happen.